I looked at their faces. Familiar. Arrogant. Deceitful. Then at Willow's impatient scowl.
The anger in my chest didn't explode. It evaporated, replaced by glacial calm.
I stood. This time, no slouching. Spine like steel.
"Ms. Pruitt. Everyone." My voice came out steady, devoid of hesitation. "Over the last seven years, I've printed thousands of documents, fetched countless deliveries, ordered your coffees, restructured your chaotic proposals, debugged your code, polished your presentations, and translated your vague gibberish into coherent reports."
I let the words hang.
"But you're right. According to you, none of that counts. Just me 'coasting.' I certainly don't deserve a week in the Maldives."
"I don't need more training. And resignation isn't a threat—it's a notification."
"I'll honor the one-month notice period." I swept my gaze across the room, meeting each pair of eyes. "However, I will only hand over duties explicitly listed in my job description."
"As for the data models, strategic plans, source code, and presentations sitting on your computers—the ones bearing your names but built by my hands..."
A cold smile.
"Good luck. I hope you can continue to 'create value' without me."