I looked at her and gave a small smile, and somehow that smile brought out a few tears.
My stiff fingers tapped on my phone as I typed back, my hands shaking a little.
[Got it, sir. I’ll remember this lesson. I will never again order a 40-dollar dessert and “splurge” and “waste company resources.” Next time at the company dinner, I’ll just drink water and skip the food.]
On the surface, it looked like an apology, but the message was basically a drop of water landing in hot oil.
Anyone could see it for what it was—an employee’s quiet, blunt disappointment in his own company.
Right after sending it, I logged out of every company system and took my mandatory “self-reflection suspension” exactly as instructed.
Rayner, sticking relentlessly to his “stay in your lane” mantra, shoved me into a workstation next to the bathroom—where I had to deal with coworkers walking by all day, some giving me half-interested disdain, others giving pitying looks I didn’t need.
Meanwhile, Tyron parked himself proudly at my old desk, barking orders at the department like he was suddenly in charge.
But my seat wasn’t something you could just slide into and fake your way through.
Every project before this—I handled myself. From design to production, I knew every piece of it.
Tyron? That rookie didn’t know a damn thing.
Within a few days, more than ten clients complained. They demanded I return to take over their accounts, or they’d cancel the contracts outright.
The company was about to face massive compensation fees.
Rayner finally couldn’t hold it together. He swallowed his pride and walked over to my exile of a workstation.
“Conley, these projects were yours. Now there are technical issues. Go deal with them. Make sure the Chevrolets are satisfied.”
I raised my head slowly, giving him a blank look.
“Sir, did you get the wrong person? I’m suspended, remember?”
He froze for a second, then forced out, stiff as iron, “Even during suspension, you still work. Company rules—you start a project, you finish it.”
I opened my hands. “But I already logged out of everything. I can’t access a single thing to follow up.”
His face tightened, anger building behind his eyes.
“Suspension isn’t termination. Why did you log out? Re-apply for access. Now.”
I looked at him steadily.
“You’re the one who said ‘stay in your lane,’ sir. I’m just following leadership instructions.”
A twitch ran across his face, but he forced himself to stay composed.
“Fine. I’m restoring your position right now. Contact the clients immediately. Don’t let them terminate the contracts.”
I gave him a small smile.
“Sir, wouldn’t your star salesperson be the better choice for that? I’m just the guy who supposedly ‘relied on his face’ to get sales. I don’t have that kind of talent, remember?”
His face darkened to the color of spoiled meat, rage barely held down.
“Conley, colleagues make jokes. You actually took it seriously?”
I kept the smile, but the coldness behind it was impossible to miss.
“So stripping me of my top salesperson title and cutting my 500k bonus—was that a joke too?
“And saying a 40-dollar dish counts as ‘extravagance and waste’—was that also a joke?”
Each word hit him like a punch.
His face went from red, to pale, to a blotchy bruise-like purple.
But he said nothing. I knew he was fighting himself; admitting he was wrong wasn’t something a CEO like him could stomach.
Right then, Tyron came running over, practically buzzing.
“Sir! Aptivion finally agreed to invest!”
Rayner’s face lit up instantly with triumph.
“Excellent! Tyron, you’re a damn lucky star for this company. With Aptivion behind us, those clients will be begging to stay!”
Then he turned and gave me a venomous glare.
“Conley, you’re fired. Go process the paperwork. Now.”
I nodded calmly. “Fine. Then according to policy, I expect the company to give me the compensation I’m due.”
He snapped, shouting, “Compensation? After all the trouble you caused? Wait for our lawsuit!”
Tyron glared at me, full of spite.
“Boy, I’ll make sure you get blacklisted in this entire industry!”
