Chapter 2: Memorial Weekend Set-Up

After two months of nonstop overtime, finally landing a major client, the HR manager came to my office herself.

She knocked just once, then breezed in with that big corporate grin. "We’re lucky to have you here. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have met our quota this year."

"It was a team effort," I replied, almost by reflex. The words tumbled out before I could stop them—good soldier mode, drilled in by years of office politics.

"There aren’t any urgent projects right now. You should take a couple days off and recharge."

The suggestion was tempting—almost suspiciously tempting. For a second, I wondered if there was a catch. Still, I was bone-tired, brain foggy from all those late nights. The rings under my eyes weren’t going anywhere.

Normally, I’m not one to go out much, but after two months of three or four hours of sleep a night, my body was at its limit. My heart was pounding all the time.

Now, being told I could finally take a break—of course I was moved.

My shoulders slumped in relief. It felt like someone had finally cut me a little slack, like maybe I hadn’t been invisible after all. I tried not to show just how desperate I was for the offer.

Taking advantage of the Memorial Day weekend, I could go to the doctor for a checkup and actually rest at home. Not bad at all.

A chance to nap, maybe catch a Mariners game on TV, or at least eat something that didn’t come from a vending machine. I pictured myself with my feet up, beer in hand, pretending for a minute that the world outside didn’t exist.

So, I quickly filled out the PTO request and handed it to the HR manager.

She signed it right away, barely glancing at the form.

So, under the jealous eyes of my coworkers still stuck at their desks, I strolled out of the office.

I could practically feel the daggers in my back as I passed by—Shannon from accounting whispering to Mike, probably betting on how long before I came crawling back. It almost made me laugh, if I wasn’t so tired.

I went straight to the clinic for a full physical. With the grind lately, I needed to make sure nothing was wrong.

The waiting room smelled faintly of Lysol and stale coffee. I watched a kid play with a toy firetruck while I filled out forms, thinking about all the checkboxes I’d never wanted to tick: chest pain, fatigue, anxiety.

Afterwards, I grabbed an Uber home and crashed the moment I hit the bed.

I don’t even remember kicking my shoes off. I just face-planted into the pillow, phone buzzing somewhere out of reach.

When I woke up, it was already the afternoon of the next day.

I picked up my phone and saw a bunch of missed calls.

Still groggy, I called back.

"Hi, this is Derek. I saw you called?"

"Hello, I’m from the procurement department at Crescent Holdings. I’d like to learn more about your company’s products."

The second I heard "Crescent," I snapped awake.

That was one of the top groups in the region. I’d always wanted to get in touch with them.

I never expected them to reach out to me first.

It was the kind of break you dreamed about—like winning the lottery, only the numbers lined up for once. I had to bite my tongue to keep from sounding giddy.

I jumped out of bed.

"I’ll send you our product overview right away. If you need more details, just let me know and I’ll follow up immediately. Does that work for you?"

After getting confirmation, I rushed to clean up, grabbed a granola bar, shoved it in my mouth as I put on my shoes, and hurried out.

I barely looked in the mirror—my hair a disaster, tie askew, but none of that mattered. I had one shot to turn things around.

Just as I got to the office building, I ran into our department’s intern, Matt.

"Hey, Matt, what are the odds?"

I greeted him, about to ask him to help organize and proofread the product materials.

But Matt looked at me strangely, like he wanted to say something but was holding back.

I paused, waiting for him to speak.

"Boss, you already know, right? Man."

I was puzzled. "Know what?"

Matt sighed. "Anyway, I’ve got your back."

Then he hurried off, embarrassed.

He nearly tripped over the recycling bin in his haste, face red as a stop sign. Something was definitely off.

I didn’t have time to ask more, so I walked into the company, confused.

But as soon as I stepped inside, I noticed almost every coworker was staring at me.

The fluorescent lights seemed harsher than usual, buzzing overhead as I walked the gauntlet of silent stares. They looked at me exactly the way Matt had just now.

What the hell was going on?