Part 2Dying Was My Best Career Move

"Morning."

No one replied.

It was 8:06 AM. The office was a tomb of mechanical clicks and white noise.

I set my bag down and saw my computer was already on. The screen was stuck on a red system alert: Your account has been forcibly logged out. Please contact your administrator.

I looked under the desk. My power strip had been yanked out—not accidentally, but with enough force to leave a gouge in the plastic.

Chris sat across from me, his noise-canceling headphones on, eyes glued to his screen. He didn't even look up.

I went to HR to borrow a spare cable. When I returned, a Starbucks cup was sitting on my desk. The label read: Peach Green Tea Lemonade. Double Syrup. No name.

Mindy’s signature. She was the only one who ordered from that shop.

Under the cup was a Post-it note. Pastel pink. Her favorite.

Don’t be mad, Norah! My treat. Peace offering? ~M.

I dropped the drink into the trash can. I kept the note, tucking it into my drawer.

At the 10:00 AM weekly status meeting, Howard was outlining the Q4 roadmap. When he got to the Market Expansion column, he paused.

"Norah, what’s the status of the Highpoint Media project?"

Before I could breathe, Mindy cut in.

"Howard, I actually chatted with the Highpoint lead yesterday. I think there’s been a little... friction in the communication? I’m not sure, but he sounded a bit frustrated."

She sounded hesitant, like she was protecting me. It was a perfect performance—just enough to plant a seed of doubt in Howard, but vague enough to make her seem innocent.

"Friction?" Howard frowned. "What kind?"

"Just... technical stuff. He said the handoffs haven't been smooth. I didn't want to dig too deep since it’s Norah’s baby, you know?"

She turned to me, eyes full of performative sympathy. "Don't be mad that I mentioned it, Norah. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

In less than fifty words, she had buried three landmines. One: she turned a non-existent complaint into a "fact." Two: she posed as the "reluctant" whistleblower. Three: she framed a betrayal as an act of friendship.

I stared at her. "The Highpoint lead told you this? When?"

"Yesterday afternoon. He called my cell."

"Did you call him back? Do you have a log?"

She laughed. It was the wounded laugh of a friend being interrogated. "Norah, you’re acting like a prosecutor. I don't record my calls. Who keeps a log of a casual check-in?"

Chris chimed in immediately. "Exactly. Mindy’s just trying to help, and you’re giving her the third degree—"

"Enough," Howard snapped. "Norah, I want a full log of every interaction with Highpoint on my desk by EOD. Meeting adjourned."

At 2:00 PM, I bypassed our local drive and logged into the corporate ERP system.

Expense reports are filed under the Administrative module, one page per month.

March: Omakase dinner. $4,800.

April: Karaoke Lounge. $4,500.

June: Cross-departmental mixer at a mountain resort. $12,000.

The limit for a mixer is $5,000.

I pulled up the scanned attachment for the June retreat. It was a handwritten receipt with a blurry stamp. Looking closely at the digital scan, I could see the faint white edges of liquid paper where the original number had been covered. The "5" had been clumsily turned into a "12."

I hit Print Screen.

The second the file saved, a notification popped up in the corner of my screen.

Mindy.

What are you working on, Norah? Come downstairs for a snack! They have those new matcha cookies, my treat!

She was sitting three rows away, smiling at me over the sea of cubicles.

How did she know what I was looking at?

No thanks, I typed.

Don’t be a hermit. Everyone thinks you’re acting so weird lately.

I heard the click-clack of her stilettos on the tile. She leaned over my shoulder, the scent of her peach perfume so thick it made my throat itch. I could see the outer ring of her colored contact lenses.

"Norah," she whispered, her voice a low frequency meant only for me. "Some things in the system are meant to be read. Others... aren't."

"I'm just doing my job, Mindy."

"Good to know."

She straightened up and shouted to the room, "Afternoon snacks are on me! Add your names to the Slack thread!"

Within seconds, six emojis flashed in the channel.

No one tagged me.

When the elevator doors opened at 6:00 PM, it was just the two of us.

She spoke first. "Norah, just so you know... those workflows you were looking at? Howard was the one who signed off on all of them."

The elevator reached the lobby. The doors slid open. She stepped out, then turned back to look at me, a sharp, peach-colored smile on her face.

"Who do you think Howard is going to protect? You... or the system?"