By the time Friday rolled around, Liam had become a master of verbal gymnastics.
He'd learned how to say "I'll be transitioning soon" without ever defining when.
He'd learned how to drop references to "family strategy meetings" that didn't exist.
He'd even started forwarding articles about market shifts in agricultural logistics to Emilia — as if to prove that Vos & Kin Importers was a living, breathing entity and not a spreadsheet born from panic.
But there was one thing he couldn't manipulate: the task.
The Package Test Logging entries kept stacking. Despite his delays and shortcuts, there were still logs to process. And no one else was going to do them.
Mateo was still on light duty.
The junior analysts were being trained for other departments.
And Liam... well, Liam was still here. Working. Barely.
On Friday morning, Anika caught him at the coffee machine.
"You know," she said, stirring her tea, "most people who plan to leave a job don't hang around for three months with half their foot in the door."
Liam blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You keep talking about leaving, but... you're still here. Still logging. Still cc'd on every client QA doc. It's like you're trying to sneak out without opening the door."
He forced a laugh. "There's a lot going on. Family stuff takes time."
"Sure," she said flatly.
She didn't smile. She didn't argue.
She just walked away.
Back at his desk, Liam opened his inbox to find two new calendar invites:
Title: "Check-in: Transition Timeline" — from Emilia
Title: "Interim PTL Assistant Interview Debrief" — from his team lead
He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head.
They weren't just buying into his excuse anymore — they were acting on it.
Which meant they expected him gone.
Soon.
That afternoon, Emilia messaged him:
Liam — just a heads-up, we've had two strong applicants for your potential replacement. If your departure solidifies over the next few weeks, we'll onboard someone by next month. That should help with the PTL load.
"Your departure solidifies."
Like he was a block of ice slowly melting under the weight of his own lie.
He replied quickly:
Thanks, sounds good. Things are still moving slowly on my end, but I'll keep you posted. Might have more clarity by mid-month.
Mid-month.
Another extension. Another delay. Another box ticked.
But the days were getting tighter.
And so was the rope.
That evening, he stayed late again, just to avoid questions. He dragged out a few logs, stretched a 45-minute task over two hours, stared at the hallway lights as the office emptied.
The building was silent.
Only the soft hum of the HVAC and the click of his mouse filled the air.
Liam whispered to no one, "What happens when the lie runs out?"
He didn't have an answer.
And worse... he wasn't sure he wanted one.