The new intern, Cynthia Joller, had posted about me online, claiming the company had made them use their leave for team building. No one wanted to fly all the way to an island to spend time with colleagues.

However, what the internet did not know was that our company's team-building tradition involved booking a top-notch five-star resort every year: all-inclusive, family-friendly, with an extra three days of paid leave, and a $30,000 budget per person.

The whole internet dubbed me a cold-blooded capitalist, so I decided to give in to their demands and issued a notice.

[In response to employee feedback and to honor personal time, this year's team-building retreat has been canceled. Instead, a $500 allowance for personal travel will be provided.]

The notice stirred up a commotion in the company. Long-time employees gathered at my office door, pleading for the return of the sunny Madiles retreat.

I finalized this year's team-building plan with the administrative director, Crystal Dalton.

"Mr. Sander, is this the one we're booking? An all-inclusive six-star resort in the Madiles." Crystal's tone was brimming with excitement.

I nodded in satisfaction.

Back when we were in a civilian house of less than 50 square meters, I promised my staff, "One day, I will take everyone to the most beautiful place in the world for a celebration party!"

I kept this promise in mind for many years.

I told Crystal, "The average budget per person is $30,000. Just splurge. Besides that, each participating employee will be granted an extra three days of paid annual leave. They must be paid!"

Crystal smiled and closed the iPad. "If we publish this plan, I guess the company group chat will be in an instant uproar."

Sure enough, after the notice was sent to the company's group chat of over 400 people, it was instantly flooded with all kinds of cheering emojis.

Simon Tanner from the tech department posted a family photo.

Simon: [Great! Last year, I promised to take my daughter to the seaside to see sea turtles. Now it can come true!]

The newlyweds in the marketing department discussed whether to make it their honeymoon.

The entire company was immersed in festive joy.

I watched the thankful messages scrolling on my phone screen, feeling a surge of satisfaction.

However, some discordant remarks suddenly popped up.

It was from the new intern, Cynthia Joller. She posted a link to a short video of an influencer complaining about pointless team-building activities in the group chat before casually remarking.

Cynthia: [Seriously? Seriously? Do companies still have mandatory trips these days? I would rather stay home and relax.]

The lively group chat instantly froze.

Department head Daniel Jackman immediately stepped in to smooth things over.

Daniel: [Cynthia's new here and does not know the situation yet. Our company's team-building activities are top-tier perks; not going is a huge loss.]

Another colleague chimed in sarcastically.

[Exactly, some people don't even have connections when they want to go.]

Cynthia immediately replied with an eye-rolling emoji.

Cynthia: [No thanks. I am not interested. I do not want to waste my life playing pretend with unfamiliar colleagues. If the boss really has that kind of money, it would be better to just give out the team-building funds in cash.]

Her words silenced the group chat completely.

Several long-time employees who had been excitedly chatting earlier silently unsent their messages.

I even saw a few anonymous users secretly like Cynthia's comment, only to quickly unlike it a few seconds later.

That afternoon, there was a knock on my office door.

It was Cynthia. Wearing stylish slippers and holding a cup of milk tea, she was completely unfazed by her boss's presence.

"Mr. Sander, how about a chat?" She raised her chin and casually sat down on the couch opposite me.

"I think company team building is too old-fashioned. We young people value separating work and life. You spend a fortune to bring us all together, and we have to fake smiles. It's exhausting."

She looked at me defiantly, "It's an emotional drain, you know? Why not just pay us directly? Everyone's happy that way."

Looking at her expression, which seemed to say she was here to teach me management, I found it both absurd and funny. "The company's team building activities are honor trips for outstanding employees. It's a form of collective recognition, not a perk that can be bargained for at the market."

Cynthia pursed her lips. "Fine, forget I said anything."

She stood up and walked away, muttering under her breath, "How preachy and boring."

Near the end of the day, I saw the company's veteran, Larry Deck, gather around Cynthia's workstation with a few younger employees.

Larry beamed. "Cynthia, we all had your back! You said what we were all thinking. No sweat, we've got you covered if anything goes down!"

Cynthia raised an eyebrow slyly and whispered, "Relax, Larry. Just wait and see."

Then, Cynthia whipped out her phone and snapped a pic of the computer screen. After that, she aimed the camera at herself, her expression shifting instantly to one of pure distress. She even added a gray filter for effect.

Her lips moved, silently mouthing, "Help!"

My stomach sank.

When I got home from work, I suddenly received a video push alert on my phone.

The title was written in an eye-catching font.

[I earn only $3,000 a month, but my boss forced me to participate in a team-building activity that costs an average of $30,000 per person. Will you want this good fortune?]

The thumbnail featured Cynthia's face, which was filled with unwillingness.

My heart sank sharply as I clicked on the video. The opening was a promotional video of a six-star hotel in the Madiles, but it was edited with a depressing black-and-white filter and accompanied by sad music.

The caption emerged.

[The boss's empty promise sure looks tempting.]

The scene switched to Cynthia's workstation, where a regular form was zoomed in on.

The caption that followed wrote: [Unfortunately, I am just an employee who wants to get off work in peace.]

Then came a close-up of her on the verge of tears, captioned: [I was told to use my precious weekend to attend a large group performance. I am speechless.]

