The Chipmaker's Revenge

On the first day back after the New Year break, I returned to find my workstation gone—replaced by two large trash bins sitting side by side.

"Josh, even though you've been with the company for ten years, you still have to comply with company arrangements.

"You were supposed to be reassigned before the holiday. We held off so you could enjoy your New Year. You should be grateful."

As he spoke, my boss pointed toward a corner beside the restroom. There sat a set of low, worn desk and chair—something that looked like it had been discarded by an elementary school.

I set my bag on it. The desk wobbled twice, then collapsed outright.

Amid the muffled snickers around me, I didn't argue or make a scene. I simply looked at the boss, calm and steady.

"You don't have to go through all this trouble to force me out. I'll resign now. I'll forfeit the compensation—just process it as quickly as possible."

His eyes lit up, though his face feigned regret.

"Since you've made up your mind, there's not much I can say. But the Vespere chip you've spent ten years developing belongs to the company—you have no right to take it with you.

"Oh, and when you handle the paperwork, don't forget to pay for that cup of coffee in your hand. It's an employee benefit. As an outsider now, you'll have to cover the cost."

I nodded and signed the termination agreement without resistance.

But the moment I stepped out of the company, I activated the self-destruct program embedded deep within the chip's core.

All of this started on New Year's Eve.

That night, I got a last-minute emergency call from my boss, Zachary Simmons. I set down my half-eaten bowl of food and, under the disappointed gaze of my whole family, rushed back to the office for overnight overtime.

I worked from the eve of the New Year straight through until four in the afternoon of New Year's Day, finally squashing the critical bug and getting the entire system running flawlessly.

As soon as the fix was done, Zachary waddled over, his belly still full from the feast, and lazily tossed a box of cold, soggy takeout onto my desk.

"Tough night, Josh. Haven't eaten yet, right? Here, have something quick."

Then he fished out a crumpled ten-dollar note and slapped it into my hand.

"This is your overtime pay. Take it home and get a meal for your wife and kids. Tell them it's on me!"

I stared at the note for a few seconds before murmuring, "Thank you."

By the calendar, this year marked my tenth at Dalton Technology.

Ten years ago, I'd just finished my PhD at a prestigious overseas university when my college dormmate Zachary called.

"Josh, I just started a tech company, and I need top talent like you! Don't worry—our friendship means my success is yours too. I'll never treat you unfairly!"

Fueled by the promise of our friendship and a heart full of idealism, I turned down a 100-thousand-dollar annual offer abroad and came home to start from scratch with him.

Over ten years, I transformed Dalton Technology from a basement workshop into one of the leading tech giants in Baswort City.

Yet, as the company grew, I stayed stuck in the same place. My title remained the same senior engineer I had been ten years ago. My salary had risen from eight hundred to two thousand.

At the New Year reunion with my classmates, those who graduated at the same time were already earning six-figure salaries.

One of them laughed and asked, "Josh, you were the top of our class, a PhD from a world-class university. Your salary must be tens of times ours, right?"

I opened my mouth but couldn't say a word. I just threw back a shot of strong liquor. The burn went down my throat, leaving bitterness and sting in my chest.

At that moment, I felt the same way I felt now.

Seeing me take the money, Zachary grinned, satisfaction written all over his face. He exchanged a few polite words and, using a phone call as an excuse, turned and left.

I slowly packed up my things, still carrying the hideously unappetizing bag of takeout.

As I reached the ground floor, about to hop on my electric bike to go home, a familiar voice came from the Land Rover parked ahead.

"The new head of the tech department? Didn't I tell you already—it's definitely—"