Julian's name appeared in a four-page report.
The complaint was submitted through the company's anonymous system and officially sent to the HR inbox. The report quoted his exact statements and included annotations stating that the content "may violate the company's DEI values," with a recommendation to "initiate an internal review process."
At 9:30 a.m., HR walked into Greg's office.
Greg was still replying to client emails, his tone steady.
"We've received a formal complaint regarding Julian Watanabe's remarks."
Greg glanced at the first page but did not continue reading.
He said, "Put him on Regulatory rotation for now. Let's clear this out first."
There were no questions, no hesitation, no further discussion.
HR nodded and left.
Julian saw the reassignment notice in the internal system.
The email looked no different from any routine personnel update. There was no subject line, no tone, no explanation.
He read it, sat still for a few seconds, then closed the screen.
His fingers rested on the laptop shell. He tapped it once. He knew that was the last time he would sit at that desk as someone with responsibilities.
Julian had no reaction when he heard about the reassignment.
He sat there, expression calm, as if someone else's name had been called.
He knew he had done nothing wrong. He also knew an explanation would not change anything.
Greg stood nearby, voice as steady as always, like he was announcing a temporary adjustment.
Julian looked at him but could not say a word. In that moment, he understood Greg's past attentiveness had only been based on utility.
The compliments, the invitations, the small smiles — all of it had come from calculation.
Now, he was no longer useful.
Greg did not look at him. He did not wait for a response.
Julian realized Greg had never intended to hear his side. He was not even given the chance to speak.
Julian left his old team and walked down the hallway he knew well.
Emma stood at the printer binding documents. When she saw him, she pretended to turn a page and shifted her body slightly to cover the print button.
Tomasz came out of the meeting room. He saw Julian, and his expression went blank within seconds, as if nothing had happened.
Rick passed by. He did not greet him. He did not slow down. His eyes stayed forward and his steps were quicker than usual.
Julian kept walking. As he moved, he could hear the sound of his shoes against the carpet.
He thought about those first weeks after his promotion to this floor. Every day he arrived five minutes early and stood outside the meeting room, rehearsing his briefings.
He remembered this hallway as the place where Greg first stopped him and said, "Your report is clearer than the one our VP wrote."
Now, when he walked through this hallway, no one called his name.
He started to wonder if he walked it a few more times, the hallway itself might forget he had ever been there.
The Regulatory Integration unit was located in a corner section of the building, near the electrical room.
When he scanned his card to enter, the lights didn't turn on right away. The air smelled faintly damp, like nothing had fully dried in a long time.
The office layout seemed built to maximize storage space for filing cabinets.
He walked to the farthest desk. No one guided him. No one looked at him.
The chair had a loose back. Under the desk were two boxes of expired printing paper. He sat down, placed his laptop on the desk, and left it shut.
Inside the drawer was an old mousepad, edges curled, faint marks of a faded highlighter still visible on the surface. A paper document sat on the desk, labeled "Internal Audit Flow 2009."
He picked it up and flipped through a few pages. Many of the terms had already been replaced by newer system standards.
He stared at the page for a moment, then closed it. His eyes landed on the wall in front of him, where a faded compliance slogan hung slightly tilted.
He didn't turn on the computer. He didn't ask for login credentials.
He simply sat there. A few minutes passed. He checked his phone. No new messages.
He didn't move again.
The sounds around him began to blur. The typing, the printers, the quiet shuffling of chairs all started to feel distant.
He knew what this was.
He had seen this before in other places. Back then, he was the one watching.
Now, he was the one sitting in it.
This was what silent dismissal looked like. No command, no punishment, no official notice.
Just relocation and silence.
At 1:30 p.m., a young man entered the office. Medium height, darker skin tone, thin build, carrying a small notebook. He looked around, asked someone by the door a quiet question, then walked over to the far end.
He sat down at the desk opposite Julian, with a clear view of his row of monitors.
"Hey," he said softly. "You're new here too?"
Julian looked at him and gave a small nod. He didn't speak.
The young man smiled, opened his notebook, leaned in slightly, and added, just above a whisper:
"This room's kinda creepy, huh? No one talks. But maybe that's better. Less bullshit."
Julian didn't respond. He stared at the clock on his screen, tapped his fingers once on the table.
He didn't dislike the guy. He just wasn't sure there was any value left in answering this kind of comment.
Still, he looked up. The glance wasn't hostile. It wasn't approving either. Just a glance.
The young man seemed to get it and didn't continue.
The room fell silent again. The hum of the AC filled the space where their voices had been.
Around 4 p.m., the door opened again.
A woman from HR stepped in. Tall, shoulder-length hair, charcoal grey suit, no collar. She scanned the meeting log, then walked toward the row of desks by the window.
Her voice was quiet but clear.
"Just here to collect the compliance logs. Don't worry, it's just temporary. Should be quick."
She picked up a few printed documents, slid them into her folder, asked no questions, and offered no further comment.
Julian stayed where he was. He didn't get up. He didn't try to speak.
When she passed his desk, she paused for a second.
He looked up at her. His expression held no hostility, but also no welcome.
She gave a brief nod. He didn't return it.
She turned to leave. Just before walking out, she glanced back at him.
It wasn't to check anything. It wasn't a kind gesture.
It was a judgment.
Like she was weighing whether this man was worth assisting.
Julian knew she wouldn't decide today.
He didn't expect her to.
At 6 p.m., the first lights outside the office building turned on.
Julian stood against a pillar in the smoking area. A cigarette half-finished between his fingers.
He said nothing. His eyes were on a small puddle on the ground, as if someone had dropped a drink earlier and no one had cleaned it up.
Ravi was nearby, cigarette in hand, unlit.
He didn't seem interested in smoking. Just standing.
After a while, Ravi spoke, voice quick, like repeating something overheard.
"Was that guy in the blue tie, Rick, right? He was in the print room yesterday with like 20 pages, muttering something about DEI compliance. ?"
Julian lowered his head and took a slow drag.
He said nothing.
He smiled, faintly. It was small, brief, silent.
He wasn't guessing anymore. He knew who had pulled the trigger. He understood why Greg hadn't asked a single question. He knew what would come next.
He put out the cigarette and headed back inside.
Someone behind him was still talking.
He didn't listen.