“From now on, this… will be my private office,” Regina announced, chin tipped up.
The smug expression on her face had no resemblance to the modest, soft-spoken intern I remembered.
“By ability?” I asked, my voice low.
I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. “You mean your ability to change variable names in parameters I already debugged, reformat my annotations, and then submit neatly organized test cases as if they were core algorithms? Or do you mean the ‘ability’ to start hammering away at useless lines of code or open a pre-written document whenever Mr. Jefferson happens to walk past your desk?"
My quiet words stung, each one targeting her most sensitive spots.
These were details I’d only pieced together in hindsight.
She took advantage of the fact that I was too busy caring for my mom’s illness to pay close attention. She utilized her position as an intern, despite not having access to the core system, and was exposed to intermediate files and test cases.
In just a month, she carefully created the illusion that she’d 'deeply participated' in the project, even 'led' it.
Regina’s expression changed. That layer of fake confidence and pride instantly broke, replaced by a bright, embarrassed flush.
Her breathing turned rapid, her composure unraveling.
"Y-You’re lying!” she snapped, her voice shrill, her eyes darting with panic.
She couldn’t even look me in the eye.
“You know better than anyone whether I’m making this up,” I replied, my tone staying cold. “Those so-called core modules you submitted, the ones you claimed to have written yourself? Their low-level function calls and logical structure are identical to the framework I built at the start. You just slapped on a clumsy wrapper with flashy, useless annotations and a decorative layer.”
I tilted my head, pressing the point. “Would you like me to line up your code with my original designs, side by side, and post it on a tech forum for everyone to admire and dissect?”
That broke Regina completely.
Her biggest weakness has always been a shallow technical base.
She can’t handle serious scrutiny.
After all, Grant Jefferson didn’t understand code. He could be fooled by surface polish.
But the tech world—the people who live and breathe code?
They see everything.
Right there, Regina’s face shifted from red to white, then white to a sickly green. Just then, her eyes caught sight of something: the old photo frame on my desk.
It held a picture of my mom and me, taken during our trip last year.
A flicker crossed her eyes.
Suddenly, with a deliberately casual sweep, she knocked the frame off the desk.
It fell to the floor with a loud crash, shattering glass that scattered everywhere.
Regina lurched a step forward and deliberately brought her foot down, hard, onto the broken glass and the photograph.
“Oh no, sorry, Avery. Didn’t see it there,” she said, feigning innocence.
In that instant, it felt like all the blood in my body rushed to my head.
My palm met her cheek, and the crack of the slap cut through the office.
Regina’s head snapped to the side, a vivid red handprint already blooming on her cheek.
“Get out!” I shouted.
The office door flew open.
“Ms. Sanderson, what the hell are you doing?!” Grant barked.
Grant Jefferson stood in the doorway, his face dark with anger.
He must have been passing by and caught the scene.
Regina wasted no time. Her inner actress came out instantly as she trembled with just the right amount of hurt and fragility.
“Mr. Jefferson, I-I just came to apologize to Avery about the bonus. I didn’t know why she suddenly got so angry, and then she just hit me…”
“Avery!” Grant snapped. “I never thought you’d be this petty! The company made its decision about the bonus. Even if you’re dissatisfied, that’s no excuse for hitting a colleague! Especially when Regina came here in good faith to apologize!”
“Apologize?” I turned to him coldly, pointing at the broken frame on the floor. “She smashed a photo of my mom and stepped on it. That’s your idea of an apology?”
