News of my resignation spread through the company within thirty minutes.

David must have run straight to Michael and the CEO.


Half an hour later, I was summoned to an emergency meeting.

Three men waited in the conference room: the CEO, CTO, and VP of Engineering.

Quite fitting, really—a perfect reflection of my career thus far.


"Emma." The CEO gestured to a chair. "Sit, please sit."

I sat.


"We hear you're planning to leave," he began.

"Not planning—I am leaving. I've already submitted my formal notice," I replied coolly.

"We'd like to make you a counter offer."

"Not interested."

"You haven't heard our offer yet," Michael interjected.

"No need," I said. "I won't be staying."

The CEO leaned forward, folding his hands on the table—his famous "let's be reasonable" pose that everyone recognized.

"Emma, you're a valuable team member. Losing you would be a major blow to our technical capabilities. So let's talk—what would make you stay? Name it. Money, equity, housing allowance, anything."

As he spoke, a barely perceptible arrogance underlay his tone.

I nearly laughed out loud.

Now I have value? Now I'm important? Now they care?

"It's not about money," I said.

"Then what is it?" David asked, sounding genuinely perplexed.

I looked at the three of them and snorted.

These men who had marginalized me, stolen my work, discriminated against me.

"Respect," I said. "That's what I want. Something so basic, yet you've never given it to me."

Silence crashed down like an avalanche.

"That's not fair," Michael finally spoke. "We've always respected your technical abilities—"

"Me," I interrupted. "Not just my technical skills. You respect what I can do for you, not who I am. There's a world of difference."

I stood and looked down at them.

"We're done here. Goodbye."

"Emma, wait." The CEO stood too. "Don't be hasty. That code you claim to own is company property. We'll have to settle this in court—"

"My lawyer will handle everything," I said. "She's studied the contract thoroughly. The code I'm taking was written on my personal time using my personal equipment. The Git logs prove it. Sue if you want, but you'll lose. And it will be very public."

I walked to the door.

The CEO's voice halted me: "Why are you doing this?"

I turned to face him.

"Because you stole my paper—the fruits of my labor. Now I'm taking back what's mine. That's fair."

With that, I walked out without looking back.

This time, I didn't turn around.

On my final day, the engineering team's Slack channel exploded.

Everyone finally realized how much code I'd actually written.

The database optimization layer—mine.

The caching system—mine.

The API infrastructure—mine.

The core recommendation algorithm—mine.

All of it walking out the door with me.

The company panicked quickly. Their legal department fired off an email: "Removing company intellectual property constitutes theft and breach of contract..."

My lawyer responded within an hour, attaching the employment contract with Section 4.2 highlighted and Git log timestamps and IP addresses in bold.

Their legal team went silent. Their stock price began to slide.

Tech blogs seized on the drama:

"Senior Engineer's Departure from Unicorn Startup Raises Technical Debt Concerns"

"Key Developer's Exit Triggers Stock Slide"

My phone exploded with messages—reporters seeking interviews, headhunters offering jobs, competitors fishing for insider information.

I refused them all.

I had more important things to do.

Like watching my former company struggle to stay afloat.