That was unusual.
The second conversation lasted nearly an hour behind a closed door.
When the lawyer finally left, he saw me sitting at my desk.
For a second, I thought he might say something.
Instead, he simply nodded.
By Wednesday night, my imagination was running wild.
Maybe the company was restructuring.
Maybe my position was being eliminated.
Maybe Richard was unhappy with something I had done.
There was another possibility I couldn't ignore.
Business had been difficult recently.
Revenue had declined over the previous months, and several employees had already been let go.
Every time someone lost their job, Richard looked older afterward.
He never admitted it, but I knew those decisions affected him.
Still, knowing that didn't make the possibility of becoming the next person any less terrifying.
Then came Thursday.
I entered Richard's office with his afternoon schedule.
There was a folder sitting directly in front of him.
My full name was printed across the top.
Before I could read anything else, he closed it.
"What's that?" I asked.
"Nothing you need to worry about today."
"Today?"
He looked at me.
"Not yet."
My stomach tightened.
"Not yet what?"
"Tomorrow."
That was all he said.
I barely slept that night.
I lay awake calculating bills in my head.
Rent.
Utilities.
Groceries.
My mother's expenses.
My brother's school costs.
I tried telling myself I was overreacting, but every clue pointed in the same direction.
The personnel file.
The lawyer.
The accountant.
The mysterious document.
The Friday meeting.
By morning, I had convinced myself I was about to lose everything.
At exactly four o'clock that afternoon, Richard came downstairs.
The first thing I noticed was that he wasn't wearing a tie.
I had worked with him for seven years and could count on one hand the number of times I had seen him in the office without one.
"Let's go," he said.
"Where?"
"Not far."
We got into his car.
He didn't explain anything during the drive.
Ten minutes later, we stopped beside a small park.
There were a few families in the distance, an older couple walking slowly along a path, and children playing near a row of trees.
Richard walked toward a bench.
I followed.
He sat down.
I remained standing.
"Sit down, Emily."
I couldn't.
My heart was pounding.
Finally, I said what I had been thinking all week.
"Mr. Bennett, if you're going to fire me, please just say it."
Richard looked at me.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he said quietly:
"Fine. As of today, you no longer work for me."
Even when you expect bad news, hearing it can still feel like being hit.
My stomach dropped.
Seven years suddenly seemed to disappear in one sentence.
I forced myself to speak.
"Can I ask why?"
"Because I've made my decision."
"Did I do something wrong?"
"No."
"Did I make some kind of mistake?"
"No."
"Then why?"
Richard folded his hands.