Hush Money

It was a chilly morning in the city of Austin, Texas on the day my life was changed. I was sitting at the dining table with mom, sipping a cup of coffee, and browsing the want ads in the newspaper as she read the headline news. Mom, a beautiful woman born in Shreveport, Louisiana, was fifty-one years old with a taller than average height, a slender physique, caramel-colored skin as smooth as silk, and glistening green eyes. She had long, shiny black hair, dressed with a modest elegance, and had a personality that could charm a poisonous snake.

Mom adopted me when I was born and named me Ebony to highlight the beauty she saw in my dark skin. And although I didn't look anything like her, she was an amazing parent to me and was great in so many ways. The want ads, on the other hand, were not so great. Jobs that I was qualified for and that also paid well were far and few between, and I was tired of working dead-end jobs that made it hard to make ends meet.

As I wadded the want ads into a ball, mom sensed my frustration, put down her newspaper, and placed her hand on top of mine.

"You can stay long as ya like, Ebony," she said, with love in her eyes. "But don’t worry. God has a way of workin' things out."

Mom’s words were encouraging, but it was her gentle touch that comforted me the most, and I was at a point in my life where I really needed comforting. At twenty-eight years old, I was going through a divorce, living with mom in her small, one-bedroom apartment, and trying to get my son back from what was supposed to be a summer vacation in New York with his father.

As I thanked mom for her support, the phone rang. It was a call from a woman at the temp agency I had signed up with two weeks earlier.

"Daebrun Career Institute needs a Secretary," she said. "It’s a temp position that pays sixteen dollars and eighty-three cents an hour, the equivalent of thirty-five thousand dollars a year. Are you interested?"

Heck Yeah! That’s a lot of mula! I thought to myself, before calmly verbalizing my interest.

And that’s where my story begins, with the call that changed my life in the best way, and also the worst way. The call that began my six-figure career in higher education, and my descent into racial discrimination Hell.

When I hung up the phone, I was smiling from ear-to-ear and couldn’t wait to share the good news with mom. Mom was thrilled.

"I told ya God has a way of workin' things out," she said. "All ya gotta do is believe."

The temp assignment wasn’t a full-time job and didn’t have any benefits. So, you’re probably wondering why I was so excited. The reason is really quite simple. For the first time in my life, I had gotten my foot in the door with a company that had real career potential. Daebrun Career Institute was a popular for-profit college with multiple campuses located in the United States, including several campuses in the State of Texas. I had seen Daebrun’s commercials on television and even considered enrolling in one of their degree programs. Working in higher education, even as a temp, was a step in the right direction as far as I was concerned.

In January 2012, my journey at Daebrun's main campus began in the same city where I lived, and from the very first day, it felt like home. Everything from the environment to the type of work I was doing was amazing. I was in perfect sync with the Chancellor, Dr. Hunter Hall, a professional, distinguished-looking man in his fifties, who exuded confidence and was as tall as a pro basketball player. He was a handsome man with tanned skin, fashionably styled salt and pepper hair, and an athletic physique. His eyes were greener than an emerald, and there was a warmth and kindness about him that immediately put me at ease.

Although Dr. Hall was the most powerful person on campus, he took me under his wing and treated me much like the father figure I'd never had. I developed an instant respect for him and used the computer skills I taught myself at a safehouse for abused women to impress him. And impressed he was! He was amazed by my ability to manage budgets, prepare meeting minutes, and develop presentations, and he showed his appreciation every day. I enjoyed my job and planned to work for Dr. Hall and Daebrun for many years to come.

After working on my temp assignment for two months, Dr. Hall called me to his office to meet with him.

"You're the best assistant I’ve ever had," he said, with a smile. "And the only one that reminds me of a Nubian queen I saw in a movie yesterday."

"Thank you," I said, with a slight giggle. "It's my braids, isn't it?"

I had been styling my hair in dookie braids for the last two years because they were easy to do, and I always received so many compliments.

"Yes, it's your braids," he said, with a warm smile.

Then he said he was going to buy out my contract with the temp agency and hire me permanently.

"How does Senior Secretary sound?" He said, with a grin. "It comes with a five thousand dollar raise."

"That sounds amazing!" I exclaimed, as I jumped up and gave him a hug.

When I left his office, I was on top of the world and couldn't believe how quickly my hard work had paid off. In a matter of months, I had a full-time job that paid forty thousand dollars a year and came with excellent benefits including one hundred percent tuition reimbursement. I couldn’t wait to tell mom the good news, so I called her at work.

"Mom!" I exclaimed. "You’ll never guess in a million years what happened!"

"You win the lotto child?"

"No, something better! Dr. Hall hired me full time and gave me a five thousand dollar raise!"

"I’m so proud of ya honey. God is good. I wish I could talk more, but gotta get back to them machines."

I could feel mom's smile through the phone as she hung up and went back to work. Mom was a machinist and made eleven dollars an hour standing on her feet operating machines for ten hours a day, four days a week. Standing for that many hours a day would be hard for anyone, but for mom, it was especially hard because of her age and health issues. Now that I had a permanent job that paid well, my hope was that I could eventually take care of her, so she didn’t have to work so hard.

Shortly after hanging up with mom, Dr. Hall called me back to his office.

"I want you to start managing my incoming email," he said. "I get too much, and there's not enough hours in the day to respond."

The next day, we met with the Director of Information Technology, and Dr. Hall instructed her to provide me with access to his email account, so I could manage it in a clandestine way. And even though she expressed concerns about providing me with access, she gave it to me anyway, and I began managing Dr. Hall's incoming email that day. I felt so important! I was privy to confidential, executive-level information, making important decisions on Dr. Hall's behalf, and doing my best to ensure that no one suspected that it was me, and not Dr. Hall, who was in control of his email account.

Things were great in the beginning, but then rumors began to spread throughout the campus that it was little ole' me, and not Dr. Hall, who was creating the responses coming from his email account. The rumors spread like wildfire and caused such an uproar that within days, dignitaries from Daebrun's parent company (Corporate) were at our campus interviewing employees. And when it was my turn to be interviewed, I was terrified! I felt like I was standing in front of a firing squad, both figuratively and literally.

"How long have you been pretending to be Dr. Hall?" A man asked.

"What else were you doing for Dr. Hall?" Another man rudely asked.

"Did you knowingly violate our IT Security policy?" A woman asked.

The questions came from left and right, and although I responded honestly, their stoic demeanor made me feel like Dr. Hall's job wasn't the only one at risk.

The Corporate reps continued grilling me for about an hour, and I was sweating bullets the whole time. Then, I was finally released. And as I walked back to my cubicle, all eyes were on me and I felt ashamed, even though I didn't think I had done anything wrong.

After what seemed like an eternity, Corporate emailed an organizational announcement to all staff and faculty stating that Dr. Hall had resigned from his position as Chancellor for personal reasons. When I received the email in my inbox, I was crushed because Dr. Hall was the best boss I'd ever had. And as I drove home, I experienced a rainbow of emotions: I was sad Dr. Hall was gone, happy I still had my job, worried about reporting to a new boss, and hopeful my future with Daebrun would still be bright.

Two weeks later, Mia Kelly, Dr. Hall's replacement as the new Chancellor, arrived on campus, and my hopes for a bright future at Daebrun were instantly dashed. Ms. Kelly was the polar opposite of Dr. Hall. She was a statuesque woman in her forties with cream-colored skin, shoulder-length, wavy, blonde hair, and vivid blue eyes that could melt the polar ice caps. She was as tall as a runway model, wore fitted dresses with high-heeled strappy sandals, and had a way of looking at me that sent chills down my spine.

Perhaps the biggest difference between Dr. Hall and Ms. Kelly was that Dr. Hall liked and respected me, and Ms. Kelly, on the other hand, despised me and made sure I knew it during our first one-on-one meeting in her office.

"Listen, Agony," she said, with a low, sultry voice.

"Ebony, ma'am," I nervously replied, interrupting her. "My—my name is Ebony."

