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.”

“Perfect,” I said.

We went into a glass-walled conference room. Linda closed the door and sat beside me, clearly grateful to be the witness rather than the executioner.

I laid out the documents, my pen, a box of tissues (always necessary, always used).

“Ready?” I asked.

Linda nodded.

“Send her in,” she told the assistant hovering outside.

The door opened.

Sarah walked in.

She was wearing a pencil skirt that was just a little too tight and a blouse that was just a little too low. Her hair was curled. Her nails were freshly done.

She had that look on her face I knew so well: smug, vaguely bored, faintly amused.

She saw me.

Stopped dead.

“Leavonne?” she said, blinking in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

She looked around, maybe expecting me to be pushing a cart of pastries, holding a mop, or standing in the corner with a clipboard.

“Are you here begging for a maid job?” she added, her lips curving into a smirk.

I met her gaze.

I smiled.

“No, Sarah,” I said, my voice clear and calm. “I’m here to hand you your termination letter.”

The words landed like a punch.

I watched them register in her face. Confusion first, then offense, then a dawning, creeping fear.

“Termination,” she repeated faintly, the color draining from her cheeks. “What are you talking about? This is a joke, right?”

“Please,” I said, gesturing to the chair across from me. “Have a seat.”

She sat, more because her knees seemed to have lost their courage than because she wanted to.

Linda folded her hands on the table. Her expression was neutral, almost kind.

“Sarah,” she said, “this is Ms. Martinez, the Director of Human Resources at Morrison & Associates. We’ve engaged their firm to assist us with some personnel matters.”

Sarah’s eyes snapped back to me.

“Director?” she said. “You’re… you’re the director of HR?”