Chapter 3: The revelation
Amina saw James peering into the open space, trying to reach his cubicle. His sleep deprivation was evident in his strained gaze.
The woman took on the thankless task of informing her colleague: "Thompson changed plans. He wants to see us now. Thank goodness we finished everything last night. Are you ready? We're going to kick that asshole's ass."
The unusually foul language for Amina made James smile.
"I didn't know you could curse like that," he said, his voice still hoarse from exhaustion. He rubbed his eyes, the fluorescent lights in the office making them sting. "But yeah, let's go get this over with."
Amina adjusted her blouse, smoothing out the wrinkles from the long night. "You look like hell," she said, eyeing his rumpled shirt and messy hair. "Here, let me fix that." She reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear, her fingers lingering for just a second too long. James felt his pulse jump at the contact, but he didn't pull away.
"Better," she said, stepping back with a satisfied nod.
"Now you look like a professional who didn't just pull an all-nighter."
James exhaled, running a hand through his hair again. "Thanks. I think." He glanced at the clock on the wall—8:47 AM. "You really think he'll be in this early?"
Amina smirked, adjusting the cuffs of her blouse. The man doesn’t sleep. He just lurks in the shadows, waiting to pounce on anyone who dares to breathe without permission." She grabbed her tablet from her bag, the screen lighting up with her dashboard mockups.
"Come on, let's get this over with. The sooner we face him, the sooner we can go home and actually sleep."
James nodded, adjusting his glasses as they walked toward Thompson's office. The hallway felt longer than usual, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead like a bad horror movie. He could feel the weight of Amina's presence beside him, her heels clicking sharply against the linoleum.
"You okay?" she asked, glancing at him. Just… trying not to think about what he might say."
Amina smirked. "Don’t worry. I’ve got your back. Remember?"
In Thompson's room, Amina took the reins of the meeting. As if she were a seasoned presenter and James a showgirl, she introduced the basic concepts on which they had based the P.O.C. developments. Then she began giving instructions to James, who followed the steps described by her colleague. They had done things well, even including an onboarding process through authentication with an identity provider (they had used Keycloak for this purpose).
James started the containers simulating the back-end microservices, and the entire flow was flawless.
When we reached the various pages displaying gauges with pressure, temperature, and voltage readings... everything seemed interactive and immediate.
Thompson leaned forward in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin as he watched the dashboard come to life on the large monitor.
"Alright," Thompson said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "Let's see what you've got."
Amina clicked through the mockups with practiced ease, her fingers dancing across the tablet screen. "As you can see, we've incorporated real-time data visualization for all critical metrics. The color-coded alerts ensure immediate visibility of any anomalies, and the responsive design adapts seamlessly to any device."
James nodded in agreement, his fingers hovering over his keyboard. "The backend mocks are fully integrated with the frontend.
I've implemented a WebSocket connection for live updates, so any changes in the system will reflect in real-time. We've also added a user authentication layer, so only authorized personnel can access the dashboard," James explained, his voice steady despite the exhaustion weighing on him.
Thompson leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "And what about mobile compatibility? I thought we discussed that."
Amina didn't miss a beat. She tapped her tablet, and the screen split into two views—one for desktop, one for mobile. "We've ensured full responsiveness. The layout adjusts dynamically, and key metrics are prioritized for quick access on smaller screens."
James nodded, clicking through a few more screens.
At one point, Amina, who had a DBeaver instance on her tablet that communicated with the Oracle database, set a much higher value in a record column, and suddenly the interface, both on the computer screen and the smartphone version, began emitting audible and visual alarm signals, and one of the gauges had its needle at full scale.
Amina said with a barely visible smile of satisfaction: "We just simulated an electrical overload in a control unit."
Thompson was against the wall. The work done was beyond reproach. The quality of the code and the attention to detail in the interface meant it could be considered the backbone of the actual application rather than a P.O.C. So he decided to play dirty: "Congratulations, James, I knew I could count on you!"
"I can't believe you're doing this, Jeremy!" Sleep deprivation and frustration over the low blow made James lose control of his inhibitions, and he forgot he was talking to his direct superior. "This woman went out of her way to achieve this perfection in the short time you gave us, and you're thanking me instead her? What do you have against her? That she's new? Or that she's maybe a lot smarter than a prat like you?"
Thompson feigned nonchalance, looking at his fingernails: "Oh, you don't know? Let her tell you." He didn't say anything else, knowing he risked a possible report to HR for discrimination, but it was enough to drop a bombshell.
