"Take it," Richard said. "Sign an NDA, and this goes away."
I looked up.
He continued, calm as ever. "Fight me, and you lose everything. My attorneys will drag this out for years. You'll burn through what little savings you have left. You're 63, Bennett. Be practical."
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I thought of my mortgage and empty savings. The humiliation of being dismissed like broken office furniture after 32 years.
My fingers brushed the edge of the check.
Then a voice came from the doorway.
"Bennett, don't."
I turned.
Diane stood there, pale and trembling, a black USB drive in her hand.
Richard shot to his feet. "What are you doing in here?"
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She ignored him and walked straight to me.
"I should have done this sooner," she said, placing the drive on the desk. "Three months of emails, draft agreements, internal memos, legal notes, and his approvals are on all of it."
