Boom. Just like that, I was the office punching bag. Everyone was mad, and apparently, it was all my fault.

Lynn pulled me aside. "Can't you just play along for once? Why keep poking Esther?"

Someone even ran to Giselle like, "If Celina's the issue, dock her. Worst case, kick her out. Don't drag us down with her."

Brutal. Like getting iced in July.

I used to jump on all the tasks no one wanted. Always first to help out.

Now? No one remembered a thing.

Guess that's how it goes. No one gets sentimental in the office.

And it wasn't even just me—we all filed our out-of-office forms the same way. I was just the unlucky one who got nuked.

How was that on me?

The longer I sat with it, the angrier I got.

I wasn't going down quietly. They wanted to shove me out? Cool. I'd make them bleed for it.

I wanted Esther and her cousin, Mr. Lambert—the genius who owned this circus—to grind their teeth every time they heard my name.

Didn't take long to find my opening.

I grabbed my contract and the handbook, tore through every boring line. Bingo: wage disputes had to be filed in writing within three days.

I fired off a formal notice to HR, demanding my unpaid wages.

Laid it all out—how they slashed my salary by four hundred bucks and stiffed me on the 30 per cent year-end commission.

Gave them three days to cough it up or I'd take it to the Labor Board.

Thing about Mr. Lambert? Dude's not exactly smart, but image-obsessed to the bone.

He'd read that and lose it. Pay me? Nah. He'd probably Hulk-smash a door first.

Perfect. A tantrum like that? Basically a guarantee for double severance.

Sure enough, next day—delivery marked "signed"—Esther blew up my phone.

Ignored her. Told her to stick to chat. I wanted receipts.

[Celina, we already announced at the start of the month that base pay would be split into base + performance. You didn't meet your targets last month, so you only received the base portion.]

***

Me:

[When was this meeting? Was I there? I don't remember anything like that. Who gave you the right to just change the pay structure?]

Esther:

[All supervisors were there. You can ask them. It applies to everyone—not just you. And as for the 30 percent commission, there's no official policy. It's not in the contract. The company never promised that.]

Unreal. The audacity was Olympic level.

That bonus? Giselle hyped it up every other day. Of course, never on record.

Classic corporate bait-and-switch.

But the salary cut? Even if they "had" sent a notice—I never agreed.

[I never got any notice. Please issue the unpaid portion as stated in the contract.]

Stayed chill. Let her sweat.

That set Esther off.

[Celina, who do you think you are? You're just a replaceable grunt. If you don't like it, leave. There's a whole line of people ready to take your spot.]

Could practically hear her jaw clenching through the screen. I grinned.

[I'm easy to hire, hell to get rid of. You spoiled little nepotism case—pay up. Or wait for the Labor Board.]

Didn't even bother replying after that. Just leaned back and sipped my latte like it was victory fuel.

Wanna play clock-in games? Approval limbo?

Cool. I wasn't going anywhere. Chilling at my desk till closing suddenly sounded like a dream.

Lynn peeked over, low-key jealous, and whispered, "Celina, you're badass. Someone at HQ said Mr. Lambert slammed the table and chewed Esther out today. No one's messing with you now."

I shot her a look. "You really think I'd stick around a dump like this? Didn't they dock you a few hundred too? Wanna fight back together?"

"You go first. I'll wait and see."

Cool. No point arguing when we clearly lived on different planets.

Next day, Esther made her next move.

Giselle came to snatch my work laptop.

I asked what gave her the right.

"Idiot. It's company property. I can take it whenever I want."

Couldn't tell if I should laugh at her ignorance or her baby-level naïveté.

Sandra was right—nepotism hires like Esther should be tucked in a corner somewhere, far from where they can screw up everyone else's job.

I told Giselle to fill out a handover form, signature included, clearly stating the company took the laptop. No way I was taking the fall if it went missing.

She didn't like it, but she signed.

Once it was done, I messaged Esther:

[Since you confiscated my work laptop, I assume the company's no longer providing tools for me to do my job. Just checking—what exactly do you want me working on now?]

***

Didn't matter what kind of nonsense Esther threw back—I just kept repeating the same thing: ask her to assign me work. Sent the exact same message to Giselle.

Giselle got so flustered she started blowing up Esther's phone like it was on fire.

Meanwhile, I chilled at my desk, sipping my coffee, watching her pace around like a cornered rat.

Me? Just waiting to clock out right on the dot.

That evening, I was digging through old chats, hunting for bonus proof, when Giselle called.

"Celina, maybe take a few days off? Use your vacation and comp time."

I played along. "All 22 comp days and 8 vacation days?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, no. I'm good. Also, this call's recorded—for my protection. Appreciate it."

She froze, realized what she'd just walked into, then hung up. Too late.

Next morning, I clocked in right on time and hit up both Esther and Giselle for assignments.

Then Esther pulled a new move—ordered me transferred to some admin gig at another branch, said I had three days to show up.

[Esther, your word means nothing. Send a signed transfer notice.]

[Working on it. What's the rush? Sure you'll live that long?]

I smirked at my screen. I wanted to see what else she'd try.

Word spread fast—she warned everyone. 'Back me, and you're out too.'

After that, the silence was deafening. Nobody spoke to me.

Before logging out, I shot her one last message.

[Day three's tomorrow. Still waiting on my back pay and bonus. And that signed transfer notice—don't forget the stamp.]

Thirty minutes later, I was booted from the main company chat.

All my accounts? Deactivated.

Then Esther's email hit:

[Notice of Termination.]

Right after, she called—oozing smug.

"You really think some bottom-rung employee can take me on? I'll bury you."

But I wasn't mad.

Everything I'd collected was about to cash out.