Chapter 2: The Walls Close In

Three weeks into his tenure at Northwood University, Leo Vance had accomplished what most would consider impossible. Working eighteen-hour days in his basement bunker, he'd somehow managed to produce seven professional-quality videos using equipment that belonged in a museum and his own gear filling the gaps. The results spoke for themselves: the university's YouTube channel had exploded from a few hundred subscribers to over fifteen thousand, with individual videos pulling in view counts that dwarfed anything in their previous catalog.

But none of that mattered to Karen Sterling.

"Leo, we need to talk." Her voice cut through the quiet hum of his editing computer like a blade. He looked up from his timeline, where he was fine-tuning the color correction on a campus tour video that had already garnered twenty thousand views in two days.

"What can I help you with, Karen?" He saved his work and turned to face her, noting the manila folder clutched in her hands like a weapon.

"I've been conducting my preliminary performance review, and I have some concerns." She opened the folder with theatrical precision. "On September 15th, you arrived at 8:47 AM. Our official start time is 8:30 AM."

Leo blinked. "I stayed until 2 AM that night editing the alumni spotlight video. The one that got featured on the university's homepage?"

"Our policy clearly states that core hours are 8:30 to 5:30. What you do outside those hours is your choice, but it doesn't excuse tardiness during business hours." Karen made a note in her folder. "On September 18th, you took a lunch break lasting one hour and twelve minutes."

"I was interviewing Professor Martinez for the faculty series. She was only available during lunch."

"The standard lunch break is one hour. Twelve minutes is twelve minutes." Another note. "And on September 22nd, I observed you outside the building during work hours with what appeared to be smoking materials."

Leo felt his jaw tighten. "I took a five-minute break at 3 PM. I was stressed about the deadline for—"

"Smoking on campus is against university policy, Leo. Even if you're technically off campus grounds, the optics are concerning. What if a prospective student saw a Northwood employee engaging in such behavior?"

The irony was suffocating. While Karen documented his bathroom breaks and coffee runs, Leo's videos were transforming the university's digital presence. The campus tour video had been shared by the admissions department across every social platform. The alumni spotlight had prompted three major donors to increase their contributions. The faculty series was being used as a recruitment tool for prospective professors.

But Karen Sterling only saw infractions.

"I understand your concerns," Leo said carefully, "but I'd like to discuss the performance metrics for the content itself. The analytics show—"

"Numbers can be misleading," Karen interrupted. "Views don't necessarily translate to quality or brand alignment. I'm more concerned with process adherence and professional standards."

Leo pulled up his analytics dashboard. "The campus tour video has a 94% positive engagement rate. Comments are overwhelmingly enthusiastic. The admissions office says applications are up 12% since we launched the series."

Karen glanced at his screen with the expression of someone forced to examine roadkill. "As I said, numbers don't tell the whole story. What matters is whether you're representing Northwood's values appropriately."

"And what values would those be, exactly?"

"Professionalism. Punctuality. Compliance with established protocols." Karen's smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "Speaking of which, I'll need you to start submitting detailed daily activity reports. I want to know how you're spending every hour of your workday."

Leo stared at her. In the corporate world, this was called constructive dismissal – making someone's job so unbearable they quit voluntarily. But he couldn't afford to quit. Not yet.

"Of course," he said. "I'll start those immediately."

"Excellent. Oh, and one more thing." Karen's tone became sickeningly sweet. "I've noticed some inconsistencies in your video descriptions and metadata. Moving forward, I'll need to approve all content before it goes live."

That was the killing blow. Karen Sterling, who couldn't tell a camera lens from a coffee cup, wanted editorial control over his work. She would delay, nitpick, and ultimately destroy the creative process that had made his videos successful.

"I see," Leo said quietly.

"I knew you'd understand. We're all on the same team here, Leo. I just want to make sure you succeed." Karen closed her folder and turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, Director Reed would like to see you in her office tomorrow at 9 AM. Nothing to worry about – just a routine check-in."

After Karen left, Leo sat in the fluorescent-lit silence of his basement office, staring at the wall where he'd hung printouts of positive comments from his videos. "This is exactly what we needed to show our campus!" read one. "Finally, Northwood feels alive and modern!" said another.

His phone buzzed with a text from Chloe Martinez, the communications coordinator who'd become his closest ally in the department: "Coffee? You look like you need it."

Twenty minutes later, they sat in the campus Starbucks, Leo's hands wrapped around a large coffee like it was a life preserver.

"She's building a case," Chloe said without preamble. "I've seen her do this before."

"To fire me?"

"To cover her ass when she fires you." Chloe stirred her latte thoughtfully. "Your work is making her look incompetent, Leo. The previous content creator lasted six months and produced maybe a dozen videos total. You've done more in three weeks than this department has accomplished in three years."

"Then why—"

"Because you smoke cigarettes, you're not from the right background, and you make her feel stupid." Chloe's voice was matter-of-fact. "Karen Sterling has built her entire career on managing mediocrity. Excellence makes her nervous."

Leo rubbed his temples. "What about the numbers? The engagement? The actual results?"

"Results are abstract. Process violations are concrete. Guess which one Director Reed cares about when Karen presents her case?"

"So what do I do?"

Chloe was quiet for a long moment. "Document everything. Keep copies of all your work. And maybe start looking for other opportunities."

That night, Leo worked until 3 AM, not on videos but on building a comprehensive portfolio of his Northwood work. He exported every video, saved every comment, screenshotted every metric. If Karen wanted to play the documentation game, he'd be ready.

But as he finally headed home through the empty campus, Leo couldn't shake the feeling that documentation wouldn't be enough. Karen Sterling had decided he was the enemy, and she held all the institutional power.

The next morning, his phone rang at 7:30 AM. Karen's voice was crisp and professional: "Leo, I need to move your meeting with Director Reed up to 8:30. Something urgent has come up."

Leo's blood ran cold. Urgent meetings were never good news.

"I'll be there," he said.

"Oh, and Leo? You might want to bring any personal items from your office. Just in case the meeting runs long and you need to... transition quickly."

The line went dead.

Leo stared at his phone, Karen's words echoing in his mind. Transition quickly. The euphemism was almost insulting in its transparency.

He looked around his small apartment – the stack of unpaid bills on his desk, the empty refrigerator, the camera equipment that represented his life's savings. Three weeks of impossible work, of eighteen-hour days and creative miracles, and it was all about to be swept away by a middle manager's petty prejudice.

But as Leo packed his few personal items into his camera bag, something unexpected happened. Instead of despair, he felt a cold, calculating calm settle over his mind. Karen Sterling thought she was playing chess while he was playing checkers.

She was about to find out how wrong she was.

Leo grabbed his laptop and his backup drives, making sure he had copies of everything. His client database, his industry contacts, his detailed knowledge of every university procedure and personality.

If Karen wanted to play games, he'd show her what a professional game looked like.

The meeting with Director Reed was in forty-five minutes. Just enough time to prepare for what he was increasingly certain would be his termination.

And his opportunity.