Chapter 6: Batch 0611

"Don't go in there," Sam said.

"It's my lab."

"It's his building. He fired you on the internet. He'll fire you again in person, in front of an audience, and enjoy it."

"Let him."

Sam rubbed his face with both hands.

"Then at least let me come."

"If you walk in with a lawyer, nobody in that room will say a word to me."

So on Monday morning Ray drove me to Georgetown, and Sam sat in the truck with him and hated it.

Thayer Professional is a long brick building that used to be a brewery.

Jared's father painted the name on the side in green letters when I was still in high school.

I'd walked through that front door almost every weekday for seven years.

My badge didn't open it.

The receptionist saw me through the glass and went pale.

She buzzed me in anyway.

"Hannah. Oh my God. Your foot."

"I just need my things."

"I'm supposed to call security."

"Call them."

She did, but she did it slowly.

I was already halfway down the hall on my crutches by the time the guard caught up.

He was a big quiet man who'd once helped me jump-start my car in the snow.

He didn't stop me.

He just walked beside me.

The lab was on the second floor.

Fifteen people at the benches looked up at the same time.

My chemists. My techs.

The room smelled the way it always did.

I'd hired half of them.

Nobody said hello.

A few of them looked at my boot and looked away fast.

My office was the glass box in the corner.

Somebody was in it.

Alyssa sat at my desk with her feet tucked under her, scrolling on her phone.

My plants were gone off the windowsill.

My framed patent was gone off the wall.

There was a new nameplate on the door.

ALYSSA MONROE, CREATIVE DIRECTOR.

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