“Don't let the bastards grind you down” —Bono

As I was sitting in my office on December 3, watching the big picture come into focus, I suddenly realized that I needed to take control of the situation and write my own ending. It was no longer a money issue. It didn’t matter what they came back with, it wouldn’t be enough to put up with this back-door shadiness for the next 3 months. Plus, I knew they weren’t going to come back with anything, as that conversation never left Queen Bee’s office. She was merely buying some time to see who she could track down to bail them out of the very large black hole that was expanding by the minute. And wouldn’t you know it? They couldn’t find a single person willing to betray me and take a one-way ticket to hell.

I finally decided that I was done. Enough was enough and I couldn't live with myself if I didn't have the last word on this life-chagning debacle. And in that moment, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt such clarity about any decision in my life. I wrote a one-sentence resignation email to Boss, Queen Bee and HR Robot: “Regardless of what you come back with on the bonus front, I’m done. My last day will be next Friday, December 11.”

Now, any sane person is probably wondering the obvious “Why the heck did you give them a weeks notice?” And looking back, I absolutely shouldn’t have. After everything that had happened, they didn’t deserve 5 minutes notice and I gave them a week. If I could go back, I would walk out the door that day and not even say goodbye. Two things ultimately influenced my decision.

1. The very admirable, intelligent, respectable people at the top who made this equally admirable, intelligent and respectable decision would not be affected at all by my leaving. Nope, they would emerge unscathed, high opinions of themselves intact. But my coworkers, you know the people who actually did the work, would be hugely affected by this disaster, and I took that to heart. An extra week of planning and organizing would make things easier in the long run for those still held prisoner and that mattered to me.

2. And then there was the very time-consuming job of backing up 10 years worth of files and cleaning out the office that had been a second home for a decade.

Once the word got out that I was leaving, the support was amazing. My coworkers were so glad that I wasn’t going to be a pawn in a corporate chess game. I got to yell "Check Mate" and it felt amazing. One person even said “I’m so glad someone finally gave them the middle finger!” In all reality, I wasn’t trying to be Norma Rae. I was just trying to do what was right for me and it just so happens that right for me and right for Prison Media were not just on complete opposite ends of the world, but also on opposite ends of the moral compass. Oh, that’s a term that Boss is most definitely not familiar with.

So, the exit date was set and now the exit strategy was in the planning stages. My exit strategy was simple: Do as little as possible, tie up all the loose ends on the personal front, and try not to utter the word India. Boss’s exit strategy for me was slightly different: Tell Boss and Queen Bee everything I know, work as much as possible, and have daily conference calls with India. (Freaking India.) Since Boss couldn’t find a desperate warm body to fill in for me, the new plan was to send the live work directly to India and have me tell them how to do my job before I was officially released from prison.

Seeing how my knowledge belongs to me, we had a problem.