The Past is Prologue, cont.

“This may explain the crowd gathered outside our office, Miss Johanssen.”
“Crap,” I said. “Where did you find that?”
His mouth bunches with distaste under his patrician nose. “My daughter-in-law thought she recognized you on television last night. This clip appeared on a program called Heroic Rescues, and she searched the web and emailed me the address.” Taking his mouse back from my numb fingers, he scrolls down the page to a web counter. “It appears this site has had 138, 274 hits.”
“Great. Just great.”
“Did you sign a release for the publication of this material?”
“Of course not!”
“Then I shall serve them a cease and desist notice. Gratis, because you have been a good employee to us. However, for the forseeable future, your presence at the office is causing more disruption than your work is worth. I must let you go, Miss Johanssen.”
My eyes flicked back and forth between the damning web page and his cold blue eyes. “You’re firing me, Mr. Winstead?”
“I prefer the term laying off. Rose has your final check. We have credited you for accrued vacation and included a bonus. Now, if you will gather your effects and leave through the front door, so your adoring public can follow your departure, I may be able to complete some actual work here.”
I picked up the check. I had two weeks pay, four days vacation, and one week’s bonus. Rose snapped her gum at me and said, “Told you you shoulda worn more lipstick.”
She wasn’t worth wasting a glare on. My usual ally in the office, Mr. Utter, the other law partner, had gone on vacation. After Mr. Winstead returned from six weeks in Hawaii, Mr. Utter was overdue for time off, and I couldn’t blame him. But his absence left me vulnerable in the firm. Neither Winstead nor Rose would miss me one bit.
I grabbed a box and walked into my office. It was small, and most of the books, the computer, the office supplies all belonged here. Strange that I’d left so little imprint in thirteen months as their only legal assistant.
I took down the water color print of Stockholm harbor, looked through the drawers for anything mine. As I stuffed a comb, a few printouts, my Seahawks mug and my own reference books into the box, I calculated. I still hadn’t paid off my student loans. I had very little savings. I’d be lucky to stretch this final paycheck out more than six weeks -- not a long time to find another job. I’d have to start immediately.
I put my PDA, wallet, and cell phone in my briefcase. I armored myself in my tan trench coat, lifted the box and the briefcase, and moved to the door. I briefly considered taking the back door, and leaving Winstead to the crowd. But I wasn’t willing to sink to his level.
Squaring my chin, I opened the front door and walked out.