Chapter 7: The Verdict

The HR feedback session was scheduled for Tuesday at 2 PM, exactly one week after I'd unleashed a decade's worth of fury on Bitsah Verma. As I walked toward Conference Room C, I passed his office—still dark, still empty, just as it had been for the past three days.

He hadn't shown up to work since Friday.

Sarah Martinez was waiting for me with her usual warm smile, but there was something different in her eyes today. A sharpness that suggested this wasn't going to be the routine check-in she'd originally described.

"Alex, thank you for making time for this," she said, gesturing to the chair across from her. "I hope you don't mind, but I've asked Jennifer from Legal to join us today."

My stomach clenched. Jennifer Walsh sat in the corner, laptop open, fingers poised over the keyboard like a court stenographer. This wasn't a casual feedback session—this was a formal investigation.

"Is everything alright?" I asked, settling into my chair with carefully manufactured concern.

"That's what we're hoping to determine," Sarah replied. "We've received some... concerning reports about the management practices on your team. We'd like to hear your perspective on the work environment under Mr. Verma's supervision."

I'd been preparing for this moment all week, but now that it was here, I felt an unexpected surge of emotion. After months of biting my tongue, of watching Bitsah destroy morale and crush spirits, I was finally being asked to tell the truth.

"Where would you like me to start?" I asked.

What followed was the most cathartic hour of my professional life. I told them everything—the impossible deadlines, the public humiliations, the way Bitsah would single out team members for psychological warfare disguised as performance management. I described the toxic atmosphere of fear he'd cultivated, the way talented people like Jake and Chloe had been reduced to walking on eggshells.

Jennifer's fingers flew across her keyboard, capturing every detail. Sarah took handwritten notes, occasionally asking for clarification or specific examples. Their faces grew increasingly grim as I painted a picture of systematic workplace abuse.

"Has anyone ever formally complained about Mr. Verma's behavior?" Sarah asked.

"People were afraid to," I admitted. "He had a way of making it clear that challenging his authority would be career suicide. And he was careful never to put the worst stuff in writing."

"What about his relationship with upper management? Any issues there?"

I thought about Henderson's cold stare, the way he'd confronted Bitsah in his office. "I think Mr. Henderson might have some concerns. They had what looked like a serious conversation last week."

Sarah and Jennifer exchanged a meaningful glance. Clearly, they already knew about that conversation.

"One final question, Alex," Sarah said, leaning forward slightly. "This is completely confidential, but we need to ask—do you have any knowledge of Mr. Verma's activities outside of work that might impact his employment here?"

My heart hammered against my ribs. This was it—the moment of truth. I could play innocent, pretend I had no idea why Bitsah's phones had been ringing nonstop. Or I could tell them exactly what kind of man they'd been employing.

"I believe," I said carefully, "that Mr. Verma has a history of financial impropriety that predates his employment here. There may be individuals from his past who have legitimate grievances against him."

Jennifer's typing paused. "What kind of grievances?"

"Fraud, primarily. Investment scams, wedding planning fraud, unpaid debts. The kind of things that would make someone... persistent in trying to contact him."

Sarah closed her notebook with a soft snap. "Thank you, Alex. This has been very helpful. We may need to follow up with additional questions, but for now, that's all we need."

As I left the conference room, I nearly collided with Jake in the hallway. He was heading toward the same room, looking nervous but determined.

"Your turn?" I asked.

He nodded. "Sarah said they're talking to everyone on the team individually. Apparently, this has been building for a while."

Over the next few days, the pattern became clear. Every team member was called in for their own session. Chloe emerged from hers looking lighter than I'd seen her in months. Even quiet Tom from the backend team seemed to walk a little taller after his meeting.

Meanwhile, the rumors were flying. Henderson's assistant mentioned that his phone had been "unusually busy" all week. Someone from IT let slip that they'd been asked to pull call logs from certain extensions. The facilities manager wondered aloud why Bitsah's office had been locked since Friday.

On Thursday, Sarah appeared at our workstation cluster again, but this time her smile was broader, more genuine.

"I have some news," she announced. "Due to organizational restructuring following the merger, there will be some changes to team leadership. Effective immediately, you'll be reporting directly to Mr. Henderson while we transition to a new management structure."

