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.”

“Vice President now,” I said. “But yes. That’s been my career path for the last…five years.”

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish.

“You told Mom and Dad I was unambitious,” I reminded her gently. “Remember?”

She flushed.

“I’m here today,” I continued, “because Sterling & Associates has decided to end your employment.”

“You can’t,” she blurted. “You can’t just fire me. I just started. I’m… I’m still learning.”

“That’s the problem.” I opened the folder in front of me and slid a paper toward her. “This is your attendance record. Six absences in three weeks. Four sick days with no documentation. Two no-shows without any notice.”

“I was sick,” she muttered. “My mental health…”

“You didn’t notify your supervisor,” I said. “Or HR. You just… didn’t come.”

I slid another sheet forward.

“These are your project submissions,” I said. “We’ve compared them to materials from competitor websites and previous campaigns. Large portions are plagiarized. Copy-pasted. Not even reworded.”

“That’s how marketing works,” she snapped. “Everyone borrows.”

“We all stand on the shoulders of those who came before,” I agreed. “We do not, however, steal their shoes and call them ours.”

Linda stifled a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

“And then there are your email communications,” I went on. “Calling your supervisor ‘too uptight’ in writing was… bold.”

Sarah’s eyes flashed. “He is uptight,” she said. “This whole place is. They expect me to know everything already. No one is giving me guidance.”

“Sarah,” Linda said, her tone patient. “You’ve come to work unprepared, left tasks unfinished, and then blamed others when deadlines weren’t met. We’ve tried to coach you. Twice. The situation has not improved.”

“We want this position to be a growth opportunity,” I added. “But growth requires effort. Showing up. Doing the work.”

“This isn’t fair,” she said, her voice rising, the Martinez whining edge creeping in. “You know how hard it is out there? Mom and Dad were so proud I got this job. You’re going to ruin everything.”

“Sterling & Associates is terminating your employment,” I said, thematically, like a surgeon calling a time of death. “Effective immediately.”

I slid the termination letter across the table.

“Please review and sign to acknowledge receipt,” I said.

Her hand shook as she took it. Her eyes skimmed the page, lips moving as she read.

“This is because of you,” she said suddenly, looking up at me with fury and hurt. “You walked in here, and you saw my name, and you decided to punish me. You’ve always been jealous.”

I met her gaze.

“This is because of your attendance record,” I said. “Because you plagiarized. Because you didn’t do your work. I didn’t get you fired, Sarah. You did.”

She laughed, a short, ugly sound.

“You love this, don’t you?” she said. “Power-tripping. Finally getting to be better at something. Finally winning.”

I thought about that. The years of being measured against her, the years of being found wanting, the years of swallowing it and working anyway.

“It feels good,” I said honestly. “Not firing you. Doing my job well. Being recognized for that. That’s what feels good.”