"Now get out of my office. You'll present the P.O.C. to the client on Monday, and if it's as perfect as you say, you'll have no problem getting his approval." Thompson's voice was smooth, but there was a cold edge to it that made James's stomach twist. He glanced at Amina, whose face had gone still, her fingers tightening around her tablet. The air in the room felt suddenly too thick, too heavy.
James opened his mouth to argue, but Amina beat him to it. "Monday?" she said, her voice deceptively calm. "That's barely two days. And what about the rest of the team? Carlos and Maria were supposed to be involved in this."
Thompson waved a dismissive hand. "They'll catch up. This is your project now. You two can handle it." He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers.
"You two seem to have it under control. I trust you can handle the client presentation. Dismissed."
The door clicked shut behind them with finality. James exhaled sharply, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I can't believe he just did that. After everything we pulled together last night—"
Amina cut him off with a sharp shake of her head, her dark eyes flashing. "Not here," she muttered, glancing pointedly at the frosted glass of Thompson's office door. "Let's go somewhere we can talk."
They walked in tense silence through the cubicle maze, the hum of fluorescent lights overhead pressing down on them.
James kept stealing glances at Amina, whose jaw was set so tight he could see the muscle twitching beneath her skin. She carried herself with her usual poise, but there was something different in the way she moved—like a tightly coiled spring ready to snap.
The break room was mercifully empty. Amina dropped her tablet onto the table with a sharp *clack* and turned to face James, her arms crossed. "You shouldn't have done that," she said, her voice low and controlled. "You don't know what you're dealing with."
James blinked, caught off guard. "What? Defending you? Jeremy should be thankful I didn't smash his face in. What did you do to him? You ran over his mother in the crosswalk? No, you don't have to answer that, it was just a joke." James said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But seriously, I don't understand what his problem is. You're brilliant. You deserve recognition for this project."
Amina exhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. "It's not about the project," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's about me. About who I am."
James frowned, confused.
Amina hesitated, her eyes flickering to the door before meeting his gaze again. She took a deep breath, her shoulders squaring as if bracing for impact. "I'm transgender, James. And Thompson...
well, he doesn't exactly *approve* of that." She said the words carefully, as if testing their weight in the air between them.
James blinked, processing. Then he frowned. "What does that even mean? It shouldn't matter."
Amina let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through her hair. "Tell that to Thompson. He's old-school, James. The kind of guy who thinks 'professional' means dressing like it's 1985 and never questioning the status quo."
James shook his head, disbelief creeping into his voice. "That's ridiculous. The company has diversity policies—"
"Policies don't change attitudes," Amina cut in, her voice sharp.
"Trust me, I've been here long enough to know how he operates. He's made it clear where I stand in his hierarchy."
James felt a hot surge of indignation. "That's bullshit. You're one of the best designers we have. You're—" He stopped himself, realizing he was about to say something that might sound patronizing. "You're you. And that's enough."
Amina studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, to his surprise, she laughed—a short, humorless sound. "You're sweet, Osborne. But this isn't some fairy tale where the nice guy stands up to the villain and everything gets better."
James crossed his arms.
"I don't care if it's a fairy tale or not," he said, his voice firm. "I'm not going to let him treat you like that. Not after everything you've done."
Amina's lips twitched, almost a smile. "You're really going to fight my battles for me?"
"No," James said quickly. "I'm going to fight *with* you. There's a difference."
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the break room. Then she exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction.
"Alright," she said finally. "But you need to understand something.
If you're going to fight with me, you need to know what you're up against." Amina leaned back in her chair, her fingers drumming against the table. "Thompson isn't just some old-fashioned jerk. He's got connections. He's been here since the company was a startup, and he's got the CEO's ear. If we push back too hard, we could both end up on the wrong side of his influence."
James hesitated, his fingers tracing the edge of the table. "So what are you saying? We just let him get away with it?"
Amina sighed, her expression softening. "I'm saying we need to be smart about this."
"The P.O.C. is already perfect as it is, I don't think we'll need to spend the weekend on it. I think I'll go and catch up on some sleep now. What are you doing?" James asked, his voice low and hesitant as he watched Amina pull out her phone.
She didn’t look up from the screen. "Texting Carlos and Maria. They deserve to know what’s happening."
James hesitated, then leaned forward. "Amina—"
She held up a hand, cutting him off. "I know what you’re going to say. But they’re part of this team too. They deserve to be in the loop."
James exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I just don’t want you to get into more trouble."
Amina finally looked up, her dark eyes meeting his. "James, I’ve been dealing with Thompson’s crap for months.