The unspoken message was crystal clear: Bitsah was gone.

"What about our current project manager?" Chloe asked, though we all knew the answer.

"Mr. Verma is no longer with the company," Sarah said diplomatically. "His departure was... mutually agreed upon."

After she left, our team sat in stunned silence for a moment. Then Jake started laughing—not the bitter, stressed laughter we'd become accustomed to, but genuine relief and joy.

"I can't believe it," he said. "He's actually gone."

"Good riddance," Chloe muttered, then immediately looked around to make sure no one from management had heard her.

"It's okay," I said, grinning. "I don't think we need to whisper anymore."

The transformation was immediate and dramatic. Without Bitsah's oppressive presence looming over us, the entire team dynamic shifted. People started talking freely again, sharing ideas without fear of ridicule. Laughter returned to our corner of the office. Projects that had been grinding along under impossible pressure suddenly seemed manageable.

Henderson proved to be everything Bitsah wasn't—supportive, reasonable, focused on results rather than dominance. In our first team meeting under his leadership, he actually asked for our input on project timelines instead of dictating unrealistic deadlines.

"I want you all to know," he said, "that the previous management approach was not reflective of this company's values. Moving forward, we're committed to creating a positive, collaborative work environment."

Two months later, the office felt like a completely different place. The toxic atmosphere that had poisoned our daily lives had been replaced by something approaching actual teamwork. People stayed late because they were excited about their projects, not because they were afraid of arbitrary deadlines.

I was working on a particularly challenging algorithm when my phone rang. Unknown number—normally, I would have ignored it, but something made me answer.

"Hello?"

"Is this Alex?" The voice was familiar, though I couldn't immediately place it.

"Yes, this is Alex."

"This is Chloe." She paused, and I could hear the smile in her voice. "I wanted to call and say thank you."

"Chloe, you can just walk over to my desk. Why are you—" Then it hit me. "Wait. You're using his old number, aren't you?"

She laughed, a sound full of mischief and satisfaction. "I thought it was poetic justice. The number that used to torment us is now being used to express gratitude."

"How did you even get it?"

"Let's just say IT was very accommodating when I explained that I needed to contact some of his former... associates... for project transition purposes."

I leaned back in my chair, marveling at the beautiful symmetry of it all. The phone number that had been haunted by Bitsah's victims for over a decade was now in the hands of one of his workplace victims, being used to celebrate his downfall.

"So," Chloe continued, "I heard through the grapevine that Henderson's been getting thank-you cards from people in India. Apparently, some of Bitsah's old creditors are very grateful that justice finally caught up with him."

"Is that so?" I said innocently.

"Amazing how these things work out, isn't it? Almost like karma finally decided to balance the scales."

"Almost like that," I agreed.

After we hung up, I sat quietly at my desk, watching the bustling, healthy office around me. Jake was collaborating with Sarah from QA on a testing strategy, both of them actually smiling as they worked. Tom was explaining a complex database optimization to one of the new hires, patient and encouraging. Henderson was visible through his office windows, talking animatedly with someone on the phone—probably a satisfied client, not an angry creditor.

The ghost had been laid to rest at last. Bitsah Verma's decade of running from consequences had finally ended, not with dramatic confrontation or legal proceedings, but with the simple, inexorable weight of truth catching up to lies.

My phone had been silent for weeks now—no more wrong numbers, no more angry voices searching for a man who'd wronged them. The creditors had found their target, said their piece, and moved on with their lives. Justice, delayed but not denied.

I opened my desk drawer and pulled out the three notebooks that had been my companions for so many years. Their pages were filled with meticulous records of pain and fraud, but their purpose had been served. The ghost in my phone was finally, truly gone.

And in its place was something I hadn't felt in years: peace.

The phone on my desk rang—my direct work line, not my personal cell. I answered with a smile.

"Alex Ryder, Development Team Seven."

"Alex, it's Henderson. Great work on the Morrison account optimization. The client is thrilled with the performance improvements."

"Thank you, sir. It's been a pleasure working on it."

And for the first time in months, I actually meant it.

The haunting was over. The ghost had been banished. And in the quiet that followed, we had all learned to breathe again.