Chapter 3

I stayed in my office for the rest of the afternoon.

The news vans were still down there. Same spot, same cameras, all pointed up at the building like they were waiting for something to fall.

I stood at the window and looked at them for a while.

Then I laughed—short, quiet, mostly at myself.

Starting today, I'm just running a business.

I picked up the desk phone and called the head of admin.

"Tomorrow morning, nine o'clock. Full company meeting, main conference room. We're announcing a resolution to the maternity benefits situation."

A pause on the other end. "Are we... giving in?"

"No."

I looked at the camera crews below.

"It's time for them to pay something for this."

The conference room was full by eight fifty the next morning.

It felt more like a pre-game huddle than a company meeting. Petra was in the front row, center seat, dressed like she had somewhere better to be afterward. She was talking to the people crowded around her, and whatever she was saying, they were nodding.

"There's too many of us for her to do anything. We'll get a real answer today."

Della was next to her, legs crossed, phone face-up on the table. Two days ago she'd stood behind Petra staring at the floor. Now her screen was ready to record.

The rows behind them were quieter. Everyone else had come to watch.

Nine o'clock. I walked in.

I went to the front of the room and looked out at them—satisfied faces, expectant faces, and a few who were just waiting to see what happened.

I bowed.

Not a polite nod. A full, deliberate bow.

"First, I want to apologize."

The room shifted. Scattered applause, then louder. Someone said "finally." Petra lifted her phone and took a photo, and she wasn't quite managing to hide how pleased she was.

I straightened up.

"I inserted myself—without adequate communication—into decisions that are fundamentally personal. Decisions about your bodies, your recoveries, your families. I acted on good intentions, but I didn't ask. I created pressure where there should have been choice. I'm sorry for that."

More applause. Louder.

I waited for it to settle.

"Out of respect for everyone's right to make their own decisions, and after overnight discussions with leadership, we're making the following changes, effective immediately."

I paused.

The room went quiet. Everyone leaning forward slightly.

"First. We are terminating our partnership with the maternity center in full. All associated services—recovery support, the classes, help with breastfeeding, all the pregnancy perks—end today."

The room erupted.

Petra stood and grabbed the arm of the person next to her. Someone cheered from the third row. There were actual hugs. Della put her phone down for a moment to clap.

They'd won. That was what they thought.

I kept going.

"Second. As compensation, the company will introduce a maternity support stipend for eligible employees."

The noise dropped. Everyone looked at me again, waiting for the number.

"One hundred and fifty dollars. Per person, per month."

Silence.

Petra's phone slid off the table. It hit the floor with a flat crack and she didn't reach for it.

"I'm sorry?"

"A hundred and fifty dollars," I said. "Monthly. For employees who qualify."

"Seraphine Alcott." Her voice had gone somewhere strange. "What happened to the rest of the money? The budget for the center—where does that go now? To you?"

"What budget?"

"The partnership. The whole program. All of it—"

"The contract was in my name," I said. "Not the company's. The difference between the center's standard rate and what employees paid was covered by my personal account. It never went through company financials. There's nothing on the books because it was never company money to begin with."

I let it sit.

"That money was mine. I've decided to stop spending it this way. Any issues with that?"

No one said anything.

They'd spent two days assuming the maternity center was company property—something in the budget, something that belonged to the organization and therefore to them. Something that could be argued over and redistributed.

It hadn't crossed anyone's mind that there was nothing to redistribute. That what they'd been using was a personal gift, not an entitlement.

"You're lying." Petra's voice came back up sharp. "That's not possible. You're making that up."

"Think what you want."

I turned toward the door. Stopped.

"One more thing. As a courtesy."

"Conrad Rafferty's team reached out yesterday to formally pause our partnership until this situation is resolved. The board met last night. I have twenty-four hours to present a plan that cuts operating costs by thirty percent."

The expressions in the room changed, one by one.

I walked to the door. Behind me, someone started crying. Then I heard Petra's name, in a voice that wasn't friendly.

By the time I pushed the door open, they were already turning on each other.

I didn't look back.

"The layoff list goes out to your inboxes tomorrow morning."