It was at the firms anniversary gala, when he handed me a glass of champagnethe same hand that, just three hours prior, had signed my notice of termination.
The ballroom in the five-star London hotel gleamed beneath enormous crystal chandeliers. Colleagues, partners, and investors mingled, laughing and congratulating one another as though it were the happiest evening in the companys history. I stood at one of the tall tables, dressed in a navy blue gown, clutching my invitation like a ticket to my own embarrassment.
No one knew yet.
Just three hours earlier, I had been summoned to the managing directors office.
Nothing personal, hed said quietly, as he signed the paperwork. The firm has a new direction now.
And that new direction was called Emily.
Emily was our latest rising star. Young, confident, with the perfect smile for investors and an uncanny knack for appearing right where success was already assured.
Now she stood by the stage, chatting with the director as if shed always belonged there.
There you are, said a voice behind me.
I turned.
The director held a tray of champagne flutes.
You dont look like someone celebrating, he added, with a faintly patronising smile.
Im simply observing, I replied.
He handed me a glass.
No need for hard feelings. Youve done good work for the firm.
I took the glass.
Thank you.
At that moment, the host for the evening stepped onto the stage.
Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention!
The room quieted.
This year our company has reached new heights. And part of that success is thanks to a very special project.
My heart began to race.
That project was mine.
Two years of work. Sleepless nights. Meetings. Analysis. Strategies.
And tonight, were excited to introduce the new head of department, wholl take this project even further.
Emily made a small step toward the stage.
Smiles spread among the crowd.
But before we do, continued the host, wed like to show a short video about the creation of the project.
The lights dimmed.
On the screen behind the stage, the first images appeared.
Emily smiled confidently, ready for applause.
But after a few moments, her smile began to falter.
Because the video was not what she expected.
It began with footage from an internal meeting.
Emily was speaking.
If we use her analysis and simply change the name on the presentation, no one will ever know.
Silence descended upon the room.
Then another clip.
Shes naive, Emily said. Works for us.
Someone dropped a glass.
Emily paled.
This is spliced together, she whispered.
But the video continued.
On screen appeared the last frame.
Me.
In the same hall, just a week ago, delivering the trial presentation.
The project is entirely mine, I said calmly.
The lights came back up.
The hall was silent.
The director looked at me.
Is that true?
I took a sip of champagne.
There is one more thing, I said.
I pulled a small envelope from my handbag.
The patent for the project was registered two months ago.
I handed him the document.
In my name.
Murmurs broke out among the guests.
Emily stood motionless.
So began the director.
So, I interrupted calmly, no one may use the project without my permission.
Low conversations rippled through the hall.
I glanced at Emily.
Cheers, I said, raising my glass.
And while those around us slowly realised what had happened, just one question echoed in my mind.
Did I do the right thing?
