The Corner Office
The Mentor's Shadow

The Threat

August 25, 2026 · Part 8 of 10 · 2 min

"Sit down, Naomi."

It wasn't a request. Gerald closed the workroom door behind him with a soft click that felt louder than it should have.

"I'm not doing anything wrong," she said. "I'm allowed to look at files on a shared drive."

"You're allowed. Sure." He pulled out the chair across from her instead of sitting behind some desk of authority — always the collaborative one, always the mentor, even now. "But I think we both know you weren't looking for a template."

She said nothing.

"Celia called you, didn't she." It wasn't a question. Something in Naomi's face must have answered it anyway, because he nodded slowly, almost sadly. "She does this. Every few years, some new person she decides to poison against me. It's very sad, honestly. She was talented once."

"She has a screenshot, Gerald. An email you edited."

For the first time, something behind his eyes went perfectly still — not guilt, Naomi realized with a small, sick jolt. Calculation.

"People believe what they've already decided to believe," he said, almost gently. "You believed I saw something special in you, eight years ago. You still believe it, don't you. Even right now."

"That's not an answer."

"Fine. Here's an answer." He leaned forward, voice dropping to something almost tender, which was somehow worse than shouting. "You've had a good run here, Naomi. Better than good. Do you know how many people would say a word wrong about you if I ever suggested — even once — that maybe you'd become unstable? Jealous of a junior climbing faster than she should? It wouldn't take much. A quiet word here. A concern raised there. I've had a lot of practice."

The floor tilted the way it had the night Celia wrote he checks things.

"You're threatening me."

"I'm explaining the weather," Gerald said, standing, straightening his tie in the reflection of the dark laptop screen. "Talent doesn't scare me, Naomi. Talent that gets close enough to see behind the curtain — that's a different problem." He opened the door. "Nine o'clock. I'll see you in the room."

He left it open behind him.

On her phone, already, a new email had landed — subject line: checking in — some concerns re: N. Castellanos. Sent forty minutes ago. Sender: Gerald Voss. Recipient: HR.

Continue the story Part 9: The Room →

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