Framed for Kickbacks at My Boss' Secret Farm

After the team-building trip is over, I get complimented by my boss and colleague for organizing it because it's been a fun experience for everyone, not to mention the money they've paid is worth the experience.

But the next day, I get publicly shamed by Marilyn Ross, a finance executive, in the company's group chat.

She has posted a few ambiguous transaction screenshots and accused me of receiving 50 thousand dollars' worth of under-the-table commissions from the farm.

All of my colleagues instantly take Marilyn's side. They begin berating me for acting all pretentious when in reality, I'm despicable enough to do all those underhanded things behind their backs.

But that's when my boss, Ethan Keller, leaves a question mark in the group chat.

The smug Marilyn begins coercing me into writing a resignation report and returning the money.

But what she doesn't know is that the farm is Ethan's private business. How on earth can I receive such commissions, in the first place?

My phone wouldn't stop vibrating.

I picked it up to find that the company chat had completely blown up.

Marilyn Ross from the finance team had tagged me, followed by a string of exclamation marks.

"Sheryl Gibson, this is unbelievable. Here we were treating you like a hero, and you were treating us like cash cows?"

Then, she dropped three screenshots into the chat.

They showed a conversation between me and someone claiming to be the farm manager.

The farm manager wrote, "Ms. Gibson, we padded the headcount by 50 people this time. I just transferred your cut of 50 thousand dollars to your account."

The avatar in the chat was undeniably mine.

The group chat went dead silent for about three seconds before exploding like boiling oil hitting water.

Ben Fraser from sales was the first to chime in.

"And here I was buying you drinks last night, thanking you for your hard work. Turns out, you were just working hard at counting your cash. 50 thousand dollars, Sheryl? What's your annual salary again? Talk about a massive payday."

Marilyn followed up with a voice note. Her tone dripped with venom. "No wonder this team-building trip seemed so cheap. She was in cahoots with the venue the whole time.

"Keeping someone like this around is a disgrace to the admin department and a liability to finance. Sheryl, do us a favor and pack your bags. Return the money, or I'm calling the cops."

I sat at my desk, staring at the screenshots.

The transfer receipts were blurry, and even the dates looked double-exposed.

It was a laughably bad Photoshop job, yet the entire office bought it.

I tapped on the images, zooming in on this supposed farm manager.

The avatar was a pig, and the username was just "Bob".

I let out a bitter laugh.

The person I'd coordinated with was the farm owner's son, Julio Keller. And his profile picture was a shot of him racing cars.

The insults in the chat were getting uglier by the second.

Some said I always acted so clean and proper, but was rotten to the core. Others claimed that they finally knew how I afforded my designer bags.

Then, our CEO, Ethan Keller, dropped a single question mark into the chat.

The moment that question mark appeared, the chat fell dead silent.

Marilyn immediately replied beneath it, "Mr. Keller, the evidence is undeniable. Sheryl didn't just take kickbacks. She falsified the headcount. This is a total betrayal of the company."

I gripped my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen for a long time.

I didn't explain myself, nor did I defend my honor.

Instead, I quietly took screenshots of every single message and saved them.

Noticing my silence, Marilyn grew even bolder in the chat. "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue? Playing dead isn't going to save you now. Sheryl, you have half an hour to get your resignation letter down to Mr. Keller's office. Otherwise, we'll see you in court."

I sneered and set my phone down.

I stood and walked over to the pantry to brew myself a cup of coffee.

Passing the finance department, I caught sight of Marilyn holding court with a few other colleagues.

She was laughing up a storm, gesturing wildly as she spoke.

Ben chimed in right on cue, "Good catch, Marilyn. Thieves like her deserve to be publicly humiliated."

Holding my cup of coffee, I walked past them with steady strides.

When Marilyn spotted me, she purposely raised her voice. "Oh, look, if it isn't our embezzling manager. Haven't you started writing your confession yet?"