Nastya was fired for her age, labeled “dead weight.” A month later, the entire department was hauled in to meet the new owner of the company—her…
“Nastya, come in,” Igor Petrovich’s voice sounded routine, almost lazy. But Anastasia, who had learned to distinguish dozens of shades of his mood over twenty years at the company, understood at once—this wasn’t good. She stepped into his glass “aquarium,” feeling a dozen and a half people behind her freeze and prick up their ears. … Read more