She hung up without saying goodbye.

Twenty minutes later, Harold stormed past my cubicle on his way to his office. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t acknowledge that I existed.

He just slammed his door hard enough to rattle the windows. Through the wall, I heard him on the phone.

“Ridiculous waste of time. Margaret’s probably confused. We’ll address her concerns and move on. No, I’m not worried,” he said.

A pause. “Cecily? My God, Josephine. She can barely read a spreadsheet. She’s not a threat to anyone,” he scoffed.

I smiled to myself. For the first time in twenty-eight years, being underestimated felt like an enormous advantage.