Part 5.

On Monday, I called my boss's boss, Erasmus Sterling III, whom we called 'Trey.' Trey was the founding partner's eldest son and the managing director of Sterling, Whitehead & Phillips Investments, LLC.

I was apprehensive contacting Trey at first, me being but a level-two money manager, albeit among the company's top performers, and a young buck to boot. I mean, calling the managing partner, the big cheese, the guy who would be CEO were we structured as a corporation? And I wanted to avoid my boss's ire, the sense that I'd gone "over his head" in some sort of power-play.

But I was contacting the big cheese on a high-powered Wall Street attorney's advice. Which I'd garnered from an exclusive forum Omega Theta Pi hosted for legacies to aid each other in the real-world. Though, in truth, I fudged the posting details, changing the sexual assault to a "fisticuffs," saying a group of guys jumped and beat me. In order, I suppose, to save face. Because who could respect a dude who was dumb and weak enough to let himself be raped, even a brother Omega? Plus, I was itching to put some of my fraternity bros behind bars which would not have "played well" with anyone on the Omega message boards, so I kept that to myself.

Like I said, we stick together.

Anyways, it turned out that the lawyer was right. I told Trey, with as little detail as I could manage, about the upcoming trial and the sexual violation, which made me queasy since I sounded like the aforementioned dude both dumb and weak enough to get raped. And I hinted at my physical transformation. He seemed concerned, so he gave me the week off, on the company. And he wanted our Human Resources "looped in," so he set up a meeting for me on Thursday.

Good guy, Trey.

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I had expected to meet with Toby, my division's dough-faced, low-energy putz of an HR manager. But when I hit the Sterling, Whitehead & Phillips lobby three days later, the receptionist escorted me to Aziz Ansari's office, the VP of Human Resources. I was amazed. Despite being a junior partner, Aziz was a decent guy: posh British accent, hailing as he did from London, and he was always smiling and approachable. You get the feeling he just had your back, you know the type? Odd thing was, he was corporate-level and not used to dealing with the day-in, day-out muck, so I guess Trey deemed me and my case important since he referred me to Aziz.

Score.

Things went swimmingly as I sat in the leather guest chair, Aziz's heavy black eyebrows wagging with interest as I spoke. We discussed my situation, the endless examinations at the State University Medical Center, and the researchers I had seen who were baffled by my condition. Which made me laugh because those poor nerds would probably get famous at my expense if they solved the riddle of me. Heck, it could lead to a Nobel Prize in medicine, helping trannies to become female without the uncomfortable snip-snip operation or their fake-ass, artificial hormone treatments.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Because I had fully-functioning lady bits.

On hearing this, Aziz leaned forward, his deep-olive brow wrinkled with concentration. "So... you mean, you have tubes, eggs, and everything?"

I nodded. "Guess my testes became ovaries."

Aziz's face went round with surprise. "Amazing."

And, while I didn't mention it, they'd said my cock had become a clit, a thought which made me giggle like Bevis and Butthead, and had me wishing I could share the hijinks with him. But he was corporate-level, and if I wanted to make partner, no hanky-panky. I wasn't a dumb college kid anymore.

So I thought I'd get home and dial one of my Omega brothers, and laugh about it when I realized I couldn't. None of them would speak with me since I had no doubt the news was percolating through the Omega grapevine. Even calling Fenton to laugh about this seemed off, because I knew he'd already be perched on the hot-seat living in Omega House with me hanging over his head. I had to go about this in private, alone, in my own headspace. And for all my success in school and work, I wasn't used to being on my own, without structures to prop me up.

My heart fell like it was made from lead. I spent several beats looking out Aziz's window on the Cleveland skyline with Lake Erie, calm and clear, in the near distance. Then I turned to him.

"They're flummoxed. They've never seen anything close to this."

Aziz nodded, his expression pensive. "I imagine it is a rarity. But they're professionals. I'm sure they'll figure something out."

"Hopefully, so I can get my... my, ahum, my..." I smiled, a blush burning my cheeks as I laughed, saying, "My man-parts back."

The corner of his eyes crinkled into faint crow's feet, his mouth quirking. "Wow, that's just gotta be something else. And, you know, we can offer you protection as a transgender employee."

A bolt shot up my spine.

I was pissed.

Not wanting to lose my cool around a big-cheese like Aziz, I breathed deep, counting to ten as my heart pounded in my ears. But even then, I could hear the irritation in my voice when I said, "No. I'm NOT a tranny. I was a dude. And then, Poof, I'm a girl. I'm no dude pretending to be something I'm not, like a typical trannie. Know what I mean?"

"Sorry, I don't..." He sat, stone-faced and trailing off, but I could tell he was snowflaking, harboring some high-and-mighty judgment. So I'm like thinking, fuck you. And sure enough, he brings out the PC bazooka and fires: "From what I understand, its not a choice."

I scoffed. "Look, it's like this. I'm a WASP from the burbs. I can identify as a black NBA or rap star, but that doesn't make me street, does it? It just makes me crazy."

A misty sadness drifted across Aziz's face, though I sensed anger just beneath his calm surface. He leaned on his elbow, stroking his chin, his brow furled, figuring the best way to phrase something, I imagine.

"I don't think its as simple as that," he said, parroting that hippie-dippie, PC sensitivity training crap. And I was in no mood for that noise any time soon.