Chapter 1

Valerie sobbed behind the wheel as she drove home down the darkened highway. The sun had already set despite the long summer hours- she had worked late, again, and it hadn’t been a good day even before that. She felt scared, and, worse- hopeless.

“Val, we need to talk about your behavior in the Monday meeting,” her manager, Bren, had grated at her that afternoon from the other side of a conference table earlier that day.

He was a corporate climber, concerned only with his own advancement up the career ladder. Valerie was one of the most senior engineers on the team, with triple the time at the company as Bren. She cared more about her team’s well being than about her manager’s career goals, and that made her a target.

She bit back her endless complaint that her name was Valerie, and for about the millionth time regretted choosing a name with such a ready masculine nickname. He was the only one that ever called her Val, despite her many protests. She had even raised the issue with HR, who shrugged it off; and a snide comment from Bren in their next meeting had made it clear that he knew about her complaint, and that HR was on his side, not hers.

“I know- yes- it wasn’t my best-” Valerie started, stammering. The Monday meeting had gone poorly. She had expected her team’s workload to return to normal, now that the company’s latest initiative had launched; but that was not what Bren had announced. She’d been dreading this follow-up meeting all week, knowing- more or less- what was coming.

He interrupted her, waving a hand as though literally cutting off her words:

“It’s fine for you to disagree with me during our one-on-ones,” he started.

He’d never been happy about her disagreeing with him in any venue, ever; “fine” was a wild exaggeration.

“But,” he continued, “when it comes to the rest of the team, I need you to show leadership. You can disagree, but I need you to disagree and commit.”

She hated that phrase, a favorite of his. She hated everything he said, meaningless self-serving drivel. On Monday morning, she’d spoken strongly against Bren’s plan for the upcoming quarter- beyond ambitious, it would stretch her team beyond their limit and compromise their ability to deliver on their existing long-term commitments. Her team had been working night and day for the past few months, believing Bren’s promises that it would be temporary, just until the launch.

On Monday, he had made it clear he intended the pace to be permanent. It might work in the short term, which would be enough to get Bren promoted. But half her team would quit within six months.

Valerie may have shouted a little bit and used words like “cruel” and “idiotic”.

She knew that she had to meet a higher standard. Not just because of her title, but because she was a woman. Any man at the company could shout and hurl insults and he’d be a Passionate Character. Hell, she’d had worse directed at her, specifically, from a co-founder. But, as a woman, she’d be held to a higher standard, lest she be seen as hostile and unstable. As a trans woman, she had to meet a standard twice again as high- impossibly high, really, to “justify” the company’s “indulgence”.

“-so after chatting with HR, we’re putting together a performance improvement plan to help get you back on track and keep you there,” Bren concluded, with an insultingly smug smile.

She’d zoned out while he talked, and missed a large portion of whatever he was saying, but it didn’t really matter. She understood the message, understood what it would mean to be given a PIP: be more than perfect for the next four weeks or she’d be Fired With Cause; and nobody could be more than perfect. No severance, and if the company - if Bren - decided to be an asshole about it, she wouldn’t even get to claim unemployment. She didn’t count on him developing a true sense of kindness now, after the last couple years of hell.

He pushed a sheet of paper across the table with the formal requirements of her PIP. She skimmed them, just taking in the scope of how fucked she was. Dozens of individual requirements across several different areas, the document effectively said she had to do the job of five people or else her performance would officially be considered unacceptable.

She was getting fired, in slow motion.

The car next to her blared its horn and her tires squealed as she swerved sharply, narrowly avoiding drifting out of her lane and into a collision at freeway speeds- too lost in her spiraling about what had happened today, and even more distractable than normal. Part of her wondered if it wouldn’t be easier and quicker to just veer across that double yellow line. A deep sense of panic had set in after that afternoon meeting, and had not let go.

Valerie had worked late, hours past the time when everybody else filtered out. It wouldn’t be enough to save her job, not even close; but choosing to work let her feel like something was in her control, and it took the edge off her anxiety; even as she hated herself for not simply throwing the paper in Bren’s smug, fake-compassionate face and quitting on the spot.

Working later was better than trying to think about what she would do when she was fired, with no cushion, a mountain of debt, and rent coming due.

She pulled into the garage attached to her small apartment, stumbled inside, and found she was, as ever, too mentally and physically drained to do more than brush her teeth and fall into bed. Her skin would survive not being moisturized for one night, and the anxiety gnawing at her left her too nervous to eat dinner. But, at least tomorrow was Saturday- she’d only need to put in eight hours or so to wrap up her tasks for the week, and the office should be almost empty. If she could focus, she might even get to skip going in on Sunday.