That is the end of one story and the beginning of the one I’m in now. The one where I show up Monday morning and the work is mine and I know what it’s worth.
I know what it’s worth because someone once described it as administrative, and then a client asked for me by name, and I had a number ready when someone offered to hire me.
The number was accurate. I didn’t undersell it.
I am not going to again.
The Conference Room and What Followed
There is a version of the conference room meeting I have told in shorthand, because shorthand is how you survive the first weeks after something happens. The short version is: Victor closed the door, Luke was already seated, my father told me my role was being restructured, and I drove home.
The longer version is what I actually remember, which is that I sat down in a chair I had sat in for hundreds of meetings and my body understood something before my brain caught up. The room was too quiet. Luke was looking at the table with the specific inattention of someone who has been briefed and is managing a feeling about it. Victor had a piece of paper in front of him that he didn’t look at again after we sat down, which meant it wasn’t notes — it was a prop, something to have in front of him so the conversation had a shape.
“We’ve been thinking about the leadership structure,” he said.