The Cost of Being Good

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Marlene called Nora into her office on Friday and closed the door softly. Softly was never a good sign. On Marlene's desk sat the client report Nora had rebuilt twice, a cappuccino in a glass cup, and a printed email marked confidential. Marlene wore her concerned-manager face, the one designed to make criticism feel like mentorship and exploitation feel like opportunity. "Nora," she began, "you know we value you.