The Replacement
Tami approached the first interview of the spring hiring session with the conviction that nothing remarkable would happen. She was terribly wrong—but she didn’t know it yet. How could she have known that day her life would begin to shake from its foundations?
The position was administrative assistant. The agency had sent over a candidate: Suzi Yule, twenty-six, with previous experience in data entry. The CV was adequate, unremarkable.
Suzi arrived exactly on time. She wore professional attire, her hair neat, her demeanor calm. She bowed politely and sat when invited.
“Thank you for coming,” Tami said. “Shall we begin?”
“Yes, please.”
Tami asked the standard questions: previous employment, technical skills, availability. Suzi answered appropriately. Her responses were neither memorable nor concerning. After twenty minutes, Tami was ready to conclude.
“Do you have any questions for me?”
“Yes. When will I start?”
Tami paused. “We’ll let you know within a week. We’re interviewing other candidates.”
“But when will I start?” Suzi repeated, same inflection, same tone.
“As I said, we’ll contact you with our decision.”
Suzi smiled. “I’ll see you on Monday, then.”
“We haven’t made an offer yet.”
“Monday. 9 a.m. I’ll be here.”
The interview ended awkwardly. Suzi left, and Tami made a note: 𝘋𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘦.
On Monday, at 9 a.m., Suzi appeared in the office.
“Excuse me,” Tami said. “What are you doing here?”
“Starting work.” Suzi was already removing her coat.
“We didn’t hire you. I explained that we’d contact you.”
“But I start today. You hired me.”
“No, we didn’t.”
Suzi looked genuinely confused. “You interviewed me on Wednesday. I start on Monday. That’s how it works.”
“Please leave,” Tami said firmly. “If you don’t, I’ll call security.”
Suzi’s expression didn’t change. She put her coat back on and left.
Tami hired someone else— Andrea Wallace, thirty-two, more experienced, better references. Wallace started the following Monday.
On Wednesday, Tami was called to the reception desk.
“There’s someone here to see you. Suzi Yule. She says she works here.”
Suzi was in the lobby, wearing office attire, carrying a bag.
“You don’t work here,” Tami said. “I need you to stop coming.”
“But I was hired. You interviewed me.”
“I didn’t hire you. Please leave, or I’ll involve the police.”
Suzi left. But the following week, she appeared again. And the week after that. Always on Wednesday. Always insisting she’d been hired.
“She’s delusional,” Tami’s manager said. “Have security ban her from the building.”
Security added Suzi’s photo to their system. When she appeared the next Wednesday, they turned her away at the entrance.
Tami watched through the window as Suzi stood outside the building, looking up at the office windows. She remained there for an hour before leaving.
Three weeks passed without incident. Tami assumed Suzi had finally accepted reality.
Then Wallace, the new hire, didn’t show up for work.
“She called in sick,” the receptionist said. “Stomach flu.”
The next day, Wallace was absent again. And the day after that.
On the fourth day, Tami called her mobile. No answer. She tried the emergency contact—Wallace’s mother.
“I’m sorry,” the mother said. “Suzi is very ill. She won’t be able to work for some time.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Please send a doctor’s note when possible.”
“Of course. And please, I hope you understand—she’s always been fragile. This job might have been too stressful.”
Tami hung up, puzzled. Wallace had seemed perfectly healthy. And there was something else. The mother had called her Suzi, even though Wallace’s given name was Andrea.
Tami checked the employment file again. Andrea Wallance. Not Suzi.
This wasn’t right.
Then she reviewed the interview notes and noticed something was wrong. The notes she took during Wallace’s interview weren’t there anymore. She found only the notes from Suzi’s interview. The handwriting was hers, but she didn’t remember writing some of the observations: ‘Excellent fit for the position.’ ‘Strong candidate.’ ‘Hire immediately.’
She’d written ‘𝘋𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘦.’ about Suzi. She was certain of it.
Tami went to HR. “Can you send me the file for our recent hire? Wallace?”
The file arrived. But the photo attached wasn’t Wallace. It was Suzi Yule.
“There’s been a mistake,” Tami said to HR. “This is the wrong person.”
“No mistake. This is who you hired. Suzi Yule. Started three weeks ago.”
“No. I hired Andrea Wallace.”
HR checked their system. “We have no record of anyone named Wallace.”
Tami’s chest tightened. “Check the interview schedule from last month.”
HR reviewed the records. “You interviewed Suzi Yule on March 15th. You made an offer the same day. She started on March 20th.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“It’s what our records show.”
Tami returned to her desk. She searched her email for correspondence with Wallace. Nothing. She checked the visitor log from Wallace’s interview. No entry.
At her desk, someone had left a coffee cup. Not hers. She never drank coffee.
“Did someone sit here?” she asked a passing colleague.
“What do you mean? That’s your desk.”
“I know it’s my desk. But did someone else sit here while I was gone?”
The colleague looked concerned. “Tami, are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just… forget it.”
But that afternoon, returning from a meeting, Tami found someone at her desk. Working at her computer. Using her keyboard.
It was Suzi.
“What are you doing?” Tami demanded.
Suzi looked up, surprised. “Working. We have the expense reports due by 5 PM.”
“Get away from my desk.”
“Your desk?” Suzi gestured around the office. “This is my desk. I’ve been sitting here for three weeks.”
Other colleagues were watching now. Tami appealed to them.
“Tell her. Tell her this is my desk.”
But their expressions were uncertain. Confused.
“Suzi sits there,” one said hesitantly. “Doesn’t she?”
“No! I sit here. I’ve sat here for two years.”
“Tami,” her manager appeared, looking concerned. “Can we speak privately?”
In the manager’s office, Tami was told she needed to take some time off. The stress, perhaps. She’d been working too hard.
“Who sits at my desk?” Tami asked.
“Suzi does. She’s been with us since March.”
“And where do I sit?”
The manager paused. “You… you’re at that desk, too. Aren’t you?”
“We can’t both sit there.”
“No. Of course not.” The manager rubbed his temples. “I’m sorry, I’m confused. Let me check the seating chart.”
But there was no seating chart. And when they returned to the office floor, Tami’s desk was occupied by Suzi, who was working efficiently, while Tami’s belongings—her photos, her coffee mug, her sweater—were nowhere to be seen.
“Where are my things?” Tami asked.
Suzi looked up. “I’m sorry?”
“My belongings. The things that were on my desk.”
“These are all my belongings,” Suzi said, gesturing to items Tami had never seen before. Different photos. A plant Tami had never owned.
Tami left the office. In the lift, she caught her reflection in the polished doors. For a moment, just a moment, the reflection showed someone else. Suzi’s face instead of her own.
She blinked. Her face returned.
At home, Tami searched online for Suzi Yule. She found a social media profile. The photos showed Suzi in Tami’s office. Sitting at Tami’s desk. Standing with Tami’s colleagues. In some photos, Suzi was wearing clothes Tami recognised from her own wardrobe.
One photo was dated two years ago. Suzi at the office, celebrating what the caption called “my two-year anniversary.”
But Suzi had only been hired—if she’d been hired at all—three weeks ago.
Tami checked her own social media. Her profile was still there, but the photos from the office were gone. Replaced with images of her doing other things. Travel. Hobbies. Nothing work-related.
As if she’d never worked there at all.
The next morning, Tami went to the office. Security stopped her.
“I’m sorry, you’re not authorised to enter.”
“I work here. Tami Satoga. Second floor, accounts department.”
The guard checked his system. “We have no employee by that name.”
“Check again.”
He checked. “I’m sorry. You’re not in our system.”
“Call upstairs. Ask for my manager.”
The guard made the call. A conversation. Then, to Tami:
“I’m sorry, he says he doesn’t know anyone named Tami Satoga.”
Through the lobby windows, Tami could see the office floor. At her desk—at what had been her desk—Suzi was working, answering phones, typing efficiently.
Living Tami’s life.
Tami went home. She didn’t return to the office.
Weeks passed. Then months. She found other work, other routines. Sometimes she thought about what happened and wondered if she’d really worked at that office, or if she’d imagined it all.
One day, walking past the building, she saw Suzi leaving. Suzi looked tired now. The way Tami had looked after two years in that position.
Suzi was talking on her phone.
“I have an interview tomorrow. Finally leaving this place… Yes, administrative assistant, different company… I’m sure I’ll get it…”
Tami watched her walk away.
And she wondered if somewhere, at some other office, another woman was conducting interviews.
If another candidate would arrive, insistent and strange.
If another position would be filled by someone who refused to accept they hadn’t been hired.
And if, eventually, the person conducting interviews would find themselves displaced, replaced, erased from a job they were certain they held, by someone who simply wanted it more.
The city was full of offices, after all. Full of desks. Full of positions.
Tami walked home, no longer sure of anything.
But it didn’t matter, she decided. Work shouldn’t be taken so seriously anyway.
From tomorrow onward, she would no longer care about the job she’d lost.
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