I channeled every ounce of my grief, my anger, and my newfound energy directly into my career. Robert had called me a “job-hopper.” He didn’t understand that I wasn’t failing; I was learning. I was gathering data, building networks, and understanding the corporate landscape.
By the beginning of year two, the quiet had become my superpower.
I quit my job at the corporate strategy firm. I took my meager savings, drafted a relentless business plan, and launched my own risk-management consulting firm. I specialized in identifying supply-chain vulnerabilities for mid-size tech companies.
I worked eighty-hour weeks. I lived on black coffee, scrambled eggs, and sheer, unadulterated willpower. When I felt tired, when I felt like quitting, I just pictured Robert’s smug face. Why would we invest in you?
I became a machine. I pitched to venture capitalists. I secured a tiny contract, over-delivered, and used it to secure a medium contract. Then I secured a massive contract with a tech firm whose name Robert couldn’t even pronounce. I hired a team. I opened an office.
