I don’t reply. Instead, I keep the papers near the window where the rising sun filters through the threadbare curtains. The light is harsh and unforgiving, but it shows everything, even the faults I try to hide.
This morning, when the manager laughed, I didn’t say anything. When he told me to get out, I simply stood and moved toward the door. He believes I am nobody. I suppose that means I still have the upper hand—because the real game is just beginning, and he has no idea whose name is on the lease, on the stock certificates, on the bank accounts. But for now, I wait. Quiet. Watching. Waiting for the moment when the weight of invisible things will begin to shift.