"Okay, Ebony, what are you, four feet tall?"

"No. I'm five-foot-four."

"Well, that's not tall enough, Agony. Wear higher heels. Towering over you makes my back hurt."

I’m a petite woman by nature and was already wearing two-inch high heels, so the idea that wearing higher heels would keep her from towering over me was laughable, and I did laugh because I thought she was joking. This was a mistake.

"Oh yes, I heard about you," she said, donning a wide smile as she stared at me. "You're the reason my predecessor is gone."

"That's not true," I declared, with eyes as big as saucers. "I don’t know where this is coming from. Have I done something wrong?"

She didn't say a word. She just leaned back in her chair and continued staring at me like I was an alien she wanted to explore. I didn't know what to say or do, so I sat there speechless and awkwardly staring back. After two of the longest minutes I had ever experienced, she motioned me to leave, and I couldn't get out of there fast enough.

The next few months were particularly difficult as Ms. Kelly tried to break me like I was a wild horse she was determined and eager to tame. She humiliated me in meetings on a daily basis, degraded and dehumanized me with threats and fear, took away the computer duties I enjoyed, and reduced my job to getting her coffee and running errands.

I'll never forget the day Ms. Kelly summoned me to her office where she was entertaining visitors from a sister campus. When I walked in, all eyes were locked on me, and I could tell I was the topic of much conversation.

"Meet Agony, my poor excuse for a Secretary," she said, as she flipped her hair back.

No one said a word, and the silence in the room was deafening. As everyone stared at me, I was frozen, too humiliated to move or even say what my correct name was. I just stood there like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Well, Agony? What are you waiting for?" She asked, raising her eyebrows at me. "Can’t you see we need coffee?"

At that moment, I found just enough strength to turn around and walk out before bursting into tears. Then, I ducked into the bathroom and called mom.

"Sh— She’s trying to break me," I said, in between sobs. "I don’t know how much longer I can last."

"It breaks my heart ta see ya hurtin' honey," mom replied. "But don’t make waves."

"What did I do to make her hate me so much?"

"You didn't do anything. We been dealing with this crap our whole lives. She don’t want ya there 'cause you're Black, but don’t quit. Don’t lose ya good job over this, okay?"

Mom could tell I was still distraught, so she left me with one final thought to ponder.

"I know it seems like she’s in control, but I promise ya, it only seems that way. God’s in control and He knows what ya going through."

Mom's reminder about God comforted me. So, after hanging up the phone, I asked God to give me strength, then went to the break room to make coffee. Afterward, I took the cups of fresh coffee to Ms. Kelly's office, distributed them to each person, and quickly left.

When I returned to my cubicle, I decided to educate myself on workplace harassment because knowledge is power, and I needed to know if there was anything I could legally do to make it stop. I did some research and discovered that harassment, according to the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, consists of unwelcome conduct based on a protected class such as race or skin color. It becomes illegal when the conduct is so severe and pervasive that it creates a work environment that is intimidating, hostile, or abusive.

Although Ms. Kelly had created a work environment that was intimidating, hostile, and abusive, the majority of her actions, from what I could tell, weren't based on a protected class and therefore were not illegal. And since I couldn’t afford to quit my job, I continued reporting to her and suffering in silence for ten long months. That is, until the day she summoned me to her office for what I knew was to be fired. So, after taking my personal belongings to my car, I went to her office, sat down at her desk, and braced myself for the worst.

"Agony," she said, with a smug look on her face, "I hired a new Secretary. And since I don’t need two Secretaries—"

"I know. I’m fired," I said, interrupting her train of thought. "I just don’t know what I’m going to tell my son."

"Son?" She asked as her ears perked up. "You have a child?"

"Yes," I replied, as my eyes filled with tears. "I'm trying to save enough money to get him back from New York."

"Hmm, I didn’t know that. You walk around here acting like everything is rainbows, bubble gum, and unicorns," she said.

