The original idea for the game came from a childhood dream of mine.
It was crafted through countless sleepless nights, facing a screen full of code and data, repeatedly debugging, optimizing, and refining it bit by bit.
The initial rough demo was also tested on my personal computer. Consequently, the core and structure of this game have been associated with my name from the very start.
Over time, these battles helped the company, which began as a small team of just twelve people in a cramped office, gradually grow, becoming stronger and more capable.
Eventually, thanks to that game, we won an international award, our valuation soared, and we stood on the brink of going public.
Meanwhile, the company’s founder, Richard Jefferson, was a sharp, forward-thinking middle-aged man who valued me greatly.
He not only placed absolute trust in me at work but also, privately, would often clap me on the shoulder and half-jokingly, half-seriously say to others, “If only Grant had half of Avery’s steadiness and competence. I think, if I ever handed over both him and the company to her, I’d finally feel at ease.”
At that time, Grant was studying abroad, and we all took those words as the boss’s playful remarks.
Even so, that recognition and expectation warmed me deeply, and I felt that all my hard work had been worth it.
But fate had other plans.
Richard Jefferson passed away suddenly due to illness. His son, Grant, who had spent years studying management and art overseas, rushed back to run the company.
At first, he treated me with respect, consulting me on technical decisions. However, somewhere along the way, the atmosphere within the company began to shift.
The management style he introduced, emphasizing 'attitude,' 'dedication,' and 'corporate culture,' gradually replaced the pragmatic, results-driven approach his father had supported.
Now, the polish of a PowerPoint presentation, leaving the lights on at one’s workstation after hours, and showing enthusiasm at company team-building events—these superficial things seemed more important to him than the technical contributions and project results that his father had valued.
While I stayed focused on the work itself, lost in my pursuit of cleaner code and better systems, I didn’t realize how far the tides had turned.
It wasn’t until the $10 million bonus incident, like a thunderclap, that I was jolted awake.
What Grant needed was not a strong technical leader capable of achieving incredible feats, but a 'role model' who aligned with his management philosophy.
And Regina happened to be exactly what he was looking for.
After a month of rest, I began browsing job boards, updating my résumé, and sending applications to several well-known game companies.
At first, I was confident. With my experience and technical abilities, landing an ideal job shouldn’t be difficult.
But most of the résumés I sent out disappeared without a trace.
A few companies invited me for interviews, but after the first round of talks, their attitude suddenly changed. Their words became vague, their smiles polite, and eventually, the conversations fizzled out.
After a few rejections, a former colleague quietly told me the truth:
“Avery, it’s not that your skills aren’t good. Someone in the industry’s been spreading rumors about you, saying you’re difficult to work with, that you rely on your seniority and bully the younger ones," he hesitated, lowering his voice. They even say you steal the interns’ work and that you’ve hit people. Now, many companies think you’re a toxic presence in the industry.”
At that moment, everything clicked into place.
This was Grant Jefferson’s doing.
Not only had he forced me out of the company, but he was now trying to cut off all my future opportunities.
When my mom noticed the constant frown on my face over the past few days, she asked me for an explanation.
Once I told her the whole story, her face went pale with anger.
She immediately stood up, ready to march out the door.
“I’m going to confront him! How dare he slander you like this?” she exclaimed.
I gently grabbed her hand and held her back.
“Mom, don’t. Not yet.”
I turned to look out the window, my voice calm and steady.
“Just about time,” I murmured. “Very soon, he will come begging me himself.”
My mom looked at me, confused, about to speak when my phone suddenly rang on the table.
The caller ID lit up with one name:
[Grant Jefferson]
I hit 'Accept' and switched to speaker mode.
“Avery?” Grant’s voice had lost its usual composure; urgency roughened the edges. “You need to get to Brighton Tech in Westview City immediately. It’s an emergency! The game we sold them hit a major bug during the final presentation. The client is furious. This has to be resolved today!”
Behind him, voices rose, keyboards clacked, and the tension mounted.
I waited until he finished his breathless explanation.
Then, unhurried and calm as still water, I spoke. “Mr. Jefferson, did you dial the wrong number? I’ve already resigned. If the company has technical issues, I believe you should reach out to the one who received the $10 million bonus. The one who stays late working overtime every night is Regina, right?”
