My parents worshipped my little sister so much that the second she landed a basic marketing job, they sat me down and called me a “freeloader,” telling me I’d been hiding in my “safe little HR job” for five years—and kicked me out. The next morning, she strutted into her shiny new office, smirking, “Here to beg for a maid job?” I smiled, opened my folder, and slid it across the table. “No, Sarah. I’m here to deliver your termination letter.”

“Do you have documentation?” I asked.

She placed a folder on my desk. “Attendance logs, the plagiarized proposals with source material highlighted, email exchanges where she responds to deadlines with ‘lol, chill.’”

I opened the folder and scanned. It was worse than I’d imagined. Tardiness. No-shows. Unprofessional emails. Copy-paste work. No initiative. No awareness.

“We’ve counseled her,” Linda said. “Twice. The first time, she blamed unclear expectations. The second time, she implied we were targeting her because she’s ‘young and vibrant.’ Yesterday, after we flagged the plagiarism, she said—and I quote—‘That’s how everyone does it. You guys are just old-fashioned.’”

I raised an eyebrow.

“And you’d like us to…?”

“Handle the termination,” Linda said. “We want to make sure it’s airtight. No loopholes. No drama. We were told your firm specializes in… what was the phrase? ‘Surgical personnel transitions.’”

I smiled slightly. “We do.”

She sighed in relief. “Thank God. Can you do it early next week?”

“How about tomorrow?” I suggested.

She blinked. “Tomorrow?”

“You’re already at six absences and three counts of plagiarism,” I said. “Continuing to employ her isn’t doing anyone any favors. We can be at your office at 9 a.m. I’ll lead the meeting. You’ll be present as the company representative and witness.”

Linda nodded slowly. “Yes. That… that would be ideal. One more thing,” she added. “The person who pushed for her hire was our CEO. He… knows the family.”

Of course he did.

“She came recommended,” Linda said, her mouth twisting. “Those are the hires that always end up on my desk.”

I walked her out, promised to email a list of documents we’d need from her by end of day, and then shut my office door and leaned against it for a second, laughing softly into my coffee.

Sterling & Associates.

A marketing coordinator.

Three weeks on the job.

Something like anticipation fizzed in my veins.

It couldn’t be. There had to be other marketing coordinators in that building.

But when I pulled up Sterling’s LinkedIn page, there it was, in bold letters on my screen.