The company had a stellar year after going public, so I prepared a special New Year gift for every employee—a set of traditional spring couplets and a shopping gift card worth $450.
What I got back wasn't gratitude.
"Grant Delgado, you actually sent us this?" The messages flooded in, vicious and unrelenting. "You bloodsucking parasite! You're worse than an animal!"
I stared at my phone, chest tight with disbelief, and called Natalie Brooks to vent.
The moment she saw the photo of the couplets and gift card, her voice changed—turned strange, almost unrecognizable.
"These couplets... you picked these out? As a New Year gift?" A brittle pause. "If that's true, we're done. I'd rather die alone than marry someone like you."
The line went dead.
Before I could process what had just happened, Reg Dickerson burst through my office door, face drained of color.
"Sir, this is bad. The employees posted your gifts online. The internet is tearing you apart—our stock price is in freefall!"
I pulled up the link. The comments hit like a freight train.
——
"Is this CEO insane? Sending THIS as a New Year gift? This breaks every law of human decency. My worldview is shattered."
"Which company? Drop the name so we can all avoid them!"
"It's Xiliang Biotech. Their office is right downstairs from me. I'm going to throw rotten eggs on everyone's behalf. Reading this post gave me three new ulcers."
I needed to understand. What was wrong with the couplets?
I scrolled through hundreds of comments. Not one person explained. Just wave after wave of profanity, death threats, and—my stomach lurched—photoshopped funeral portraits of me. Of my family.
My breathing turned ragged. I kept scrolling, fingers shaking, vision tunneling.
"Sir? Sir!"
Reg snatched the phone from my grip. His hands clamped down on my shoulders.
"Public sentiment has snowballed. Our stock hit the daily limit down." His voice was urgent, almost pleading. "For the company's sake—you need to do damage control. Now. Go apologize. In person."
"Apologize?" I shook him off. "For what?"
My eyes burned as I slammed my palm against the desk. "Tell me, Reg. I gave every single employee spring couplets and a generous gift card so they could have a good holiday with their families. What exactly am I supposed to apologize for?!"
Reg stared at me. Disappointment carved deep lines into his face. A vein throbbed at his temple.
"Cousin." His voice dropped, low and heavy. "Xiliang Biotech is the culmination of everything we've built together."
"This year, I drank myself into a stomach hemorrhage networking for this IPO. I did that for us." He stepped closer, jaw tight. "And now, because of you, our stock has cratered. Billions in market value—gone. Everyone's sacrifices, erased."
"And you won't even say you're sorry." He shook his head slowly. "Grant... I've never been more disappointed in anyone in my life."
He turned toward the door.
"Wait!" I grabbed his arm. "Reg, this company is my life's work too. Just—tell me. Why is everyone attacking me? What did I do?"
Reg inhaled sharply. Once. Twice.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the couplet scrolls. He unrolled it slowly, holding it up so the crimson paper faced me directly.
"Look at it yourself." His voice was ice. "Tell me—is this appropriate for a New Year's gift?"
I stepped closer. Read the couplets once. Twice. A third time. Ran my fingers over the paper, searching for something, anything.
Nothing.
"What am I supposed to see?" The words came out barely above a whisper. "It's just... an ordinary couplet. Is there a character I shouldn't have used? Is the 'fortune' symbol printed wrong? Or..." A chill crept up my spine. "Is someone setting me up?"
Reg's composure finally shattered.
The scroll struck my face with a sharp crack.
He stormed out, and his parting words hit me like a blade of ice:
