I used to love my job. Really love it.
I’m Marcus, 36 now, but this happened when I was 33. I’d been at Apex Digital Marketing in Austin for almost nine years — started as a junior copywriter straight out of college, worked my way up to Senior Creative Director. We were a mid-sized agency, about 120 people, known for big national campaigns. I led the creative team on some of our biggest accounts: a major athletic brand, a fast-food chain, two tech startups that went public. My campaigns won awards — Addys, Shortys, even a Webby nomination one year.
The best part? I had a true work partner: Jenna.
Jenna joined five years after me as a mid-level art director. We clicked immediately — same sense of humor, same obsessive attention to detail, same late nights fueled by Red Bull and takeout. We became the go-to duo. Clients asked for us by name. We finished each other’s sentences in pitches. I mentored her, gave her lead roles on projects, pushed for her promotions. When she got married, I was in the wedding party. When my dad died, she was the one who covered my accounts and brought food to my apartment.
Everyone called us the dream team. Our boss, Evan (VP of Creative), joked that we were basically married to the job.
In early 2024, Evan announced he was retiring at the end of the year. The VP role — corner office, six-figure jump, equity, oversight of all creative across three offices — was opening up.
He pulled me aside one day: “Marcus, you’re the obvious frontrunner. You’ve earned it. Just need to nail the athletic brand re-launch this fall. That campaign will seal it.”
I was thrilled. Jenna hugged me in the hallway: “You deserve this so much. I’m so proud.”
We poured everything into that campaign. Six months of research, mood boards, late nights, weekend workshops. I brought Jenna in as co-lead — gave her equal billing on everything. We built a bold, inclusive concept: real athletes of all body types, no airbrushing, raw stories. The client loved it. Early testing numbers were insane.
We were set to present the final deck to the client’s global CMO in November — the biggest meeting of the year.
Two weeks before the presentation, I got food poisoning. Bad. Ended up in the ER dehydrated. Doctor ordered three days bed rest, no screens.
I texted Jenna from the hospital: “Can you hold down the fort? Final tweaks on the deck — just polish the copy on slides 18-24 and add the new athlete quotes.”
She replied instantly: “Of course. Rest up. I’ve got this.”
I trusted her completely.
I came back to the office on a Thursday. Everyone was weird — avoiding eye contact, quick smiles. I figured they were stressed about the pitch.
Friday morning, Evan called me into his office.
“Close the door, Marcus.”
He looked uncomfortable. Turned his laptop toward me.
On the screen was the final presentation deck — uploaded to the shared drive the night before.
My name wasn’t on it.
Not on the title slide, not in the credits, not anywhere.
Instead, it said: “Campaign Concept & Execution by Jenna Torres, Creative Director.”
Every idea, every line of copy, every visual direction — all there. But presented as solely hers.
Evan said quietly, “Jenna presented this to the executive team yesterday while you were out. Said you’d been struggling with the direction for months and she had to step in and salvage it. That she’d been carrying the project.”
I felt the floor drop out.
“She told them you were burned out, distracted by personal issues, and that she rewrote most of it alone. The execs were impressed — said it was her best work ever.”
I couldn’t speak.
Evan continued: “She’s been meeting with HR about the VP role. Positioning herself as the natural successor. Said you’d be better in a supportive creative role going forward.”
I finally found my voice. Showed him my original files, timestamps, emails, Slack messages — months of me leading every brainstorm, every revision. Proof it was my concept from day one.
Evan believed me. But the damage was done.
The client presentation went ahead the next week — with Jenna leading. The client approved everything. The campaign launched in spring 2025 and became one of the brand’s most successful ever. Billboards everywhere. Super Bowl spot. Jenna got all the press interviews.
Upper management had already bought her story. Reversing it would mean admitting they’d been duped. Easier to sideline me.
They offered me a “lateral move” to a smaller office, reduced team, no client contact. Or a severance package if I left quietly.
I took the severance.
But the betrayal spread like poison.
Jenna had been planting seeds for months — subtle comments in meetings about how “we” really meant her carrying me, forwarding my emails to herself and deleting my name, taking solo credit in client calls when I was out of the room.
Former teammates I thought were friends stayed silent — didn’t want to rock the boat with the new golden child.
The industry in Austin is small. Word got around: “Marcus burned out,” “Marcus couldn’t handle the pressure.” I applied to six agencies. No offers. One hiring manager straight-up said, “We love your old work, but we heard the last campaign wasn’t really yours.”
I ended up taking a freelance gig writing instruction manuals for appliances. From Super Bowl ads to toaster oven copy.
It’s been almost two years. Jenna got the VP role. She’s on panels, LinkedIn influencer now, posting about “leadership and owning your vision.”
I blocked her everywhere.
The worst part? I still don’t understand why.
Was it just ambition? Did she resent that I was always slightly ahead? Or had she been planning it the whole time?
I lost my career, my professional reputation, my financial security — and the person I thought was my closest work ally.
People say “don’t make friends at work.” I used to roll my eyes.
Now I get it.
Trust no one with your future.
Because the person you mentor, celebrate with, stay late with — might be the same one who smiles while sliding the knife in when the corner office opens up.
And once they do, there’s no coming back.
TL;DR: Trusted colleague and close work friend of 8 years stole credit for my biggest campaign while I was sick, positioned herself for the VP promotion I was in line for, and spread lies that I was burned out. Upper management believed her. I lost the job I loved, my reputation in the industry, and was forced out. She got everything.
