Then, near the end, he closed my résumé and asked me a question.
“Why should I hire someone with almost no experience?”
I swallowed.
I could have invented something impressive. I could have pretended to be more confident than I was.
Instead, I told him the truth.
“You probably shouldn’t.”
One eyebrow went up.
“But if you do,” I continued, “I promise I’ll learn.”
For the first time during the interview, he smiled.
It was barely a smile, but I noticed it.
“Monday morning. Eight o’clock,” he said.
That was how it started.
I entered the company as a nervous young employee who double-checked every email before sending it.
Over time, I learned.
Then I improved.
Then people began relying on me.
Eventually, I became Richard’s personal assistant.
My responsibilities grew far beyond answering calls or organizing appointments. I coordinated meetings, prepared documents, handled difficult clients, fixed scheduling disasters, and sometimes solved problems before Richard even knew they existed.
There were late nights.
There were weekends.
There were mornings when I came into work sick because an important meeting couldn’t be moved.
I don’t say that proudly now. Looking back, I understand that no job should consume your entire life.
But at the time, I felt responsible.
My salary supported more than just me.
My mother lived with me, and my younger brother was still in school. I was the only person in our household with a stable income.
Losing my job wasn’t simply an inconvenience.
It would affect everyone I loved.
And that was why the final week of my old life frightened me so much.
It began on Monday.
Richard called me into his office shortly before lunch.
He was reviewing a stack of documents when I entered.
“Emily,” he said without looking up, “do you have plans after four on Friday?”
I mentally checked my schedule.
“No.”
“Good. Wait for me downstairs.”
I paused.
“Do we have a meeting?”
Richard finally looked up.
Keep reading — tap the button below to continue.
