Everyone within earshot heard what she said. Not a single person spoke up. They all pretended they hadn't heard a thing.

Their seamless solidarity made the whole scene feel pointless.

"Fine. Then let's see if you actually have the pull to back that up."

I turned back to my work and tried to focus.

But the stares coming from every direction never let up. Not for a second.

Someone muttered just loud enough to be heard:

"Must be nice earning so much. Even a cup of coffee is too precious to share."

I acted like I hadn't heard.

I barely survived until the end of the day. I was packing up to leave when my phone started buzzing nonstop.

Someone had dropped a screenshot into the company-wide group chat.

I tapped on it, and the blood rushed straight to my head.

It was my pay stub from last month. Base salary, bonus, project commission. Every single line item, laid bare.

And beneath the screenshot, someone had added a caption that burned itself into my eyes:

"$6,000 a month, and she won't even treat the department to an afternoon coffee run. What's the point of keeping someone like that around?"

The group chat erupted.

"$6,000 a month? No wonder she acts like she's above everyone."

"Making that much and she can't even spring for coffee? Why do we even keep her?"

I stared at the wall of messages, and something inside me sank, slow and heavy.

A leaked pay stub was a serious violation. But not a single person in that chat cared who had posted it.

All they cared about was why I wasn't spending my money on them.

The next morning, I had barely stepped into the department before I saw a crowd gathered around the bulletin board.

Pinned right in the center was my pay stub.

Next to it, someone had taped up unflattering photos of me with a label scrawled across them: CHEAPSKATE OF THE YEAR.

The cleaning lady looked uneasy.

"Ms. Chavez, it was already up when I got here this morning. I was going to tear it down, but that intern in your department told me to leave it."

I reached up and ripped every sheet off the board. Mercedes walked over right on cue, pressing a hand to her mouth in exaggerated shock.

"Oh my God, who would do something like that? But honestly, Matilda, if things have gotten this bad, you can't really blame everyone else, can you?"

I stared at her.

"Was this you?"

Mercedes blinked, the picture of innocence.

"Matilda, don't go throwing around accusations. There are hundreds of people in the company chat. Could've been anyone. But hey, I did stay late last night putting together your attendance records and colleague feedback. I'm about to hand them to Manager Whitney."

I looked at that face, barely concealing its smugness, and felt nothing but revulsion.

I didn't waste another word on her. I turned and headed straight for the manager's office. But before I could even open my mouth, Mercedes was already there, eyes rimming red.

"Manager Whitney, I'm so sorry to bother you with this. I never thought it would blow up like this. If I'd known Matilda was going to come make trouble for you, I would've just paid for the coffee myself."

She glanced at me, timid and wounded, as if she were the one who'd been wronged.

"Here are her recent attendance records, colleague evaluations, and client reception notes."

Maurice picked up the folder, flipped through two pages, and tossed it onto his desk with open irritation.

"Well, well, Matilda. So this is how you've been working. Half your colleagues describe you as selfish and uncooperative. How exactly do you expect to be a team player with an attitude like this?"

Right. I didn't buy them coffee, so now I was selfish and uncooperative. They were the ones who'd lost their minds.

I was about to respond when the door swung open and Duncan Swanson walked in. His gaze found me almost immediately.

"What's all the noise about? You're Matilda Chavez?"

"That's me."

Mr. Swanson's expression was cold, his face stamped with undisguised contempt.

"You think a decent paycheck makes you untouchable? Someone asks you to cover one coffee run and you turn it into a company-wide circus? This company needs people who can work with a team, not some overpaid prima donna who makes life miserable for everyone around her."

He didn't even give me a chance to speak. He turned to Maurice and said,

"Is the termination process done yet? Keeping someone like her around will only poison the culture. Freeze her performance bonus, have her hand over every single client account, and get the exit paperwork finished today."

The office went dead silent.

I stared at him, the sheer absurdity of it almost laughable.

How much business had I brought this company over the years? My active contracts this year alone were worth over ten million dollars. And he wanted to fire me now, at the worst possible time. Had he lost his mind?

I looked at them and asked a single question.

"So if I just make sure the afternoon coffee run is taken care of every day from now on, you won't fire me?"

Mercedes's expression froze for a split second, but she recovered fast, putting on a magnanimous smile.

"Oh, Matilda, don't be so dramatic. Nobody's trying to take advantage of you. It's just that what you did before was really a bad look. How about this: if you post a public apology in the group chat today and cover the afternoon coffee for the rest of the month, I think we could let you stay."

Mr. Swanson jumped in immediately.

"You hear that? If it weren't for Mercedes putting in a good word, you'd already be packing your desk."

Maurice spoke up too, his face like stone.

"Matilda, don't push your luck. Post the apology in the group chat before end of day, start buying the afternoon coffee tomorrow, and I might be generous enough to let you keep your job."

Mercedes could barely contain her grin.

"Oh, let's not be too hard on her. But you know, it's been so hot lately, just coffee in the afternoon isn't really enough. Some fruit and little cakes would be nice too, don't you think?"

I said nothing.

I gave her one long look, then turned and walked out. Behind me, Mercedes's laughter spilled through the office door, barely restrained.

"Manager Whitney, you and Mr. Swanson really know how to handle people. Some folks just don't behave until you put them in their place."

I pulled out my phone and dialed the number.

The call connected almost instantly.

"Ms. Chavez, you've finally made up your mind?"

I leaned against the wall and let out a slow breath.

"The offer. I accept. But before I leave, I need you to look into something for me."

My voice dropped cold.

"I want you to dig up everything there is to know about three people in my department: Mercedes Brady, whoever's backing her, and Maurice Whitney. Tonight."