My ID Hit the Layoff List, I Left in Ten Minutes Chapter 1

I had worked at Horizon Holdings for three years without a single late arrival on my record.

This afternoon, the layoff notice went up. Right there on the third line was my employee ID.

Fine by me.

It took me exactly ten minutes to hand over my responsibilities, pack my things into a cardboard box, and walk out.

But right at the main entrance, the CEO's daughter blocked my path.

She looked completely innocent. "Um, firing you was just a little show for my boyfriend. You can come back to work now."

I looked at the exit clearance papers in my hand, covered in official red stamps, and then looked back at her.

"Miss Sinclair, do you think if I eat this piece of paper right now, we can pretend none of this happened?"

…

Monday, 11:40 AM.

Twenty minutes before lunch.

I was still debating whether to grab a turkey sub or some takeout tacos when Lily from Administration rushed over to my desk.

"Luke! The bulletin board! Go look, quickly!"

Her face was pale, like she'd seen a ghost.

I let go of my mouse and walked down to the end of the hallway.

A crowd of colleagues had already gathered around the board, whispering and buzzing with nervous energy.

I squeezed through the gap and cast my eyes over the paper.

Notice of Third-Quarter Personnel Optimization and Restructuring

Underneath was a list of employee IDs and names.

Third line.

ID: HZ-20210315.

Name: Luke Benson.

Department: Technical Operations and Infrastructure.

Oh.

I stared at those words for three seconds.

Then I turned around and walked back to my desk.

The quiet murmurs of my coworkers followed me.

"Luke is on the list?"

"Isn't he the guy who maintains the entire company system?"

"It's not like he's the only one who can do that job, right?"

Right. I wasn't the only one.

I sat back down in my chair and pulled open my desk drawer.

There wasn't much inside.

A thermos, an unopened pack of wet wipes, and a thick LSAT prep guide, something I had bought on my very first day at Horizon and hadn't opened once.

I swept everything into a small cardboard box.

Then I sent a quick message to Marcus, my department head: "Marcus, I saw the list. How do you want to handle the transition of my tasks?"

Marcus replied instantly: "Wait, you're on the list? I haven't even looked yet... hold on, don't pack up, let me ask around."

I didn't wait.

I opened my computer, updated the last-modified dates on my three main server maintenance documents, and saved them to the shared network drive.

Then I composed a brief email to the department group.

Subject: Ops Transition Memorandum

The body of the email contained only one sentence:

"All system admin credentials, server configurations, and third-party API documentation are saved in the shared drive under the folder 'Luke Benson - Ops'. If you run into issues, refer to the documents."

Send.

I checked the time.

Exactly eight minutes had passed since I saw the notice.

I shut down the computer, unplugged my flash drive, and unclipped my ID badge.

The box wasn't heavy, easily cradled in one arm.

I stood up and took one last look at the cubicle where I had sat for three years.

On the divider, there was a sticky note from last year:

"Remember to swap out the backup hard drives in the server room on Friday."

I peeled it off, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into the trash.

My colleagues watched me in silence.

No one spoke.

No one came over to say goodbye.

That was fine.

When layoffs happen, the survivors are usually too busy feeling relieved and terrified of being next to offer any real sympathy.

I walked to the HR office and knocked twice.

Audrey, the HR supervisor, opened the door. She froze when she saw me. "That was fast."

"Let's get the paperwork over with," I said.

Audrey gave a slightly awkward smile and handed me a stack of papers.

Termination agreement, non-compete waiver, final payroll confirmation.

I signed them one by one.

"About the non-compete," Audrey said quietly. "Standard protocol means we wouldn't usually waive this for someone of your level, but since you were put on the list, management decided to release you from it directly to keep things simple."

I nodded.

No non-compete meant I could go to a competitor tomorrow.

I guess that was the only real perk of getting laid off.

As I signed the last line, Audrey stamped the documents with the official corporate seal.

"Thanks for your hard work, Luke. Your severance will be deposited by the end of the month."

"Sounds good."

All in all, ten minutes.

Three years of my career, wrapped up and filed away in ten minutes.

I walked out of the HR office with my cardboard box, crossed the lobby, passed the bulletin board, and stepped into the elevator.

I was alone in the elevator car.

I looked down at the box.

The thermos, the wipes, the pristine LSAT prep book.

It felt incredibly light.

I wasn't even sad.

Three years at Horizon, earning eighty thousand a year, a perfectly average salary.

My daily grind consisted of maintaining the company's internal intranet, keeping the servers running, and dealing with various messy software integrations.

To put it bluntly, I was just the IT guy.

Firing the IT guy was a standard corporate move.

The elevator doors opened on the first floor.

The bright midday sun made me squint.

A few people were bustling across the lobby, paying no attention to me.

I headed toward the glass entrance doors.

And then I stopped.

Someone was blocking the exit.

Specifically, a young woman wearing a cream-colored dress and high heels.

Sienna Sinclair.

The only daughter of our CEO, Arthur Sinclair.

A mythical figure around the office.

She rarely ever set foot in the building.

But here she was today, standing right in front of me.

She glanced at the box in my hands, then at the empty space on my shirt where my badge used to hang.

"Are you Luke Benson?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Look..."

She glanced around, dropping her voice to a whisper.

"The whole firing thing? It's not real."

I stared at her. "Excuse me?"

"I had them add your employee ID to the list," she said casually, as if she were talking about the weather.

I didn't say anything.

She continued to explain, "My boyfriend, Zach, is a bit of a jealous type. He hates the idea of some guy constantly coming around to help me fix my laptop or whatever. I just wanted to put on a little show for him to make him feel secure, to let him see that you were gone."

"So you just..."

"Yeah, it was just a little act. Don't worry about it. I'll talk to my dad later, and you can just come back tomorrow like nothing happened."

She finished speaking and flashed me a sweet smile.

It was so sweet that for a second, I thought I was losing my mind.

"Miss Sinclair."

"Yes?"

I shifted the box to my left arm and reached into my pocket with my right hand, pulling out a sheet of paper.

My official termination letter.

Complete with the bright red HR stamp and signatures.

"The paperwork is already done."

Sienna's smile faltered.

"What do you mean?"

"It means I've already signed the exit agreement, HR has stamped it, my severance is locked in, and my non-compete is waived."

I gave the paper a gentle wave in front of her face.

"Legally speaking, once this is signed by both parties, the employment relationship is officially over. It's binding."

"Why... why did you sign it so fast?!"

"My name was on the list. Did you expect me to sit around and wait for a formal farewell party?"

Sienna was stunned.

She clearly hadn't anticipated that anyone would execute their exit paperwork within ten minutes of a layoff notice.

"Wait a second, let me make a phone call right now..."

"Miss Sinclair," I interrupted, stepping around her.

"A piece of advice."

"Next time you want to put on a show, make sure you brief your actors first."

Then I walked out.

Behind me, the sharp click-clack of her heels hurried after me.

"Wait! Luke! Stop right there!"

I didn't look back.

The security guard at the door looked at me, then at Sienna chasing after me, completely bewildered.

I gave him a nod. "Take care, Gary."

"Take care, Luke," Gary replied automatically.

And then he watched the CEO's daughter stand frozen at the glass doors, looking like a lost mannequin in her high heels.

The sun was warm.

And for my first day of unemployment, the sky looked incredibly blue.