There was something about Liam Vos that made people pause — not out of admiration, but something harder to name. He didn't enter a room so much as occupy it, like a scent that lingered long after the source had gone. Always well-groomed, always ready with a clever line, Liam knew how to nod at the right time, drop a sharp joke mid-meeting, and somehow make every group project feel like his moment.
At Linxwell Solutions, the Amsterdam-based software consultancy where Liam worked, no one would dare say he wasn't competent. But there were whispers — quiet, careful — especially when he left the room.
"He always has a take, doesn't he?"
"Talks like he invented the client model."
"Funny guy, but it's like... the rest of us are scenery."
Liam knew this. And he liked it.
He sat in his usual spot that morning — third desk from the glass, by the artificial ficus tree the interns always forgot to water. He leaned back in his ergonomic chair like a man who had conquered a hill, earbuds in, one leg crossed over the other, laptop open but idle.
A few desks down, Mateo Lin was typing gently, face pinched with concentration. The guy rarely spoke unless prompted, and even then, he made his words count. Everyone liked him — polite, consistent — but he wasn't built for center stage.
Liam liked Mateo. In the same way a theater spotlight likes the floor it shines on.
By midday, the chatter around the break area had picked up — another internal migration of responsibility was happening. A team rotation. People were being reassigned to different client management tasks.
One of them — the dreaded Package Test Logging role — had resurfaced. Tedious. Manual. Repetitive. The task most people avoided unless directly forced into it.
Liam had done it once.
He never wanted to do it again.
It was after lunch that Mateo stopped by Liam's desk.
"Got a sec?"
Liam pulled out one earbud. "Always."
Mateo rubbed the back of his neck. "So I've been having this weird shoulder pain lately. Spoke to my GP. He thinks it might be strain-related — all that document tagging and interface toggling."
"Ah." Liam didn't blink.
"I might have to ease off Package Logging tasks for a while. HR's looking into a possible adjustment."
That was all.
But to Liam, it was an alarm bell. If Mateo stepped back, someone else would be tagged in. And in a lean team like theirs, he knew exactly who was next in line.
That evening, Liam stayed late at the office — not working, but pacing quietly near the large windows, pretending to wait for a video call. Everyone else had trickled out except a few junior analysts and Anika Meyer, who worked two pods over. She didn't like Liam. She tolerated him with the air of a woman who'd been around too many of his kind before.
As the final lights dimmed, Liam opened his laptop and composed a message to HR:
"Hi Emilia, hope your week's been smooth.
Something's come up with my family's business — they've been asking me to come onboard for a while now, and I'm considering stepping away soon to support them. Not urgent, but I wanted to start the conversation early in good faith."
He hit send. Sat back. Exhaled.
It wasn't true.
Not fully.
But it bought him time.
He went home that night feeling smarter than ever.
But the Package Logging task?
It still came in his inbox the next morning.
And so did Emilia's reply:
"Thanks for the heads-up, Liam. Let's plan a check-in next week. In the meantime, we'll start preparing internally for the transition."
A transition.
The first domino.