The conference room felt colder than usual. Fluorescent lights hummed, casting a sterile glow over the polished mahogany table. I sat near the back, a knot forming in my stomach.
Marcus stood at the head, his navy suit impeccably tailored, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. Aunt Brenda sat beside him, nodding along.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” Marcus began, his voice dripping with false concern. “We have an urgent matter regarding the urban development project.”
My gaze drifted to the board members. Their faces were a mix of impatience and mild curiosity. They seemed oblivious to the storm brewing.
“Specifically,” Marcus continued, turning to me, his eyes narrowing, “the $1.2 million audit folder for the Northside revitalization initiative seems to have… vanished.”
My breath caught. I gripped the armrests of my chair.
“Nia, as our archivist, you were the last one handling it,” he stated, his voice now sharper. “Where is it?”
My heart hammered. I had meticulously filed that folder. I remembered stacking it on my out-tray just yesterday.
“I filed it, Marcus,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “It was on my desk before lunch yesterday.”
He scoffed, a dismissive sound. “Well, it’s not on your desk now, is it? We’ve searched everywhere. This is a critical document, Nia. Without it, the entire project is in jeopardy.”
A few board members exchanged glances. I could feel their judgment.
“We can’t afford this kind of oversight,” Marcus pressed, leaning forward with feigned sincerity. “Given your… recent struggles, perhaps the stress is getting to you.”
A low murmur spread through the room. It was the same old insinuation: I was losing my grip.
“So, Nia,” he said, pushing a resignation letter across the table towards me, “you have a choice. Resign voluntarily, citing personal reasons, or I’ll have to recommend immediate termination for gross incompetence.”
The paper, crisp and white, seemed to glow under the harsh lights. My vision blurred for a second.
Just then, the conference room door creaked open. Albert Barksdale shuffled in, his cane tapping softly on the floor. He wore his usual tweed jacket, looking entirely out of place amidst the sharp suits.
A quiet hush fell over the room. Everyone knew Albert preferred his executive suite.
He walked slowly towards the table, his eyes twinkling as he looked at me. Then he reached into the inner pocket of his sweater.
He pulled out a thick manila folder. It was the Northside revitalization audit folder.
Marcus’s eyes widened, his face draining of color.
Albert placed the folder gently on the table. He slid it towards Marcus, then pointed a gnarled finger at the sign-out sheet on the front.
“Marcus,” Albert said, his voice raspy but clear, “you signed this out yourself, last Tuesday, at 3:17 PM. Said you needed to review it before the board meeting.”
Albert then leaned closer, his voice carrying just enough for everyone to hear.
“You seemed to have forgotten.”
The room fell into a stunned silence. Every pair of eyes in the room darted from the folder to Marcus.
Marcus’s face, a moment ago so smug, now burned a furious crimson. He couldn’t meet anyone’s gaze.
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