Chapter 4

At 3 PM, I ran into Jessica in the break room.

She was making coffee. When she saw me enter, her hand shook.

"Charlotte."

"Mm."

I walked to the water dispenser and filled a cup.

She stood there, looking uncomfortable.

"Charlotte, Miranda asked me to coordinate with you this afternoon about the Stellar project materials. Is that convenient?"

"Convenient."

I turned to look at her.

"Jessica, can I ask you something? When you got pregnant, what did Miranda tell you?"

She hesitated.

"Tell me what?"

"How she arranged your leave."

Jessica looked down, stirring the coffee in her cup.

"Miranda said I should focus on the pregnancy, not worry about work, and that when I came back after giving birth, she'd give me a raise."

"How much?"

"Twenty percent."

I laughed.

I'd been here six years and only got a 5% raise last year. She'd been here one year, was pregnant, and was getting 20%.

"Charlotte, what are you laughing at?"

"Nothing."

I set down my water cup.

"Come on, let's go to my desk. I'll transfer everything to you."

She followed me, her steps hesitant.

At my desk, I pulled a USB drive from the drawer.

"All the Stellar project materials are on here. Client contacts, email correspondence, quotes, contract drafts—everything packaged."

She took it, looking surprised.

"That fast?"

"I always keep backups."

I looked at her.

"There are some other things I need to tell you verbally."

"Okay."

She opened her phone's notepad, ready to take notes.

"Francis Reed is the main project contact. He's pretty casual, prefers discussing business in informal settings. Last time we signed the contract at a dinner meeting."

Jessica nodded seriously.

"Also, he doesn't like corporate speak. The more direct, the better."

"Got it."

"Last thing." I paused. "Francis values relationships. He's worked with me for three years because we've known each other since college."

Jessica's note-taking hand stopped.

She looked up.

"Charlotte, you and Francis are classmates?"

"Yeah." I looked into her eyes. "He introduced this project to me."

The break room suddenly went quiet.

I could see it in her eyes—panic, calculation, and a trace of barely concealed guilt.

"Charlotte..."

"I don't mean anything by it." I smiled. "Just reminding you—some things can't be handled just by swapping people."

I picked up my bag.

"The materials are yours. I'm leaving."

"Charlotte!"

She called after me.

"What?"

"Are you... really resigning?"

I didn't answer. I just turned and left.

As I reached the elevator, I heard hurried footsteps behind me.

Miranda's voice: "Jessica, how did it go? Did she hand everything over?"

"She did."

"Are the materials complete?"

"Complete, but..."

"But what?"

"Miranda, Charlotte is Francis's college classmate."

Silence for a few seconds.

"I know."

"Then..."

"It's fine." Miranda's voice remained composed. "Francis is a businessman. He cares about profit, not personal relationships. As long as the contract terms are good enough, it doesn't matter who handles coordination."

The elevator arrived.

I stepped in and pressed the button for the first floor.

Miranda was right—Francis was a businessman.

But she'd miscalculated one thing: what businessmen value most isn't contract terms. It's trust.