“You’re an old failure,” the director smiled crookedly as he announced my dismissal. He had no idea that, that very night, I had a meeting with the owner of his entire company…
“We’re forced to fire you, Ms. Irina Domínguez.”
The voice of Francisco Lérida, the general manager, was oily, almost sweet.
He was leaning back in his leather chair and absentmindedly playing with an expensive pen, as if it were a conductor’s baton.
“The reason?” I asked calmly, without letting my agitation show, although inside I felt a cold knot tightening my chest. Fifteen years in this company. Fifteen years of reports, projects, sleepless nights.
All undone with a single sentence. “Staff optimization,” he smiled, as if he’d just told me a lottery ticket. “We need new bl:ood, fresh challenges.
You understand, right?”
I understood. I’d already seen that “new blood”: his wife’s niece, an inexperienced young woman who couldn’t string two sentences together correctly. “I just understand that my department has the best results in the entire branch,” I replied firmly, looking him straight in the eye.
His smile cracked and turned sharp. He put his pen down on the table and leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Results?
Mrs. Dominguez, let’s be realistic. You’re a thing of the past.
Old guard. It’s time for you to take care of your grandchildren, not manage files.”
He paused, savoring his own words. “You’ve become a tired woman, a failure who clings to her chair.
And this company needs energy, not shadows of the past.”
That was it. It had been said. Not “veteran employee,” not “long-time worker.” Simple and brutal: an old failure.”
I stood up in silence.
There was no point in humiliating myself or arguing. The decision was made. “Your documents and settlement will be handled by accounting,” he tossed over his shoulder.
I gathered my things from the desk under the sympathetic gaze of my colleagues. No one dared to approach. The fear of Lérida was stronger than any office friendship.
I packed a photo of my son, my favorite mug, and a few trade magazines into a box. Each item was like an anchor ripped from my life. As I walked out the glass doors of the corporate building in Madrid, I took a deep breath of the cold night air.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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