I know how to handle him."
She tapped out the message quickly, her nails clicking against the screen. "Besides, if we’re going to present this to the client on Monday, we’ll need all hands on deck. Carlos can help with the backend integration, and Maria can assist with the final UI polish."
James watched her, the fluorescent lights casting sharp shadows across her face. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw tightened as she sent the message. "You really think they’ll help after Thompson cut them out?"
Amina smirked, slipping her phone back into her bag. "Oh, they’ll help. Thompson might be their boss, but they’re not idiots.
They know what’s at stake here."
James rubbed his temples, the weight of the last twenty-four hours pressing down on him. The break room’s fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sickly glow over the worn-out sofas and chipped coffee table. He could still smell the faint trace of Amina’s perfume—something floral and warm—lingering in the air between them.
"You’re right," he admitted, leaning back in his chair. "But I still don’t like it."
Amina arched an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "Since when do you get to like or dislike things?
You’re the guy who eats the same sad desk lunch every day because you ‘don’t like change.’" Amina teased, nudging his shoulder with hers. The gesture was playful, but there was an edge to it—something unspoken hanging in the air between them.
James exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "That’s not the point. I just don’t want you to get hurt because of me."
Amina’s expression softened. "James," she said, her voice low and steady. "I appreciate the concern, but I’ve been dealing with Thompson’s crap for a long time.
I can handle myself," Amina said, her voice firm but not unkind. She reached out, her fingers brushing against his arm for just a moment before pulling away. "Besides, this isn't just about me. It's about the work we did—*together*. And I won’t let him take that away from us."
James looked at her, really looked at her. The fluorescent lights cast shadows under her eyes, highlighting the exhaustion that mirrored his own. But there was something else there too—a quiet strength, a resilience that made him feel both awed and ashamed.
He had always seen Amina as this effortlessly confident force of nature, someone who navigated the office with the same grace she navigated her design software. But now, seeing the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers clenched around the edge of the table, he realized how much she must have been holding back.
"You're right," he said finally, his voice quieter than before. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply—"
Amina waved a hand, cutting him off. "Don't apologize. I know you're just looking out for me." She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the linoleum. "But right now, I need coffee. Black."
The coffee in the break room pot was black as tar, thick as motor oil, and smelled like it had been brewing since the Reagan administration. Amina poured herself a cup anyway, the steam curling up like a question mark.
"You sure you want that?" James asked, eyeing the sludge. "It might be sentient at this point."
Amina smirked, taking a cautious sip. Her face didn't so much as twitch. "Tastes like regret and poor life choices. Perfect for a morning like this."
James watched as she added enough sugar to make the spoon stand upright.
"You're going to give yourself diabetes," he said, shaking his head.
Amina took another sip, her eyes closing briefly in what could only be described as masochistic satisfaction. "Better than giving Thompson the satisfaction of seeing me break." She set the cup down with a clink and leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. "So. What's our next move, partner?"
"If you're planning on involving Carlos and Maria in the P.O.C., it means you're planning on working this week-end. I was hoping to avoid it, but the way things are going, we'll have to make a perfect impression on Monday. The problem is where to work: the offices are closed on weekends." James said, rubbing his temples. "And I don't think Thompson will let us in. He's probably already locking the doors behind us."
Amina smirked, swirling her coffee. "Oh, please. You think I don't have a keycard? I've been here since 3 AM more times than I can count. Security knows me by name." She took another sip, wincing slightly. "Besides, if we're going to make this presentation perfect, we need to be in the right environment. Not some half-baked setup at my place."
James hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. But if we're doing this, we need to be smart about it.
Thompson might be an asshole, but he's not stupid. If he catches us working on the weekend, he'll find some way to twist it against us." James said, glancing toward the office hallway.
Amina leaned back against the counter, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup. "Then we don't let him catch us," she said, her voice low and steady. "We work late tonight, get everything ready to go, then come in early tomorrow. By the time Thompson shows up on Monday, we'll already be ahead of the game."
James frowned. "You really think that'll work? Of course you are! I like the way you think!"
James said, his voice tinged with admiration. "But how do we keep Thompson from finding out? He's got eyes everywhere in this place."
Amina smirked, swirling the dregs of her coffee. "Please, James. The man couldn't find his own ass with both hands and a map. We'll just have to be more clever than he is."
She set the cup down with a decisive clink and straightened up, her professional mask sliding back into place. "Come on. Let's go grab our things and get out of here before he decides to summon us again."
James hesitated, glancing toward the hallway that led back to their desks. "You really think we can pull this off?