The Summons
I received the email on a Tuesday morning—a calendar invite from Becca titled simply “Meeting – Urgent.” No agenda, no explanation. Just a time: 2:00 PM. My stomach immediately knotted itself into a pretzel.
I’d been avoiding her since my HR complaint, taking lunch at odd hours and keeping my head down at my desk.
When 2:00 rolled around, I smoothed my blouse, squared my shoulders, and made the long walk to what used to be the corner office I’d dreamed about. Becca was sitting behind the mahogany desk, scrolling through her phone.
She didn’t look up when I knocked. “Close the door,” she said, still not making eye contact. When she finally put her phone down, her smile was pure venom wrapped in sugar. “I know you went to HR,” she said, her voice eerily calm.
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. “That was a bad move, Cathy.” The way she said my name made my skin crawl. I tried to maintain my composure, but my hands were trembling so badly I had to clasp them together in my lap.
There was something in her confidence that terrified me—like she knew something I didn’t, like she was holding all the cards in a game I didn’t even know we were playing. She leaned forward, manicured nails tapping rhythmically on the desk.
“Did you really think that would work?” she asked, tilting her head with mock curiosity. What happened next would change everything I thought I knew about my fifteen years at Midwest Mutual.