Wendy
It’s not even nine a.m., and already the day feels wrong. She hears it in clipped conversations that die as she passes. Sees it in the way heads bow too fast to glowing screens.
Then she sees it. The alert on her phone. What in the actual fuck?
But she doesn’t open it. Not yet. Not until the glass door shuts behind her and she’s inside her office, the world sealed out. Only then does she read it. The blinking Ankler alert…
NDA’s Literary Gamble: Is Wendy Deerwood Doomed to Fail?
She scrolls frantically, each line cutting deeper, louder, until the words scream in her ears.
…A fledgling division struggling to compete…
…A risky move led by a woman whose East Coast success might have been luck…
…Industry insiders say she lacks the network, the clout, the staying power…
And then, the gut punch: Wendy Deerwood declined to comment for this piece.
She stares at the screen, the words blurring as it sinks in. No one called me. No warning. No chance to respond. Because this wasn’t reporting. This was sabotage.
“Leah. My office. Now.”
Leah looks up from her phone, pulse spiking as Wendy barrels through the doorway, straight for the cubicle.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Here it comes…
“I said now, Leah.”
Leah rises slowly, deliberately. She locks eyes with Wendy, chin lifting just a fraction as she brushes past her into the office. The door inches closed behind them.
Wendy wheels around, fury barely contained. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“What I’m doing?” Leah replies, voice steady as she meets her head-on.
“You knew. You let them drag my name through the mud. You wanted them to. You told them I had no comment.”
“You mean The Ankler thing? What power do you think I have, Wendy? I’ve only done everything for you. For this division.”
“Bullshit.” Wendy’s voice jumps a register, rage rushing past control. “You’ve only ever done what serves Leah. That’s your brand. Spineless loyalty when it benefits you, and silence when it doesn’t.”
For a second, Leah almost smiles. She almost says it: You’re unraveling. You’re paranoid. You’re right where I want you, you crazy bitch. But she reins it in, almost.
“You’re serious?” she spits back. “You’re going to blame me for a leak you can’t even prove?”
“It’s not about proof, Leah. It’s about intent. It’s what you let them think. Do you think I’m stupid? I’ve tolerated your stunning mediocrity long enough.”
“This is ridiculous. If you’d just let me explain—”
“You’re fired, you cunt.”
Leah blinks, thrown less by the word than by the fact that Wendy has actually managed to surprise her. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m dead serious,” Wendy snaps. “And frankly, I should’ve done it months ago. Now pack your shit. Or security will.”
Leah doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just stares. And as she stands there, it all floods back—the rumors she planted, some whispered, some detonated. The curated sabotage. The breach into Wendy’s inbox. The anonymous report to the board. Every move, every trap, set with care.
All of it leading to this.
“Fine,” Leah says. No protest. No crack in her voice. She just lifts her chin, takes a breath, and walks out, shoulders square, pride untouched.
Wendy exhales, collapsing into her chair. Her reflection in the monitor catches her off-guard. Ew. I look so tired. So old.
Then, a soft knock.
“I just spoke with Leah,” Evelyn Knox says from the doorway. “She was in tears. I sent her home.”
Wendy barely glances at her. “You didn’t send her. I did. Leah’s gone because I fired her.”
“Okay, then.” Evelyn betrays the faintest hint of a smile. “Want this closed?”
“What the fuck do you think?”
Then, the door clicks shut behind her.