"Grant Delgado, you're absolutely hopeless!"

By now, I could no longer fool myself into thinking this was some kind of prank.

Everyone seemed convinced I'd committed an unforgivable crime—yet no one would tell me what exactly I'd done.

I was the only one left in the dark.

What could possibly be wrong with the Spring Festival couplets I'd sent to my employees?

After a long hesitation, I dialed my mother.

"Sweetheart! Your father and I were just chatting with some of the senior board members—we heard about all that nasty talk online. Are you alright? Don't let it get to you. Mom and Dad will always have your back!"

Her words hit me right in the chest. The grievance I'd been holding back nearly spilled over.

These were the people I trusted most. The people who loved me most.

And now they'd been dragged into this storm of online hate because of me—completely innocent bystanders caught in the crossfire.

My eyes stung. My voice cracked. "Mom, Dad... I'm so sorry..."

"Lee Delgado, get over here! Our boy's been through hell—help me figure this out!"

Mom shouted for my father while continuing to comfort me: "Honey, show us what you gave the employees for the New Year. Let's see what this misunderstanding is all about."

I glanced at the couplets and gift cards tossed aside on my desk. My stomach clenched.

My first instinct was to make up some excuse.

After all, the image of my employee's girlfriend—the board secretary—turning on me in an instant was still seared into my mind.

But I still couldn't see what the problem was.

I needed to ask someone I trusted. Only then could I put together an effective PR response.

And who in this world could I trust more than my own parents?

With that thought, I steadied myself and held the couplets and gift cards up to the phone's camera.

"See? This is what I prepared for the employees—"

Halfway through my sentence, I watched their expressions shift.

Both faces turned dead serious.

A wave of dread washed over me. I opened my mouth to explain, but Mom beat me to it.

"Grant Delgado, this is what you prepared for your employees? Have you lost all sense of decency? Do you even have a conscience?!"

"Just let me explain—I had no idea—"

Dad's brow furrowed with unmistakable disgust. He cut me off without hesitation.

"Everything we taught you all these years—did it all go in one ear and out the other? No wonder you're getting dragged online. You deserve this!"

The call ended.

When I tried calling back, the line was dead.

They'd blocked me.

I stood there trembling, unable to process what I'd just heard from my own parents.

Then—noise from outside.

I looked down through the window. A crowd had gathered at the entrance of the building, hazy shapes milling below.

Employees. Holding banners.

I could just make out the words: "Xiliang Biotech is finished."

More and more people joined. Security was starting to lose control.

This was spiraling faster than I'd imagined.

No. I couldn't let this continue.

I grabbed my phone and dialed the one number that might pull me out of this fire.

The supplier. The couplets had come from them.

"Hello, is this Sparkline Gift Co.? This is Grant Delgado, Chairman of Xiliang Biotech."

"As you've no doubt seen, the couplets I purchased from you have caused a major incident. My company's stock price and reputation have taken a serious hit. Sparkline should be taking responsibility for this, wouldn't you agree?"

I paused deliberately.

And sure enough, the voice on the other end shot back:

"Excuse me? You're the one who tampered with those couplets—what does that have to do with us? Plenty of companies buy couplets from Sparkline. Your old rival Witter Biotech, for example—they didn't have any problems, did they?"

"You're the one with dirty hands—don't try to drag Sparkline through the mud with you. I'm warning you, keep spreading these lies and we'll see you in court. You'll be drowning in lawsuits!"

I pulled up a search for Witter Biotech on my phone, scrolling rapidly until I found what I was looking for—photos posted by their employees showing off their New Year couplets.

Identical. The exact same couplets I was holding.

But here was the strange part: the posts were flooded with nothing but warm wishes and grateful comments. So satisfied with our holiday gifts! Not a single complaint.

What the hell was going on? The same image, two completely opposite reactions.

A suspicion began to crystallize in my mind.

Someone set me up.

I cleared my throat and softened my tone, smoothing things over with a few conciliatory words before getting to the point.

"You've seen the fallout. My company's taken a massive hit, and we need serious damage control—fast."

"But this situation is complicated. Odds are, someone engineered this trap specifically for me. The investigation will take time, and I can't afford to miss the window for crisis management." I paused, letting that sink in. "I need you to find someone in your procurement department willing to take the fall temporarily—say it was a clerical error that caused the whole mess. I'll compensate them generously. Once I've uncovered the truth, I'll clear their name completely."

"Could you ask around? See if anyone's willing to help?"

The man on the other end swore under his breath, ready to refuse.

Then I named the figure.

Silence.

"...I'll need to run this by my superiors. I'll get back to you."

The moment Sparkline confirmed they were on board, I ordered the PR department to draft a statement and buy trending placement. Holiday couplets resulted from procurement error at vendor level.

Finally—finally—the bleeding started to slow.

I stuffed the couplet and gift card into my pocket and headed straight for the nearest police station.

Along the way, I stopped a few friendly-looking pedestrians.

Pulled out the couplet. Asked them what was wrong with it.

Every single one of them took one look and their pupils contracted, faces twisting with shock—then rage.

A few recognized me. The cursing that followed could have peeled paint.

"It's the New Year—get that cursed thing away from me! Disgusting!"

"Grant Delgado, working for you must be eight lifetimes of bad luck..."

"I've seen heartless bosses before, but sending this as a holiday gift? You're not even trying to hide it!"

By the time I reached the station entrance, my hair looked like a bird's nest and my down jacket was leaking feathers from where it had been torn.

Then a voice exploded behind me.

"Grant Delgado! You have the nerve to send those cursed gifts and then waltz in here to file a report?!"

I turned.

The employees who'd been holding banners downstairs. Every single one of them. Faces bruised, eyes blazing.

The one in front grabbed my collar and drew back his fist.

"Delgado, you're giving us answers today!"

I squeezed my eyes shut—

"HANDS OFF!" An officer's roar split the air. "This is a police station! You want to start a brawl here? Looking for another night in holding?"

I exhaled, heart still hammering.

Fumbling in my pocket, I shoved everything into the officer's hands—the couplet, the gift card, all of it.

"Officers, please—someone's trying to destroy me. You have to help."

The words poured out: the inexplicable online attacks over simple couplets, the stock price in freefall, every suspicion I'd been piecing together.

The officers examined the couplet and gift card, turning them over slowly.

Their expressions hardened. Grew cold.

Ice slid down my spine.

I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong with the couplet—

One of them looked up sharply.

And finally spoke the truth that had turned my employees against me—that had made the entire internet want my head: