Chapter 5: The Last Stand

Of course I didn’t sign.

I looked at the document, then at Priya, then at Kunal. I slid the papers back, unflinching. No force on earth could make me put my name to that.

Whoever wants that rubbish job can have it.

Let them try their luck with the drinking parties and endless travel. I wasn’t born for that circus.

Seeing I didn’t react, HR raised her voice. “According to Section 22 of the company’s management regulations, refusing a reasonable job transfer is considered a voluntary breach of contract. The company has the right to terminate your employment unilaterally.”

She recited the rule like a schoolkid at morning assembly, but her voice trembled. In the Indian corporate jungle, the rulebook is the boss’s favourite weapon.

What nonsense.

The words slipped out before I could stop myself. Priya’s eyes widened, but I didn’t care anymore.

Having a technical supervisor do sales and socialising—is that a reasonable transfer?

It was laughable. In which world was this ‘reasonable’? I wanted to ask if the chairman’s son would ever get such a transfer.

I protested. “Director Kunal, the project needs people right now. If I leave…”

My voice was almost pleading. A last-ditch effort, more for my own conscience than for him.

Kunal Mehra cut me off.

His hand sliced the air, final and absolute. “Bas, ho gaya.”

“That’s not your concern. Priya, has the recruitment started?”

He spoke as if I was already gone. The disrespect stung.

HR instantly switched to fawning mode. “Don’t worry, Director Kunal. We’ve already posted on all major platforms. As you requested: only top NIT or IIT master’s degree or above, overseas study experience preferred.”

Her tone changed instantly, sugar-sweet for the boss. The class system was alive and well in the office.

Kunal Mehra nodded, satisfied.

He smiled, the kind of smile that made my skin crawl. “This is how we build a world-class team.”

“Remember, from now on, my team must have pure elite bloodlines. Don’t let any stray cats or dogs in.”

The words hit me like a slap. In my mind, I saw my father’s tired face, my mother’s pride, my own struggles—dismissed as nothing.

I almost cursed out loud.

I bit my tongue, but the urge to swear in my mother tongue was strong. I held it in, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

Kunal Mehra waved me away impatiently.

He flapped his hand like I was a persistent housefly. The humiliation was complete.

“Alright, that’s settled. If you can’t accept it, just get lost.”

It was over. No drama, no last-minute reprieve. Just three words: get. lost. The Indian way, where the boss’s word is law.

The arm can’t beat the thigh. (You can’t fight the boss.)

My grandmother’s words rang in my ears: “Haath, pair se nahi jeet sakta, beta.” I realised then—sometimes, walking away is the only way left.

I gritted my teeth. “Fine, I’ll go.”

My voice was quiet, but inside I was roaring. I turned on my heel, refusing to let them see me cry.

HR chimed in, “Then it’s voluntary resignation. No severance. Clear your desk by today. Your access will be revoked at 6 p.m.”

Priya’s tone was all business now. She handed me the exit checklist, her eyes flickering with sympathy.