Kevin hunched over the keyboard, shirtsleeves rolled past his elbows, squinting at the screen as he typed his final message to those who would soon be former coworkers. A closed door prevented interruption. His personal possessions were packed in a white cardboard box on his desk.
It would not have been wrong to call it his masterpiece. In recent years, he had devoted more attention to the faults of his coworkers than to his duties. Much of his life had been spent with the firm; as his career had stalled, he had become frustrated, and the stress had damaged both his heart and his personal relationships. But he was paid too well to leave, and so he had hoarded his resentment, waiting until it could be released without consequence. Waiting for his last day.
He had, in hours spent brooding over the wreckage of his career, noted phrases and anecdotes that might serve him well. The ambiguous compliment. The kind remark concerning a project better forgotten. The jocular reminder of misadventures that readers, if they paused to consider, would recall his having warned against.
Sweat showed in dark circles under his arms and in beads on his forehead. He scowled and smirked and barked bitter laughter as he composed.
He mentioned names. His supervisor, fifteen years his junior. The Vice President with whom he had shared an office when their careers were only beginning. The founder, long retired and nearly forgotten.
Kevin savored the choice of closing. An ironic thanks? A sneering promise that he would remember them all? Perhaps a simple and, given the message, vicious, “Sincerely.”
He never chose. A sudden discomfort in his chest rapidly grew into a sensation of intense pressure, as if someone were standing on his sternum. He recognized another heart attack. He began to stand, but, as he rose, the world dimmed.
He collapsed backward into his chair, unconscious. The chair rolled only inches on the carpeted floor. He was still in it the next day when the janitor found him, dead, his eyes open and his head lolled forward.
Having long been idle, the computer had shut itself down, message unsent. A few days later, the computer was carried away by a technician, and, in accordance with company policy, reformatted to prepare it for the next employee. The message, the masterpiece to which Kevin had unknowingly devoted his final years, was destroyed unseen.