SARAH JUST SMILED AND HANDED ME THE EMAIL THAT COST ME EVERYTHING
I stared at the attachment name, my fingers trembling over the mouse, just seconds before the pitch meeting was set to begin.
My blood ran cold as the document loaded. It wasn’t the final proposal draft I was expecting. It was a long email thread, dated yesterday, forwarded to our CEO.
My name was all over it. Along with my project, picked apart line by line, twisted, my ideas presented as flawed or unoriginal. Not just criticism, but strategic sabotage, framed as ‘urgent concerns’ from Sarah. The bright screen glare felt harsh on my eyes.
She walked up behind me, her heavy floral perfume sickeningly sweet in the tense air. “Just checking you got that file okay!” she chirped, leaning in close. “Wouldn’t want any tech issues before you present *our* hard work, would we?”
I could feel the panic clawing up my throat. My carefully crafted words, my late nights, my future – dismantled by someone I thought was my friend. The sheer audacity of her standing there, smiling. It wasn’t just professional betrayal; it felt deeply personal. I wanted to scream. The meeting reminder popped up on my screen. Five minutes. Everyone was waiting. The noise of footsteps outside the conference room door suddenly sounded deafening.
Then my screen flashed with an incoming video call request, labeled ‘Urgent – CEO’s Office’.
👇 Full story continued in the comments…I snatched the mouse, clicking ‘Accept’ with a trembling hand. Sarah was right behind me, a knot tightening in her jaw as the CEO’s face appeared on my screen, grim and unsmiling.
“Listen,” he said without preamble, his voice cutting through the tension. “Just got an email forwarded to me. From Sarah. Some… pretty concerning points about your pitch, supposedly just came to her.”
My gaze flickered to Sarah, whose sickeningly sweet smile had completely vanished, replaced by a look of stunned horror. This was it. The moment of reckoning. The email was still open on my screen, evidence glaring.
Taking a deep, shaky breath that smelled faintly of Sarah’s cloying perfume, I looked directly at the CEO on the screen. “Yes, sir,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “I just received that email. Sarah forwarded it to me approximately two minutes ago. It appears she sent it to you first.”
The CEO’s eyes narrowed. “Two minutes ago? The email is dated yesterday evening.”
“Exactly, sir,” I replied, feeling a cold clarity wash over the panic. “I have the full thread here. It was sent to you yesterday, hours after our final pitch review meeting concluded successfully. I only received it now, minutes before the presentation is set to begin.” I gestured towards the screen. “The points raised in the email… they’re questions and considerations that were discussed and definitively resolved during the development process, often with Sarah’s direct involvement and agreement. The data she claims is ‘unsubstantiated’ is on slide 17, sourced from reports she herself helped compile. The ‘flawed methodology’ she highlights was a different approach we explored and *discarded* weeks ago because the original, the one in the pitch, was far more robust – a decision she concurred with.”
I turned slightly, meeting Sarah’s eyes, her face pale and frozen. “To present these as ‘urgent concerns’ now, minutes before I walk into that room… it feels less like constructive feedback and more like an attempt to deliberately undermine the presentation right before it happens.”
The CEO’s gaze shifted from my face on the screen to somewhere beyond me, presumably where Sarah stood. His voice, when he spoke again, was low and frigid. “Sarah. Is this accurate? You had these concerns yesterday but waited until now, and sent them only to me initially?”
Sarah sputtered, her hand flying to her mouth. “I-I… I just had some last-minute thoughts, urgent thoughts… I wanted to ensure full due diligence, cover all bases…”
“Due diligence after the fact, presented as critical flaws right before the pitch?” the CEO finished, his tone laced with ice. He looked back at the screen. “[My Name], thank you for this clarification. Go ahead and deliver the pitch as planned. I have reviewed the summary, and based on what I see and hear now, I have full confidence in the material. We will… discuss the timing and nature of this ‘feedback’ internally after the meeting.”
The CEO’s face disappeared from the screen. The line went dead.
Silence descended, thick and suffocating. Sarah stood rigid, her facade completely shattered, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief. She had miscalculated. Badly.
I slowly closed the email window. The crushing weight of betrayal was still there, but beneath it, a hard, bright core of resolve had formed. She hadn’t cost me everything. She had just given me the sharpest weapon I could have asked for.
I stood up, pushing my chair back. The footsteps outside the conference room grew louder. “The meeting is about to start, Sarah,” I said, my voice quiet but firm, devoid of emotion. I didn’t need to scream. She knew exactly what she had done, and she knew I knew. And more importantly, the CEO knew.
I walked past her, the faint, sickeningly sweet scent of her perfume a bitter reminder of the friendship that had just imploded. The conference room door loomed. I squared my shoulders, clutched my laptop bag, and walked in, ready to deliver the pitch of my life. The fight wasn’t over, but the first battle had just been won, not by stealth and sabotage, but by the cold, hard truth.