“What the hell did you DO, for God’s sake?!”

  Fran?ois-Xavier’s roar shook the glass walls of his top-floor office, the nerve-center of Sogedam’s headquarters. Behind him, nailed to the wall like a trophy, hung an oversized photograph of himself squeezed into a Formula Three cockpit, dressed head-to-toe like a professional racer.

  Charles—summoned the second he returned—stood in front of the desk with his eyes down, waiting for the storm to pass. Figuratively, at least. The real storm outside was only getting started.

  “Do you even realize the shitstorm you’ve dumped on us?” Fran?ois-Xavier went on, pacing behind his chair. “I just spent an hour on the phone with that fossil Rugalières, trying to convince him not to sue the agency. And lucky you—he says he’ll only file a complaint against you. Works great for me, since as of now you’re no longer part of the company! Silver lining: dismissing you for gross misconduct means I don’t owe you a single cent in severance!”

  Charles went pale.

  “What? But I—”

  “Oh, you’re surprised?” Fran?ois-Xavier barked, cutting him off. “You invite yourself over to one of our biggest clients’ homes to insult him and threaten him in our name, and you act shocked when you get fired? Come back down to Earth, buddy—you’re completely out of touch.”

  He leaned forward, eyes blazing.

  “Between you and me, I knew the day I took over this company that you’d crash and burn eventually—with your drinking problem and all. But this fast and this spectacularly? I’ll admit it, Beldone, I’m impressed. You’re the Mozart of stupidity. If you hadn’t screwed us so badly, I’d probably applaud. Now get out. Just looking at you gives me hives.”

  Charles’s head was spinning—the whisky he’d chugged before the meeting was catching up to him. He swallowed hard and forced himself to meet the man’s stare, trying not to focus on the blinding shine of his veneers.

  “Please, Mr. Challier… I’m begging you,” he stammered. “My job is all I have. If you take it away, I’m… I’m nothing. I don’t even have a… a purpose anymore.”

  “No, you’re wrong, Beldone,” Fran?ois-Xavier replied, flashing a predatory grin. “You’re not nothing. You’re less than nothing. Got it? Even your mother should be ashamed of you.”

  “My mother?” Charles blinked, thrown off balance. “What does she have to do with this?”

  “Everything! She gave birth to you, didn’t she? Too bad she didn’t use protection—we’d all be spared the burden. She didn’t give birth to a man. She gave birth to a dog.”

  Charles froze. Every muscle in his face tightened.

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  “That’s what you are, Charles—a mutt. Only good for licking my father’s boots back when he was still alive. That’s the only thing you ever did right. Maybe your sad puppy-dog eyes moved him—old age made him soft. But with me? Doesn’t work. I can’t even stand the sight of your pathetic face. Clear?”

  Something deep in Charles ruptured. A buried anger he had spent a lifetime choking down started clawing its way up.

  “Don’t… call me… a dog,” he growled, jaw clenched so tightly it might crack.

  “Or what?” Fran?ois-Xavier laughed. “You gonna try some judo move on me? You can barely stand, you drunk wreck. Listen, I’m giving you two options: you walk out with whatever dignity you have left, or I call security and they throw you out with their boots up your ass. Honestly, I’d love the show. So? What’s it gonna be, tough guy?”

  Charles held his gaze for a long moment—then, with a monumental effort, let his shoulders drop.

  “This isn’t over,” he said quietly, turning away.

  “We’ll see about that!” Fran?ois-Xavier shouted after him. “Now go deal with the paperwork with Jennifer. And enjoy the view of her tight little ass while you still can—it’s the last time you’ll get to stare at it! Goodbye, asshole!”

  As if Charles gave a damn about Jennifer’s backside. You had to be a real creep to make a comment like that.

  He packed his belongings into a cardboard box in silence, running on autopilot. Fifteen years in this place—fifteen years of loyal work—and this was how it ended. Thrown out like trash. Correction: thrown out by Fran?ois-Xavier, who hadn’t even tried to hide how much he enjoyed it. The spoiled brat had hated him from day one and had jumped at the first excuse to get rid of him. As if no employee had ever lost their temper with a client before.

  People weren’t machines, damn it. They cracked sometimes.

  And the insults on top of it? Calling him a dog—that word he hated more than any other, the one that dragged all his worst memories back to life.

  How dared that smug little bastard talk to him like that?

  And how had he let himself be humiliated so completely?

  What had he become?

  He stopped moving.

  He’d just placed the last object in the box: a metal paperweight shaped like a one-euro coin, a cheap Christmas gift from the company committee. Hideous. But he’d be damned if he left them a single thing—not even this junk.

  He looked around the tiny office one last time. His little den for so many years. Four white walls. A single photograph on the bulletin board—a sun-faded picture of him standing next to Mr. Challier Senior, his old boss. The only man who had ever respected him.

  Now dead.

  “What am I going to do?” Charles whispered, tears burning his eyes.

  “Mr. Beldone?” came Jennifer’s voice through the door—calm, detached. “If you’ve finished gathering your things, you may leave now.”

  Charles straightened, drained the last gulp of whisky from his flask, grabbed his box and his bag, and walked out of Sogedam for good—without looking back.

  Outside, he sprinted to his car to avoid the heavy rain now hammering the pavement. Moments later, he was driving toward the only place he knew he could still find comfort:

  The first open bar.