Surviving My Father’s KPIs

My father was a senior HR executive.

He used KPIs to define my life.

"Rank top ten in your grade, and I'll give you a B, with a bonus of 250 dollars.

"Place in a state-level competition, and you'll get an A, with a bonus of 500.

"If your SAT score hits Ivy-level, I'll give you an S+ and a 5,000-dollar year-end bonus."

I studied as if my life depended on it, and in the end, I got the acceptance letter.

My father slapped a contract down in front of me instead.

"Congratulations on onboarding into the next phase. Starting today, your allowance will be structured as base salary plus performance plus attendance bonus.

"Base pay is 250 dollars a month, enough to keep you from starving.

"To prepare you for a high-pressure work environment, I’ll conduct random inspections. Fail, and your pay gets docked."

When I ran a 104°F fever, he cut my attendance bonus, saying my physical resilience didn't meet standards.

When I forgot to submit a weekly report because I was buried in schoolwork, he froze all my money.

To stay alive, I went behind his back and sold blood at the hospital.

At the end of the semester, I held my transcript and scholarship certificate, thinking I had finally earned the highest rating.

But my father looked at me without a trace of warmth.

"Your S+ bonus has been reallocated. The company decided to invest it in your brother, Harry. He has more potential."

I looked at the 100-dollar "consolation prize" he handed me and laughed.

So in his company, I didn't even qualify as an "outstanding employee."

The day my SAT ended, I thought I would be greeted with flowers and a hug.

Instead, I got a "Family Employment Contract."

My father sat on the couch, spinning a pen between his fingers, studying me like I was a candidate fresh out of college.

"Sit."

He pointed at the stiff wooden chair across from him.

Two documents lay on the coffee table. One was my acceptance letter from a top-tier college, majoring in a high-demand field.

The other was the contract.

"Walter, congratulations on completing all K-12 objectives. Per our prior verbal agreement, you've achieved an S+ performance rating."

My eyes lit up, my heart racing.

"So… The 5,000-dollar bonus?"

I had nearly killed myself for that money.

In my senior year, I barely slept a full night. Practice tests piled up high enough to fill the whole room, and my hair fell out in clumps.

My father smiled. "As for the S+ bonus distribution, after careful consideration, I've decided on a resource reallocation."

I froze. "What does that mean?"

"Harry has his high school entrance exams next year. You know he's the family's priority project. He's at a critical incubation stage."

He pushed the contract toward me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Resources are limited. They have to be directed toward high-potential assets. Your bonus has been used to enroll him in an intensive prep program."

It felt like someone had dumped ice water over my head.

"Dad, that was my bonus! You promised!"

The words came out before I could stop them.

"Watch your tone."

His expression hardened, fingers tapping against the table.

"In the workplace, questioning your superior's decision is a major taboo. As a senior HR professional, I'm teaching you the rules. Besides, you're already a mature product. You don't require further investment."

He flipped open the first page of the contract.

"Since you're about to enter college, the family's obligation to you transitions to basic survival support. Starting today, your allowance will be structured as base salary plus performance plus attendance bonus. Base pay is 250 dollars a month. That covers your meals, transportation, phone bill, and all social expenses."

Two hundred and fifty?

In a place as expensive as Castlebrook, that wouldn't even stretch far enough for cheap cafeteria food without counting every dollar.

"That's not enough to live on," I said through clenched teeth.

"That's your problem." He looked at me coldly. "Cutting costs and increasing income are basic employee competencies. You can take a part-time job or earn scholarships. But…"

He tapped a clause on the contract.

"None of that can affect your academic KPIs. If your GPA drops below 3.5 or you fail a class, your base salary will be cut in half.

"Additionally, to prepare you for a high-pressure work environment, I'll conduct random inspections.

"Fail a dorm cleanliness check, minus 25 dollars. Miss a message, minus 10. Go over your weight limit, minus 50.

"Sign it."

He handed me the pen. There wasn't a trace of a father in his eyes, only the calculation of a boss managing cheap labor.

"You don't have to sign. But then you'll pay your own tuition, move out of the house, and we'll terminate this arrangement."

I stared at the pen, my eyes stinging.

I knew he meant it.

In the ten years since my mother died, he had used these cold KPIs to rank my brother, Harry Baker, and me into different tiers.

Harry was the core asset. I was disposable.

My hand trembled as I signed my name on the contract.

"Good."

He took it back, satisfied.

"Welcome to your new phase. Also, due to your insubordination just now, 100 dollars will be deducted from this month's base pay. You'll have 150 left."

I closed my eyes and forced the tears back down.