I don’t know if it was the knowledge that I was a mother, struggling financially, or had a son, that touched Ms. Kelly, but as I spoke, the smug look on her face disappeared before my eyes, and her icy heart seemed to thaw a little that day.

Then, she leaned back in her chair, crossed her toned legs, and sighed. "Ebony, you’re not fired," she said. "We have an opening in the Student Finance department. If you want to transfer, we’ll see how you do. It’s a demotion, and your salary will be reduced, but if you want it, it’s yours."

I don't know what shocked me more, that I still had a job, or that she finally said my name right, but as I sat there, tears began rolling down my cheeks as I silently cried.

When I left her office, I went back to my cubicle and thanked God that I still had my job, because I was still making more money than I had made in previous jobs, even with the reduced salary. The next day, I transferred to the Student Finance department where I was the only Black employee, my annual salary was reduced to thirty-seven thousand dollars, and my title was changed to Student Finance Advisor. As I sat in my new office and reflected on my first year of employment, I could hardly believe how fast my dream job turned into a nightmare simply because there was a change in leadership from a great boss to a horrific one. But now that I no longer reported to Ms. Kelly, I was confident there would be nothing but sunshine and blue skies ahead of my career, or so I thought.

In April 2013, my career as a Student Finance Advisor officially began. Since I had no experience, I was required to complete one week of rigorous training on everything there was to know about student finance, and one week shadowing other Student Finance Advisors as they met with students, during appointments, and completed their packaging. Packaging was a fancy word student finance professionals used to refer to the process of awarding financial aid, consisting of federal and state grants, federal student loans, scholarships, and other sources of aid, to eligible students.

It was during the shadowing phase that I realized how inconsistent the appointments were from person to person, and how manual their processes were, especially the process of calculating how much financial aid a student was eligible to receive. Day after day, I shadowed other Student Finance Advisors and watched in horror as they manually calculated everything from the total cost of tuition, books, and fees, to the total amount of financial aid each student was eligible to receive. And every time, without fail, they accidentally input the wrong number into the calculator and was forced to redo the calculation. These errors caused the appointment to drag on for way too long and put a bad taste in the mouth of the frustrated student.

Determined not to suffer the same fate, I used my computer skills to create an electronic version of the direct cost sheet my teammates were using and added formulas to automate the process. When I used it during my first appointment with a student, instead of the manual cost sheet my teammates were using, it calculated everything correctly within seconds, reduced the appointment time by a whopping thirty-minutes, and really impressed my manager who was observing the appointment. The next day, at my manager's request, I trained everyone in the department on how to utilize the electronic version I created, and it became the standard for calculating eligibility from that day forward.

Meeting with students brought me unexpected joy because I realized that many of them were just like me: Raised in poverty as children, remained in poverty as adults, and hopeful that earning a degree would improve their circumstances. These commonalities fueled my passion for providing each student with outstanding customer service, and I quickly became a favorite in the Student Finance department. On any given day, you could hear students in the hallway singing my praises to their friends, or recommending me as a point of contact, and it wasn’t long before Ms. Kelly took notice and decided to capitalize on it.

"I’ve scheduled a photo shoot for the campus, and you need to participate," she said, with a big smile on her face. "Our students love you, and you're basically a celebrity here."

The following week, a marketing team came to the campus and took professional photos of me interacting with other staff members selected by Ms. Kelly. For many hours that day, I worked with coworkers who pretended to be students in various scenarios, and it was a fun experience. A week later, Ms. Kelly took out ads containing photos of me in a local magazine and even scheduled interviews of me with the magazine's reporters. I have to admit, I loved the attention I was getting, even though Ms. Kelly really pushed the black factor.

Ms. Kelly paid extra to expedite things and two weeks later, there were photos of me in the school catalog, on free promotional swag, and on posters hanging in the hallways. My face was everywhere, and because of my interviews in the local magazine, Daebrun saw an increase in minority enrollments.

