Claire looked at him for a second after he said that.
Nobody in the room jumped in to save her this time. My husband said even the managers looked tired, like they already knew how the meeting was supposed to go.
Claire finally asked, “Do you want accountability or a scapegoat?”
The room went dead quiet.
Her boss tried to laugh it off. “I think we all know what the issue is here.”
Claire nodded once and slid a folder across the table.
Not dramatic. Just calm.
“I figured we should probably look at the actual issue then.”
Inside were email chains.
Weeks of them.
Requests she’d sent warning management the reporting numbers were being pulled from outdated files. Screenshots showing another manager approving the wrong dataset anyway. Time stamps proving Claire was off the clock during half the errors they’d blamed on her.
My husband said one manager actually stopped turning pages halfway through because his face went red.
Then Claire pulled out one more sheet.
A resignation letter.
Effective immediately.
That’s when her boss finally started sounding nervous instead of smug.
“Claire, nobody’s saying this is all on you.”
She looked right at him and said, “You copied me on every mistake for six months before anybody even checked who caused them.”
Nobody argued with that.
Because they couldn’t.
Then she looked toward Tyler, who apparently looked like he wanted the floor to open up underneath him.
“And for what it’s worth,” she told him, “you should probably start job hunting too. They’re going to need somebody else to blame once I’m gone.”
My husband said nobody even tried stopping her when she stood up and walked out with her coffee.