The email arrived at 7:03 AM. No subject line. Just a calendar invite titled "Organizational Update."
You click it. The meeting starts in twelve minutes. Your hands are already cold.
The voice on the call is calm. Too calm. "As part of our commitment to making care more affordable," it says, "we are reviewing staffing to meet changing market dynamics." The words sound human, but they aren't. They're a spell. A lullaby sung before the lights go out.
Someone in the chat types: Is this a layoff? The message vanishes. You're not sure if it was deleted or if you imagined it.
The slides advance. A map of New Jersey appears. Then California. Then Illinois. Little red dots bloom like wounds. Five hundred and seventy-two in one state . Ninety-two in another . Ninety-eight in a pharmacy that used to fill prescriptions for the chronically ill . The dots spread. The map bleeds.
You look at your coworkers on the screen. Their cameras are off. They are already ghosts.
The voice says "redeploy our talent" and "support affected team members." You've heard this incantation before. It means nothing. The last person who believed it was walked out by security before lunch.
The meeting ends. Your calendar refreshes. There's a new event: "1:1 with your manager." Fifteen minutes. No agenda.
You stare at the screen. The cursor blinks. Somewhere, offshore, a replacement is already learning your job. The reorg doesn't ki-l you all at once. It just keeps taking pieces until there's nothing left to cut.
The invite sits there. You don't click accept. You don't have to. It's already happening.