I can't be sure what the motivating factor was, but a few weeks later, Ms. Kelly transferred Latoya Johnson to the Student Finance department and told me to personally train her. Latoya was a pregnant woman in her twenties with an average height, mahogany skin she slathered with cocoa butter to prevent stretch marks, and hypnotic gray eyes she said came from her mother. She had chestnut brown hair that flowed down her back, a larger-than-life personality, and a reputation for being ghetto fabulous.

"Are you the trainer for our department or somethin'?" Latoya asked as she rubbed a mountain of cocoa butter on her arms. "Gurrl, I don't mean to be rude, but some of these folks said you're just as new as I am. So, isn't that like the blind leadin' the blind?"

"Ms. Kelly told me to train you," I replied. "That's all I know."

"Nuff said," Latoya declared.

Although our personalities were quite different, we had three things in common: We were both Christians, we were both hard workers, and we were both Black. Our commonalities made working together easy, and I was happy to no longer be the only Black person on the team.

Over the next two years, I used my computer skills to help my manager improve operations, identify past due cash, develop a strategy to complete packages timely, and create a presentation to standardize the information communicated to students.

Because of my hard work and efforts, I became an informal team lead, and my career was finally back on track. That is, until February 2015, when Ms. Kelly demoted my manager and hired a man by the name of Malcolm Webb as the Associate Director of Student Finance. Malcolm was a professionally laid-back man in his thirties with ivory skin, a stocky build, and shoulder-length brown hair slicked back into a low ponytail. He had hazel eyes, wore gold stud earrings in both ears, and had a blinding smile with the whitest teeth I'd ever seen.

On his first day as our new supervisor, Malcolm called a team meeting in the conference room and asked everyone to introduce themselves one at a time. One by one, each person stated their name, how long they had been working for Daebrun, and one fun fact. When it was my turn to speak, I said, "My name is Ebony. I've been working at Daebrun for almost three years, and I like playing scary video games."

"I like your name, Ebony," Malcolm said, with a smile and a deep, raspy voice. "It suits you well."

"Thank you, I think so, too."

"I'm also intrigued by the way you speak. How did you learn to speak so articulately?"

"When I was seven years old, I watched TV for hours with my mom, everything from reporters on the news to prime-time soap operas, after I finished my homework. Then, I pretended to be the characters I saw as I played with mom. For years, I thought we were just playing a fun game, but when I got older, I realized mom used the characters on TV to teach me how to effectively communicate."

"Wow, what an amazing story. Thanks for sharing."

Malcolm seemed like a nice man and was a seasoned student finance professional with many years of experience under his belt. And, initially, I was excited to learn under his leadership. It became apparent very quickly, though, that he didn’t share my enthusiasm.

Right from the start, Latoya and I noticed that Malcolm treated us differently than others in our department. It started out with small things like excluding us from lunch gatherings and offering snacks to everyone except us. But then he started holding team meetings without us and requiring us to constantly work the late shift while everyone else went home on time.

One day, I poked my head into his office where he was working at his desk.

"Do you have a moment?" I politely asked.

"Not really," he replied, avoiding eye contact with me. "What do you need?"

"I was wondering if it’s possible to have team meetings that include everyone, so we can all be on the same page," I said. "Latoya and I feel like we're missing important information being shared with others."

"You don't say!" he said, with a chuckle. "Here’s the deal, Ebony. If there’s something I feel you need to know, I’ll be the first one to tell you. Anything else?"

"No, that was it."

There was an awkward silence for several seconds as he stared at me, and I stared back at him. Disappointed, I turned and walked away, and could feel his hazel eyes burning a hole in the back of my head until I exited his office.

Afterward, I pulled Latoya aside and told her what happened.

"He’s obviously a racist," I said.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Maybe he got issues with you questionin' his authority, and I don't want no part a whatever's goin' on in that head a yours."

I could tell I was making Latoya nervous and didn't want to press the issue or alienate her in any way. So, I dropped it and we both went back to work. But try as I might, I couldn't get my concerns about Malcolm being a racist out of my mind for the rest of the day, and most of the night.

The next morning, I pulled Latoya aside again.

"Toy, he's discriminating against us plain and simple, and it’s gonna get worse if we don’t do something. Do you think we should complain to Ms. Kelly?"

