The standard awards wrapped up quickly.

The emcee's voice rose with practiced excitement: "And now, the moment you've all been waiting for—the Annual Special Contribution Award!"

"One million dollars in cash, plus a BMW 7 Series!"

The ballroom fell silent for a heartbeat, then erupted into a buzz of speculation.

Everyone knew the weight of this prize.

"Who could it be? Vice President Zhang?"

"My money's on Director Wang from Marketing—his department doubled their numbers this year."

"What about..." someone lowered their voice, "Assistant Gilbert? He's President Henson's golden boy."

Dean Gilbert clearly heard that last remark.

The curve of his lips deepened, a flicker of smug certainty crossing his eyes.

Beside him, Mary smoothed an invisible wrinkle from her skirt, her smile perfectly composed.

I picked up the golden envelope and slid it open, taking my time.

"This year, our company welcomed an exceptional new member." My gaze swept across the audience. "She joined the R&D department less than six months ago, yet she spearheaded the core algorithm breakthrough for the Starsea Project—saving the company nearly ten million dollars and pioneering an entirely new technical pathway."

Whispers rippled through the crowd.

As my words sank in, the smugness on Dean's face slowly calcified. Mary's polished smile evaporated.

I continued reading: "She is young, yet possesses extraordinary talent and focus. She keeps a low profile, yet her achievements shine brilliantly."

"By unanimous decision of the Board of Directors, this year's Special Contribution Award goes to..."

I paused, letting my gaze land squarely on Dean's face.

The color had already begun draining from his cheeks. That confident smirk hung frozen in place—a poorly fitted mask starting to crack.

I looked away and announced clearly:

"From the R&D Department—Mabel Mason!"

"Winner of the Annual Special Contribution Award!"

Applause and cheers detonated simultaneously.

The spotlight swung to an unremarkable table tucked in the corner.

A young woman in black-framed glasses, her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, scrambled to her feet. Bewilderment and disbelief were written across every feature.

A colleague gave her a nudge, and she finally snapped out of her daze, making her way to the stage on unsteady legs.

In that instant, Dean's face turned the color of raw liver.

It was a shade born of shock, humiliation, and barely contained rage all churning together.

His fists clenched so hard his knuckles went white. His once-straight spine curved forward slightly, coiled tight, his stare boring into Mabel on the stage.

Mary was clearly rattled too.

She twisted toward him, one hand pressing down on his rigid arm, her lips moving rapidly as she whispered something urgent.

Dean didn't seem to hear a word. His chest heaved violently.

Growing desperate, Mary reached under the table and seized his hand, her fingers locking around his palm, fighting to contain the explosion building inside him.

From the stage, I saw it all with perfect clarity.

Mabel had reached me now, still looking dazed.

I handed her the oversized award plaque and the ceremonial car key. Her hands trembled as she took them.

"Th-thank you, Chairman Dickerson... thank you to the company..."

She was so overwhelmed she could barely string words together.

"You earned it."

I smiled, shook her hand, and gave her shoulder a light pat.

The applause continued below. People rose to their feet, cheering.

Mabel clutched her prizes, her face flushed apple-red, bowing again and again.

After stammering through her acceptance speech, she floated off the stage in a happy fog, still hugging the award.

I cleared my throat and raised the microphone.

"Everyone, may I have your attention please."

The ballroom gradually quieted, all eyes returning to the stage.

"The year-end awards have now concluded."

"However, this year we have one more award... a very special one."

A ripple of curiosity stirred through the audience, whispers spreading like wildfire.

I gave a slight nod to the secretary standing at the side of the stage.

She approached carrying a square gift box draped in deep blue velvet, a silver ribbon tied around it that caught the light with understated elegance. Her steps were measured, unhurried. She placed the box on the podium before me.

It wasn't large, but it was exquisite.

Dean's face—which had been dark with barely contained fury—shifted the moment he saw it.

The resentment and rage drained from his eyes like a receding tide, replaced by rekindled anticipation. He straightened in his seat and glanced toward Mary.

Mary's brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing her features. But within seconds, she gave Dean an almost imperceptible nod—part reassurance, part signal.

I reached out and let my fingers glide over the smooth velvet surface.

"This award has no monetary value attached. It's not tied to performance metrics." My voice was steady, even carrying a hint of warmth. "It simply represents the company's... appreciation for one employee's rather unique contributions."

Dean's spine went ramrod straight. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, impossible to suppress.

A look of smug certainty flashed in his eyes—I knew it.

He probably assumed the hundred thousand dollars and the car were just window dressing, and that this "special award" was the real prize prepared specifically for him.

Perhaps a check with an obscene number of zeros. Or something even more valuable—stock options, property deeds?

The audience seemed to share his speculation, their gazes ping-ponging between Dean and me.

I lifted my head, caught his eyes with precision, and smiled.

"Dean Gilbert. Assistant Gilbert."

I called his name.

In that instant, the anticipation on Dean's face peaked.

He drew a deep breath and smoothed the lapels of his midnight-blue velvet suit, trying to project an air of composure. But the eagerness and triumph in his eyes were practically spilling over.

He walked to the front and stopped before me, a dazzling smile spreading across his face.

"Chairman Dickerson."

His voice rang out, vibrating with barely contained excitement.

I said nothing more. I simply gestured toward the box on the podium.

Dean stepped forward and lifted the velvet box with both hands.

It was lighter than expected.

A flicker of confusion crossed his face, but it was quickly buried beneath a fresh wave of anticipation.

He turned to face the audience, holding the box aloft like a trophy. His gaze found Mary's direction for a brief, triumphant moment.

Then, projecting to the entire room, he declared:

"Thank you, Chairman Dickerson! Thank you for the company's recognition! I will continue to work hard and never disappoint this... special favor the company has shown me!"

Scattered applause trickled through the audience.

It was obvious—he wasn't well-liked here.

In her seat, Mary's face relaxed into a relieved smile. She clapped along, soft and measured.

Dean, brimming with self-satisfaction, couldn't wait any longer. His fingers attacked the silver ribbon.

They trembled slightly with excitement, and it took him several seconds to undo the elegant knot.

The velvet lid finally lifted.

The smile on his face froze solid the instant he saw what lay inside.

The host and the secretary, standing closest on stage, saw it first.

The secretary's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes going wide as saucers.

The host's professional smile calcified into something almost comical—pure, undisguised shock.

The front rows began to see it too.

The whispers ignited like water hitting hot oil—a sharp sizzle, then a rapid spread into an uproar that could no longer be contained.

Someone adjusted the spotlight. The beam tightened, centering on the box in Dean's hands.

No check inside. No keys. Nothing of value.

Just five chicken butts.

Cleaned and cooked, they gleamed with that distinctive pale-yellow sheen of braised meat. Arranged in a perfect circle on the white silk lining at the bottom of the box.

Each one plump. Glistening with oil.