Amara felt her face grow warm.
She knew exactly what he meant by you people.
But she refused to let him redirect the conversation.
"The Arabic source identifies a particular owner. The latest description doesn't."
Kessler's smile vanished.
"That's a matter for legal counsel."
Amara nodded.
"Then legal counsel should review the discrepancy."
Victor looked irritated.
He told her she was no longer assigned to the project.
Then he demanded that she stop discussing the transaction with colleagues.
Amara explained that she'd already documented her role as a trustee and wanted the firm to address the conflict appropriately.
Victor stared at her.
For a moment, his expression became cold.
"I think your judgment is compromised."
She looked toward the memorandum.
"My judgment didn't change the Arabic text."
Nobody answered.
Three days later, Amara was placed on administrative leave.
Two weeks after that, her employment ended.
The official explanation was a breakdown of confidence in her professional judgment and failure to follow internal procedures.
Amara disputed the characterization.
She had raised the conflict, documented the discrepancies, and refused to certify a translation she considered inaccurate.
But pursuing a formal challenge required time and money she barely possessed.
Her mother was gone.
Her brother needed care.
And the legal expenses connected to the community trust were already draining her limited savings.
She left the office on a rainy Thursday carrying a cardboard box.
Inside were family photographs, a coffee mug, a notebook, and the small brass desk ornament Daniel had given her when she received her promotion.
As she stood outside the building, commuters rushed past beneath black umbrellas.
Her phone vibrated.
It was a message from her landlord reminding her that the next month's rent was due.
Amara stared at it.
Then laughed softly.
Not because anything was funny.
Because sometimes disappointment arrived so relentlessly that a person ran out of ordinary reactions.
She walked toward the subway station.
By the time she reached Brooklyn, the cardboard box was damp and her shoes were soaked.
Daniel was sitting at the kitchen table when she entered.
He looked up.
"You're early."
Amara placed the box down.
He stared at it.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then he asked whether she'd lost her job.
She nodded.
Daniel closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
Amara shook her head.
"Don't."
He looked toward her.
She forced a smile.
"We'll figure it out."
He didn't smile back.
He knew how often she'd been saying that lately.
The next months were difficult.