"Grant Delgado, you're absolutely hopeless!"
By now, I could no longer fool myself into thinking this was some kind of prank.
Everyone seemed convinced I'd committed an unforgivable crime—yet no one would tell me what exactly I'd done.
I was the only one left in the dark.
What could possibly be wrong with the Spring Festival couplets I'd sent to my employees?
After a long hesitation, I dialed my mother.
"Sweetheart! Your father and I were just chatting with some of the senior board members—we heard about all that nasty talk online. Are you alright? Don't let it get to you. Mom and Dad will always have your back!"
Her words hit me right in the chest. The grievance I'd been holding back nearly spilled over.
These were the people I trusted most. The people who loved me most.
And now they'd been dragged into this storm of online hate because of me—completely innocent bystanders caught in the crossfire.
My eyes stung. My voice cracked. "Mom, Dad... I'm so sorry..."
"Lee Delgado, get over here! Our boy's been through hell—help me figure this out!"
Mom shouted for my father while continuing to comfort me: "Honey, show us what you gave the employees for the New Year. Let's see what this misunderstanding is all about."
I glanced at the couplets and gift cards tossed aside on my desk. My stomach clenched.
My first instinct was to make up some excuse.
After all, the image of my employee's girlfriend—the board secretary—turning on me in an instant was still seared into my mind.
But I still couldn't see what the problem was.
I needed to ask someone I trusted. Only then could I put together an effective PR response.
And who in this world could I trust more than my own parents?
With that thought, I steadied myself and held the couplets and gift cards up to the phone's camera.
"See? This is what I prepared for the employees—"
Halfway through my sentence, I watched their expressions shift.
Both faces turned dead serious.
A wave of dread washed over me. I opened my mouth to explain, but Mom beat me to it.
"Grant Delgado, this is what you prepared for your employees? Have you lost all sense of decency? Do you even have a conscience?!"
"Just let me explain—I had no idea—"
Dad's brow furrowed with unmistakable disgust. He cut me off without hesitation.
"Everything we taught you all these years—did it all go in one ear and out the other? No wonder you're getting dragged online. You deserve this!"
The call ended.
When I tried calling back, the line was dead.
They'd blocked me.
I stood there trembling, unable to process what I'd just heard from my own parents.
Then—noise from outside.
I looked down through the window. A crowd had gathered at the entrance of the building, hazy shapes milling below.
Employees. Holding banners.
I could just make out the words: "Xiliang Biotech is finished."
More and more people joined. Security was starting to lose control.
This was spiraling faster than I'd imagined.
No. I couldn't let this continue.
I grabbed my phone and dialed the one number that might pull me out of this fire.
The supplier. The couplets had come from them.
"Hello, is this Sparkline Gift Co.? This is Grant Delgado, Chairman of Xiliang Biotech."
"As you've no doubt seen, the couplets I purchased from you have caused a major incident. My company's stock price and reputation have taken a serious hit. Sparkline should be taking responsibility for this, wouldn't you agree?"
I paused deliberately.
And sure enough, the voice on the other end shot back:
"Excuse me? You're the one who tampered with those couplets—what does that have to do with us? Plenty of companies buy couplets from Sparkline. Your old rival Witter Biotech, for example—they didn't have any problems, did they?"