"Oh, Hell—l—l no!" Latoya exclaimed, all fired up. "That’s a great way ta get faard and ain’t nobody got time fa that! Complainin' is White people shit. And anyway, we don't have no proof!"

"But we do have proof!" I said, passionately. "He's openly treating us different! Anyone who—"

"Stop, gurrl! Damn!" Latoya said, forcefully interrupting me. "Even if he is discriminatin' against us, at least we still have jobs. Ms. Kelly will fire us both if we complain."

I paused for a moment to collect my thoughts because I knew she was right. Then I calmly explained that I read our anti-discrimination policy, and it said employees can report discrimination anonymously by calling Corporate’s confidential hotline and leaving a message. According to the policy, once it’s reported, Corporate will conduct an investigation, and Ms. Kelly will never know who submitted the complaint because the information will be kept strictly confidential.

After thinking about it for a minute, Latoya nodded her head and sighed.

"Okay, gurrl, this could work, but I ain't making the call," she said.

"No worries," I replied. "I’ll make the call tonight."

When I got home, mom was sitting at the dining table mixing a cup of baking soda water.

"Hey honey, how was ya day?" She asked, looking at me with dark circles under her eyes, and sounding a little tired.

"Long. I'm glad to be home. You feeling ok, mom?"

"I'm constipated and my stomach's upset. Must've ate somethin' bad."

Then, mom chugged the baking soda water down, kissed me on the forehead, and went off to bed.

I wasn't planning to keep mom in the dark about what I intended to do but decided at the last minute not to tell her. It would only make her worry, and she needed to rest. So, after verifying that mom was asleep, I made the phone call to the anonymous hotline using my best fake accent to disguise my voice.

"Aahm an employee at the main campus. Aahd like ta file a complaint against Malcolm Webb, the Associate Director of Student Finance. He's discriminatin' against his negros. He's excludin' them negro folks from meetin's and lunches, sharin' his snacks with everyone else, and forcin' em ta work late while everyone else gets ta leave on-time. Aah hope y'all will investigate."

As I hung up the phone, I felt good knowing I had done the right thing, and confident that all would be well.

Now, hindsight is 2020, and looking back, reporting discrimination anonymously was absolutely the wrong thing to do because Corporate didn’t conduct the investigation themselves like the policy said they would. Instead, they notified Ms. Kelly that an anonymous discrimination complaint was received and instructed her to investigate it. And since it was more important to her to find out who the rat was than to actually conduct an investigation, she used the process of elimination to flush out the guilty party.

She started with Latoya. My heart raced as I watched Ms. Kelly go into Latoya’s office and walk away with her in tow. About twenty-five minutes later, Latoya walked back to her office with Ms. Kelly following close behind her, and when her teary eyes met mine as I intensely watched from my office, she mouthed the words "I’m sorry". When I read her lips, my heart sank into my stomach, and I felt violently ill.

Then, Ms. Kelly went into Malcolm's office and closed the door behind her. For the next twenty minutes, I sat in my office on the verge of vomiting and wishing I were a fly on the wall in Malcolm's office.

When Ms. Kelly finally came out, she made her way to my desk, and if looks could kill, I would’ve been dead in my chair.

"Ebony, a word?" She said, with a low growl as she turned and walked away.

I slowly stood up and began following her, and as I walked, there was no doubt in my mind, I was in deep, deep trouble.

When we arrived at Ms. Kelly’s office and walked in, she closed the door behind us and tore into me like a rabid dog before I even had a chance to sit down.

"After everything I’ve done for you! After everything I gave you! You air our dirty laundry to Corporate? I made you a celebrity! I gave you a career, and this is how you repay me? I should’ve fired you when I had the chance!"

"I—I’m sorry, Ms. Kelly," I replied, as my eyes welled up with tears.

"Oh, you're sorry alright!" She snarled. "Sorriest excuse for an employee I've ever seen! And you've committed career suicide. So, think about that, and get out of my office!"

