Gemotions

The transfer email landed in Brenda's inbox like a lead weight. She slammed her fist on the desk, rattling the already precarious stack of papers. Accounts Payable. That’s where they were shoving her. After five years in Marketing, where she *belonged*.

Her new desk was practically in the broom closet. The lighting was dismal, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and defeat. She decided to bring her own coffee maker – a gleaming, chrome behemoth – and place it directly across from old Mr. Henderson, who always seemed to have a permanent, unsettling sheen of sweat on his brow. She would hum loudly while brewing her morning coffee.

Brenda began to “accidentally” misfile invoices. She'd “forget” to forward important emails. The weekly reports, meticulously crafted for years, suddenly became a jumble of incorrect figures and misleading data. She found a certain grim satisfaction in watching the chaos unfold.