Just because my business expenses exceeded the budget by 8.8 dollars, my entire reimbursement form was voided—and I was fined one thousand dollars on top of that.

I hurried to the boss's wife, Marina, who managed the company's finances, to confront her.

She didn't even look up, lazily trimming her nails as she said, "That's the company's new policy. Nothing I can do about it."

"Rules are rules—without them, there's no order."

I couldn't reason with her, so I went to talk to Geoffrey, the boss himself, but instead of listening, he lectured me harshly.

"August, how many times have I told you? You can't go over the entertainment budget!"

"If everyone were as careless as you, how would the company survive?"

"Next time, forget a fine—I'll deduct your entire year-end bonus!"

Watching him scold me like I was some clueless intern, I couldn't help but laugh—out of anger more than amusement.

After walking out, I pulled out my phone and made a call.

"President Hansen? This is August from Evercrest Group Company."

"Remember that milk tea I bought you last time during our meeting? Could you transfer the payment to me?"

"It's not much—just 8 dollars and 80 cents."

——

There was a brief silence on the line before Hansen chuckled and said, "Sure, I'll send it right away."

When I hung up, I went straight back to the office and began drafting my resignation letter.

Two years ago, it had been a morning just like this—bright and full of promise.

That was when Geoffrey found me.

"August, I've just started my company, and I need someone I can trust."

"Come work with me. Let's build it together."

"I swear, no matter what happens—success or failure—I'll never treat you unfairly."

His tone was sincere. His eyes were full of conviction.

I hesitated for three days before quitting my secure, stable job and joining Evercrest Group, starting from the bottom as a junior salesperson.

Back then, the company was tiny and there was hardly any clients. Our office was tucked away in a shabby old district.

Doing sales meant one thing: you ran on your legs, your mouth, and your shamelessness.

Every morning, I'd stuff my bag with business cards and product catalogs, squeeze onto the earliest bus, and crisscross the city.

Industrial parks, office towers, wholesale markets—anywhere there might be a potential client, I'd show up.

To land our first major client, Aldoria Group, I visited their office every single day for half a month before finally meeting President Hansen.

He liked my persistence and decided to give me a chance.

The business dinner was held at an upscale restaurant downtown.

The air-conditioning was cold, yet sweat trickled down my back the whole time.

President Hansen's associates took turns toasting me—white wine, red wine, yellow liquor—mixing everything together.

Geoffrey was there too, but his alcohol tolerance was low; after a few glasses, his face turned bright red.

So most of the pressure fell on me.

I knew how crucial this deal was for the company. There was no way to refuse, so I had to endure it.

Glass after glass, I forced a smile, said all the flattering words I could think of, while my head grew heavier and heavier.

I couldn't remember how I left the restaurant—only that I ended up in the restroom, vomiting until my stomach was empty, bile rising in my throat.

The bitterness lingered for days, and I was hospitalized for three.

In the end, though, the deal went through, and the company finally turned a profit.

At the end of that month, Geoffrey awarded me a fifty thousand dollars bonus and spent ten full minutes praising me at the team meeting.

That wasn't the only time I gave everything for this company.

To meet clients before my competitors, I took overnight trains in hard seats, arriving at dawn looking disheveled but determined.

To save on travel expenses, I stayed in cheap motels for thirty dollars a night, where the walls were damp and moldy.

I waited for clients in the rain for over an hour after being stood up, drenched to the bone.

And when clients liked golf, I accompanied them to play—pretending I was interested.

By the end of that day, after standing under the scorching sun from morning till dusk, my shoulders were sunburned and peeling, my skin darkened to the color of charcoal.

But I rarely mentioned any of this to Geoffrey because I didn't think it was necessary.

Two years of hard work had taken me from a junior salesperson to Deputy Sales Manager.

The company had grown, and moved into a new office tower. Geoffrey had bought a villa, a luxury car, and even gotten married.

But somewhere along the way, things had quietly started to change.

Ever since his wife took over the finances, the reimbursement rules had become stricter and the approval process longer.

Every entertainment expense was scrutinized—down to the very last cent.

Every time I filed for reimbursement, Geoffrey's wife would interrogate me as if I were trying to commit fraud.

I still remember that day clearly—after finishing business with President Hansen, we happened to pass by Thirstea Cafe.

The weather was unbearably hot, and he casually mentioned he was thirsty.

I bought two cups of milk tea without thinking—just common courtesy.

I hadn't even planned to claim it. Later, when organizing receipts, I saw it was only 8.8 dollars, so I attached it to my report without much thought.

That tiny number—8.8 dollars—caused my entire 50,000 dollars expense report to be voided and earned me an additional 1,000 dollars fine.

That was the moment something in me finally went cold.

Just as I pressed the print button, I heard a voice behind me.

"Sir, I've sorted out the files you wanted."

It was Yvette, my assistant—the one I'd trained personally, teaching her everything about sales from scratch.

I quickly minimized the resignation letter on my computer and turned around to take the folder she was handing over.

She stood by my desk, her eyes flicking toward the printer.

When the resignation letter slid out of the tray, her gaze sharpened immediately.

