Chapter 5 - The Weight of Regret
Lauren lowered her head, staring down at her scuffed shoes. The arrogance that had once defined her posture was completely gone, replaced by the crushing weight of unemployment, legal fallout, and social exile.
"I lost my job," she said quietly, the words sounding small and heavy in the cavernous, unfinished room. "The partners fired me the next morning. They said my behavior at Aurelia represented a severe violation of corporate ethics and liability. Word travels fast in wealth management, Maya. Nobody in the city will touch me now. My apartment lease is up next month, and... and I had to sell my car."
I didn't gloat. I didn't smile. I simply watched her, feeling a strange, distant detachment.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Lauren," I said, and surprisingly, I meant it. I wasn't happy about her ruin; I was simply indifferent to it. "The financial sector is ruthless. You should know that better than anyone."
Lauren looked up, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. "I came here because... because I didn't know who else to talk to. Everyone I thought was a friend vanished the second I lost my title. And I remembered... I remembered how you built all of this. From nothing. Through hard work."
She took a hesitant step forward, her voice breaking. "How did you do it, Maya? How did you survive when everyone around you was treating you like you didn't matter?"
I uncrossed my arms and stepped off the drywall stack, walking slowly toward her until we stood face-to-face. Up close, I could see the fine lines of fatigue around her eyes—the exact same lines I used to see in the mirror during my first year in business.
"I survived, Lauren, because I stopped waiting for other people to validate my worth," I said, my voice steady and clear. "In high school, you made me feel small because I let you. I cared what you thought. But the second I realized your opinion had zero bearing on my actual capabilities, your power over me evaporated."
Lauren swallowed hard, a tear finally spilling over her lashes. "I was a monster to you back then. And I was a monster to you two months ago."
"Yes, you were," I agreed without hesitation. "You never grew up because you never had to. You relied on your social standing, your looks, and your status to protect you from ever having to develop real character."
She nodded slowly, the admission tasting like ash in her mouth. "Is there... is there any work here? Anything at all? I'll do dishes, I'll scrub floors, I'll do whatever it takes. I just need a start."
I looked at her for a long, silent moment. I thought about the girl who used to mock my thrift-store clothes, the woman who laughed as red wine ruined my shirt. Then I thought about who I was now—a woman who didn't need petty vengeance because my success was already the loudest answer I could ever give.
"We don't need a dish-washer, Lauren," I said softly.
Her shoulders sagged.
"However," I continued, "our corporate compliance division in Chicago is looking for an entry-level compliance auditor to review vendor invoices and expense reports. The pay is modest, the hours are brutal, and you will report directly to a manager who won't care about your resume or your old social circle."
Lauren’s head snapped up, hope flickering faintly in her red-rimmed eyes. "Really? You'd... you'd give me a job?"
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"I'm not giving you a job, Lauren. I'm offering you an interview," I corrected, turning back toward my contractor. "If you pass the background check and survive the probation period, you can earn your way up, just like everyone else."
I looked back at her over my shoulder. "Class starts at 8:00 AM sharp on Monday. Don't be late."
