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Brittany stared at the folder as if it had suddenly become something alive. “I can explain,” she whispered. The HR director, Melissa Grant, remained completely still.
“You will have an opportunity to explain,” she said. “But first, we need you to understand that this meeting is being documented.”
Brittany looked at me again.
“Rachel…”
I didn’t answer.
Not because I wanted to punish her.
Because I knew that if I spoke too quickly, I would say something I couldn’t take back.
The chairman leaned forward.
“Ms. Carter, the purpose of this meeting is not to embarrass you. It is to establish whether the information in your application was accurate and whether there are additional issues that could affect your employment.”
Brittany nodded rapidly.
“I understand.”
“Good,” Melissa said. “Then let’s start with the simplest question.”
She slid the first document across the table.
“Did you work for Westbridge Marketing for eight months?”
Brittany stared at the paper.
“No.”
The answer came so quietly that everyone heard it.
Melissa nodded.
“How long?”
“Three weeks.”
“Why did your application say eight months?”
“I thought…”
She stopped.
“You thought what?”
“I thought the three weeks looked bad.”
The chairman’s expression didn’t change.
“So you changed it?”
Brittany lowered her head.
“Yes.”
I looked down at my hands.
I had spent fourteen years building my career by doing the opposite.
Whenever I made a mistake, I documented it.
Whenever I didn’t know something, I admitted it.
Whenever I failed, I learned from it.
Brittany had apparently learned another lesson.
Hide the failure.
Make yourself look better.
Hope nobody looks closely.
Melissa turned another page.
“Why did you list Thomas Avery as your supervisor?”
“He was my supervisor.”
“He says he wasn’t.”
“He was technically my team leader.”
“Did he supervise you?”
Brittany hesitated.
“No.”
Melissa made a note.
“And the other two references?”
Brittany’s face reddened.
“I knew them professionally.”
“Did they agree to serve as references?”
“No.”
The room went silent again.
Then Brittany whispered, “I thought they would.”
The chairman leaned back.
“You didn’t think they would be contacted?”
“I didn’t think anyone would check that carefully for an entry-level position.”
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Nobody moved.
I finally looked directly at her.
“That’s where you were wrong.”
She swallowed.
I wasn’t angry.
That seemed to make things worse for her.
Because anger would have given her something to fight.
Instead, I was calm.
And there was nothing she could manipulate.
Melissa closed the first folder.
“There is another issue.”
Brittany looked exhausted.
“What now?”
Melissa placed a second folder on the table.
“This one concerns Alderpoint.”
Brittany froze.
My eyes moved to the folder.
“What is that?” I asked.
Melissa looked at me.
“We discovered something during the background review.”
She opened the folder.
Inside was a list of names.
Several were familiar.
Very familiar.
I recognized three immediately.
They were former Alderpoint employees.
People who had left the company during the restructuring I had led eighteen months earlier.
My stomach tightened.
“Where did you get this?”
“From Brittany’s personal email.”
Brittany’s face went white.
“What?”
Melissa looked at her.
“You authorized access to the device you submitted for the employment verification process.”
“I didn’t know you’d find that.”
“What were you researching?”
Brittany didn’t answer.
Melissa turned the document toward me.
There were search terms.
Executive compensation.
Alderpoint restructuring.
Warehouse closures.
Senior leadership.
Board succession.
And one name appeared repeatedly.
Mine.
I looked at Brittany.
“When did you start researching me?”
She shook her head.
“I wasn’t researching you.”
“Then why is my name here?”
“I…”
She couldn’t answer.
The chairman looked toward Melissa.
“Can we have a moment?”
Melissa nodded.
Everyone except Brittany and me left the room.
The door closed.
For the first time, we were alone.
Brittany stared at me.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“What did you mean to happen?”
She looked down.
“I needed the job.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“My bills were piling up.”
“Still not an answer.”
She wiped her eyes.
“I wanted Mom and Dad to be proud of me.”
I said nothing.
She continued.
“Every time they talked about you, I felt like I was standing next to someone I could never compete with.”
I almost laughed.
“Compete with me?”
“You always had something.”
“No, Brittany. I had responsibilities.”
She looked at me.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She nodded.
“You paid Dad’s medical bills.”
I stared at her.
“How did you know?”
“Mom told me.”
“When?”
“After you left.”
That sentence hurt more than I expected.
Not because she knew.
Because my mother had apparently discussed my financial help only after throwing me out.
Brittany continued.
“She said you had been paying more than they realized.”
I leaned back.
“And that changed nothing?”
“She said you were difficult.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
The family story.
I wasn’t generous.
I was controlling.
I wasn’t responsible.
I was interfering.
I wasn’t successful.
I was lucky.
No matter what I did, the explanation always changed so they never had to change their opinion of me.
Brittany whispered, “I wanted one thing that was mine.”
“So you lied on an application?”
“I panicked.”
“And researched Alderpoint’s leadership?”
She looked away.
“That wasn’t just about getting the job.”
I waited.
Finally she said it.
“I heard that the company was changing leadership.”
My heart sank.
“Who told you?”
“Mom.”
I stared at her.
“Mom knew?”
“Not everything.”
“What did she know?”
Brittany took a breath.
“She knew you were involved with senior management.”
I said nothing.
“She knew you had been working on something big.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. She said you talked in your sleep once.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
“Mom thinks I reveal corporate strategy while unconscious?”
Brittany gave a nervous laugh.
Then the smile disappeared.
“She asked me to find out what you were doing.”