"Sir... this is..." She pointed at the paper, visibly startled.

I picked it up calmly and tucked it into the folder.

"Nothing important. Just a standard application."

But she wasn't buying it. She leaned closer, tugging lightly at my sleeve, her tone half-pleading, half-playful.

"Sir, don't lie to me. What happened?"

"If you leave, what am I supposed to do? I still have so much to learn from you!"

"It's really nothing..." I was about to brush her off when the administrative assistant's voice came through the intercom, announcing a meeting at three o'clock.

Yvette reluctantly let go of my sleeve, though her eyes stayed fixed on the folder in my hand.

I casually shoved it into my drawer and locked it.

Soon enough, the meeting began.

Geoffrey stood at the front, reciting the quarterly report from his notes—a routine performance.

He commended the overall results, his expression smugly satisfied.

Then his tone shifted.

"Next, I'll be announcing this quarter's Top Sales Performer. As promised, the reward will be 300,000 dollars!"

I kept my head down, already planning how to hand him my resignation afterward.

"And the winner is... Yvette Smith! Let's all congratulate her!"

My head snapped up.

Across the room, Geoffrey's meaningful gaze met mine.

The conference room erupted in murmurs.

"How could it be Yvette? Deputy Manager Romero's numbers are way higher!"

"She's just the assistant—how could she outperform her boss?"

"Exactly, I remember clearly, the biggest deals this quarter were all Manager Romero!"

Yvette rose gracefully amid the whispers, a demure smile on her face as she walked to the podium. Her skirt brushed lightly against my arm as she passed.

Geoffrey raised his hand to silence the crowd.

"I understand some of you may have doubts," he began smoothly. "But under the company's new performance criteria, this quarter's awards aren't based solely on sales figures—we also value profit margins and budget control."

"Yvette's projects achieved an average profit margin 20% higher than the department average, and every single entertainment expense stayed strictly within budget."

Geoffrey paused for a moment, then added meaningfully, "And what does this tell us? It tells us that a truly outstanding salesperson doesn't just expand the market—they also know how to control costs."

"Unlike certain people who constantly exceed their budgets and always have an excuse ready."

My fists tightened under the table.

Those so-called high-profit projects of Yvette's, they were all clients I had developed myself—long-term, stable accounts that I'd handed to her to maintain. Of course, the costs were low.

Meanwhile, the new clients that required heavy investment and endless follow-ups—the tough ones that built the company's foundation—those were all mine.

Yvette accepted the oversized bonus check from Geoffrey and leaned toward the microphone, her voice soft and sweet.

"Thank you to the company for this recognition, and to the leadership for their trust."

"But most of all, I want to thank my mentor, Manager Romero. Without his patient guidance, I wouldn't be standing here today..."

She turned toward me, eyes shimmering with perfectly timed tears. "So I'll keep working hard—and live up to everyone's expectations."

She ended her speech gracefully, bowing slightly amid a smattering of applause.

Geoffrey took the microphone again.

"In light of Yvette's outstanding performance, the management team has decided to appoint her as General Manager of the Sales Department, effective immediately."

The entire meeting room fell silent.

Everyone knew that position was supposed to be mine.

Yvette nodded politely, but the pride on her face was impossible to hide.

And in that instant, everything fell into place.

Why she had been so eager lately to take on "promising" projects. Why she had been reporting directly to Geoffrey behind my back. Why she complained about the company's strict rules to me—yet submitted flawless reimbursement reports.

Even the new policy, even that cup of milk tea from Thirstea shop that started all this—it was all too coincidental.

That day, when I was sorting receipts, she had insisted I include that tiny expense in my report—but she hadn't reminded me that it would put me over the limit.

After the meeting, I stood up first and walked straight out.

Yvette hurried after me, catching up in the hallway and grabbing my arm at the corner.

"Sir August, please let me explain..." Her voice trembled. "I didn't know Mr. Peyton would make that decision! I was completely shocked on stage—that position should have been yours!"

I stared at her coldly, saying nothing, watching her act play out.

My silence seemed to rattle her. She spoke faster, her tone desperate. "I swear, I only found out today!"

"I even wanted to refuse, but Mr. Peyton said if you took that position, you'd probably lead the whole team to resign together..."

I finally spoke. "And why would I do that?"

She froze for a second, then lowered her voice. "Because... you've already written your resignation letter. I saw it."

Of course. She'd seen my letter and told Geoffrey right away.

That explained everything: this entire performance had been planned.

A perfect trap—stripping me of authority and leaving me no leverage to negotiate.

"Sir, please believe me," she pleaded again, eyes glistening. "I never wanted things to turn out like this. If you leave... what will happen to me?"

I gently pulled my arm free and smiled faintly. "You'll figure it out, won't you... Manager Smith?"

Her face stiffened with embarrassment, words catching in her throat.

Just before clocking out, I pushed open the heavy wooden door to Geoffrey's office.

He was reviewing reports behind his desk while his wife, Marina lounged on the sofa, idly flipping through a magazine.

I placed the printed resignation letter on the table and intoned coldly, "I'm here to resign."