She cleverly twisted the concept of "extra paid leave" into "using her weekend."

Finally, she griped to the camera, "I don't need the Madiles. I just want to sleep in on weekends. Anyone who wants that kind of luxury can take it."

The comments section predictably blew up.

[Gen Z should live this carefree! Tell us the company name, we will make it go viral!]

[I cannot stand these self-righteous bosses! Let me make it clear, my job is to work, not attend team building.]

[You said exactly what I was thinking. Who with social anxiety enjoys team building? Give me back my downtime!]

I was so livid that my hands and feet turned icy cold.

Three days of paid leave turned into "using their precious weekend."

A top-tier reward of $30,000 turned into "kidnapping."

The next morning, the atmosphere at the company was off.

Several employees surrounded Cynthia, commenting on her boldness while their faces expressed their excitement at the spectacle.

Larry even led her into my office.

As soon as Larry entered, he said with feigned concern, "Mr. Sander, please don't be angry. Though Cynthia's actions are extreme, they do reflect what many young people feel. Why don't you go along with public opinion?"

Cynthia stood off to the side, arms crossed, wearing a smug expression. She waved her phone. "Mr. Sander, look at this. This is the voice of the people and the trend of the times."

I replied indifferently, "Company traditions and rules won't change because of anyone's unreasonable demands."

Cynthia scoffed. "Traditions? Traditions are meant to be broken. If you don't find a way to satisfy everyone, I can't guarantee you won't be trending nationwide tomorrow."

I had barely finished speaking when my assistant burst through the door with a ghastly pale face. "Mr. Sander, bad news. Cynthia's video is trending!"

I refreshed my phone. Indeed. What disappointed me even more were the anonymous comments under the video, the IP addresses of which were all located in our office building.

[Oh, who can argue with that? They called it a luxury trip, but the hotel they stayed in last year wasn't even as big as my bathroom.]

[Perks? Just empty promises. The budget was $30,000. Even $3,000 is considered enough for that dump.]

These lies made me dizzy. They wanted the company's lavish perks while simultaneously trying to shift the risk onto the intern, fantasizing that they could just cash out the trip if things blew up. Their refined yet greedy selfishness shattered the kindness I had for years.

Looking at the two smug individuals before me, I suddenly felt everything utterly pointless.

Overnight, my company transformed from a company that everyone else envied into a heartless factory that was subject to full-scale criticism.

The company's name and my photo were plastered all over. Insulting messages and harassing calls bombarded my phone, making it buzz like crazy on my desk.

[Cold-hearted capitalist, may your company go under tomorrow!]

[The company that exploits its workers has been reported to the labor authorities!]

The public relations manager, sporting dark circles under his eyes, handed me an urgent PR plan.

His voice strained, he urged, "Mr. Sander, we need to address this now! Write up an official statement immediately and lay out all the facts!"

Rubbing my throbbing temples, I gazed at him. "If we release a statement now, it won't be a calm explanation but a defensive excuse, flaunting wealth to the public, which will only stoke more outrage."

The manager froze. He opened his mouth but could not utter a word.

When emotions overwhelmed reason, no facts could stir even a ripple.

I was wrong. I thought someone would choose to believe me as long as I treated people with sincerity.

Yet, as I scrolled through that viral video, a new anonymous comment rose to the top, boosted by countless likes.

The familiar tone made me almost certain it was from another employee of the company.

[Stop trying to cover it up. I work here. This so-called paid leave is just a trade-off for our hard-earned annual leave! If we object, our boss makes things tough, and we're all too scared to speak up!]

I stared at that comment, my mind reeling. It was not anger; it was a profound weariness and revulsion.

I could almost picture who typed those words. Maybe it was that same old employee who had thanked me just last week.

This comment crushed my last glimmer of hope like a boulder. With a more vicious lie, it twisted the company's only goodwill into a conspiracy.

Below, countless people claiming to be "employees" agreed with this sentiment.

A memory flashed through my mind—the celebration at the farmhouse when the company had just made a profit. Everyone's smiles were genuine then.

I pondered, realizing I had not skimped on perks for any of my colleagues. Yet, all I received was betrayal from everyone. They took my kindness for granted and did not think twice about stabbing me in the back for that paltry "cash bonus."

It turned out that the facade of respectability I had painstakingly maintained was just a self-deluding joke.

The public relations manager was still anxiously urging me, "Mr. Sander, if we don't speak up soon, our partners and investors won't stop calling us!"

I wearily waved my hand, pushing the contingency plan aside. "No need. Prepare a new announcement." My voice was frighteningly calm.

I stood up and walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window.

Several media vans were already parked downstairs.

I chuckled self-deprecatingly. I did not lose to Cynthia; I lost to my own foolish trust.

From that day on, I, Samuel Sander, vowed to be just a businessperson. A businessperson focused solely on profit, not on relationships.

I picked up my phone and dialed my assistant's internal line. "Notify all employees to gather in the main conference room tomorrow at 9 AM sharp to discuss the final optimized plan for this year's team-building activities."

On the other end of the line, my assistant's voice hesitated. "Mr. Sander, are we... compromising with them?"

"No." I looked out the window at the media waiting for their chance and uttered, "It's time to make them pay for their greed."