Tears flowed freely from my eyes as I left her office and began the long walk of shame back to mine. And as I got closer to the Student Finance department, I saw Malcolm, standing in the entryway, and grinning at me like an evil clown in a horror movie. I was emotionally exhausted after the verbal beating I took from Ms. Kelly, so I scurried passed him, went into my office, and closed the door, and breathed a sigh of relief because I still had my job, and hoped everything would blow over and return to normal in a few days.

When I arrived at work the next day, I realized that everything was not going to blow over and return to normal anytime soon. Malcolm was furious when Ms. Kelly informed him that I made the anonymous phone call to Corporate. So, he retaliated against me. He reviewed my completed work and riddled it with errors making it appear that I was incompetent and putting my job at risk, verbally abused me in front of coworkers, called me Darky in private, and made me work more late shifts than anyone else. And, since he knew my sister was now a student at Daebrun, he tampered with her financial aid which caused a delay in the additional student loan funds she had borrowed to help mom catch up on her car payments, which delayed the stipend check she was supposed to receive and resulted in mom's car being repossessed.

Things with Malcolm were so bad that I dreaded coming to work, afraid of the new attacks each day would bring. My job became a living nightmare from which I could not awake, gave me an enormous amount of anxiety, and resulted in forty pounds of weight gain over a three-month period due to stress.

One afternoon, Malcolm stopped by my office unexpectedly and closed the door.

"My how the mighty have fallen," he said, with a light-hearted chuckle. "The posters of you were pulled down a few minutes ago, and your face is being removed from all marketing material as we speak. So, guess what? No more celebrity Ebony!"

Then, he shrugged his shoulders, and cheerfully said, "Oh well. Ready to quit yet Darky?"

I didn’t say a word, I just stared at my computer screen, and feverishly typed while he stood in front of my desk glaring at me in a way that gave me the creeps. He glared at me for about a minute and then, out of nowhere, busted out laughing. He laughed so hard he almost choked on his own spit.

As he stood in front of my desk pointing at me and laughing, I wanted to cry but managed to hold the tears back long enough for him to get the hell out of my office. Then, I cried. I felt so alone, and there was no one I could turn to for help, because Ms. Kelly retaliated against me, too. She spread vicious rumors about me across the campus and labeled me as the girl who cried racism. And because she was the Chancellor, and her words carried a huge amount of weight, she transformed me from the racial discrimination victim that I was into a social outcast, and no one, not even Latoya, wanted to talk to me let alone be seen with me. And I didn’t dare file another discrimination complaint. I was too afraid of being fired or making matters worse.

As I sat at my desk crying, I knew it was just a matter of time before Malcolm unjustly fired me, or I buckled under the pressure of his hate and resigned. I also knew that no matter which method brought about the loss of my job, the end result would still be the same. Without my job, I would go spiraling back into poverty, and the thought terrified me.

As I continued worrying about my job, my mind began to wander, and I started having dark thoughts, very dark thoughts, about Malcolm, and what I would do if I ever saw him alone in a dark alley with no cameras and no witnesses. I'd do my best to beat the living shit out of him, stab him a few times with a butcher knife, then force-feed him my shit until he gagged and begged for mercy. And if he tried to crawl away as he bled, I’d pull out my gun and shoot him. Yeah, just shoot him. Or should I stab him again? Stab him or shoot him? Shoot him or stab him? Stab him or shoot him...

For the next fifteen minutes, I sat at my desk smiling, blankly staring at the wall, as I embraced the darkness and imagined all the ways I would hurt and kill Malcolm. Suddenly, the phone on my desk rang, snapping me back to reality. I was alarmed by my desires, especially because I began to understand the conditions that cause good people to snap, hunt down, and kill their bosses, along with anyone else who gets in the way. So, I quickly grabbed my keys and purse and left the place fostering my evil thoughts. And as I drove out of the parking lot and reflected back on the last three years of my employment, I assured myself that there was a light at the end of the dark tunnel, even though I couldn’t see it yet, and it wasn’t a freight train coming to run me down, or so I thought.