Right after finishing a meeting, I opened a forum and saw a warning post. The location tag was our company.

The title read: “Red flag! What a cheap company. Anyone who joins is a total sucker. They can’t even afford a decent coffee break.”

The photo attached showed the expensive coffee and five-star desserts I had just asked my assistant to distribute to everyone.

I frowned and tagged the entire group chat, asking if anyone had suggestions about the afternoon tea.

A Gen-Z intern who had just joined, Julian Hayes, instantly replied with a voice message:

“Boss, no offense, but these assembly-line desserts are full of trans fats. Nobody would eat them.”

“A truly humane company hires a Michelin chef to cook and slice everything fresh on site. That’s what real respect for employees looks like.”

I laughed in disbelief.

Our company’s daily coffee break budget was thirty dollars per person—already considered top-tier in the industry.

So I replied, “Since it’s impossible to satisfy everyone’s taste, we’ll cancel afternoon tea from now on and convert the budget into cash for everyone instead.”

Less than five minutes later, that post was updated:

“Guys, can you believe this? I made a perfectly reasonable suggestion and the lame boss immediately canceled the whole coffee break perk! This is the true face of corporate greed—can’t handle even a little bit of honesty!”

The post was still gaining traction.

The comment section underneath had already turned into a mess:

“This kind of boss just wants to save money and is looking for an excuse.”

“Convert it to cash? Yeah right. That’s just empty promises. It’ll never show up on the paycheck.”

“Hey pal, run while you can. A company that can’t handle honest feedback has no future.”

Julian Hayes was all over the comment section, replying to nearly every comment: “Exactly. I’m just an intern. I only made the suggestion for everyone’s benefit, and now the boss is targeting me. This is seriously unfair.”

I tapped on Julian’s profile picture. It was a heavily edited selfie with the caption: “Gen Z here to fix the workplace.”

Fix the workplace, my ass.

My name was Victor Shaw, the only son of the chairperson of Shaw Group.

I didn’t want to join the family corporation right after graduation and be watched by all those old board members, so I took the pocket money my mother gave me and started this advertising and media company.

My original idea had been simple: build a dream company where I felt comfortable working, and where the employees felt comfortable too.

No clocking in.

No attendance checks.

I didn’t even set performance targets.

The daily coffee break came from a famous five-star hotel, the coffee was freshly brewed Blue Mountain, and even the hand soap in the bathrooms was a premium brand.

I thought that if I treated my employees well, they would return the same loyalty.

But reality had slapped me hard across the face.

At that moment, someone knocked on the office door.

My assistant, Ian, walked in. He placed a glass of water beside my hand, his expression uneasy.

“Mr. Shaw, the atmosphere outside isn’t great.

“Everyone’s talking about the coffee break being canceled. Julian is stirring things up out there, saying you…”

“Saying what?” I picked up the glass and took a sip.

“He said you… got embarrassed and lashed out because you couldn’t handle criticism.” Ian carefully watched my expression.

I let out a cold laugh. “Couldn’t handle it? Fine. Then I’ll play along with them.”

I picked up my phone and sent a message to the finance director: “Redo this month’s payroll. Convert the coffee break budget into cash.

“Update this month’s payroll. Add six hundred sixty dollars per person as a monthly payment. Label it ‘Coffee Break Stipend.’ Make sure it’s included in tomorrow’s paychecks.”

After sending the message, I stood up and looked outside through the slats of the blinds.

In the open office area, Julian was holding his phone while fixing his hair, with three or four senior employees gathered around him.

I recognized every one of them.

One was Maggie from the design department.

She had been here for two years.

Her work was mediocre, but she was obedient.

She had two kids at home, and I had personally approved an extra four hundred dollars each month as a “childcare allowance.”

Another was Daniel from the copywriting team, thirty-five years old, divorced with a child.

When he first came to me, his eyes were red as he begged for a job. I had softened and kept him, and I took care of him more than once since then.

There was also Eric from administration, a young guy who had just graduated not long ago and usually seemed quiet and well-behaved.

At that moment, they were gathered around Julian, their faces full of righteous indignation.

Although I couldn’t hear what they were saying, judging from their mouths and expressions, it definitely wasn’t anything good.

Julian rolled his eyes while fixing his hair, seemingly imitating my tone as he spoke, making the people around him burst into laughter.

I lowered the blinds, and the last trace of warmth in my heart faded with them.

“Since you all think a five-star coffee spread is garbage, and that a boss like me is a joke, then let’s see if you can handle what’s coming next.”

The next day was payday.

The notification chimes for incoming deposits started ringing across the office one after another.

I sat in my office, listening to the commotion outside.

Under normal circumstances, getting more than six hundred extra dollars a month would be a huge piece of good news at any company.

After all, it was real cash—money that could go toward a mortgage payment, new gear, or a nice dinner.

Yet instead of the cheers I had expected, the office fell into a strange silence, followed by hushed whispers.

I stood up and picked up my mug to get some water from the break room.

Before I even reached the door, Julian’s sharp voice rang out from inside.

“Oh wow, it’s only six hundred sixty? I thought it’d be way more.”

Then Daniel’s voice followed, hesitant. “Honestly… that’s not bad. It’s enough to sign my kid up for an extracurricular class.”

“Daniel, you’re way too easy to satisfy!” Julian said in exasperation.

“Think about it. That coffee spread the boss kept bragging about—he said it was from a five-star hotel. Thirty bucks per person.

“Twenty-two workdays a month. That’s six hundred sixty, sure. But!”

He deliberately paused, his voice rising several notches. “You really think the company wasn’t getting kickbacks from the vendor?

“And those desserts he claimed were five-star quality—who knows if they actually came from some cheap wholesale bakery?

“The receipts were probably fake. Who knows how much the boss pocketed from it.”

“Wait… seriously?” Eric sounded shocked. “The packaging looked pretty fancy to me.”

“Packaging doesn’t cost anything,” Julian scoffed. “You guys are way too naive. When has a capitalist ever not squeezed people dry?

“Now he’s paying us the cash directly. Looks like we got six hundred extra, right? But guess what, this money is taxable.

“And who knows? Maybe this is just a way for him to dodge taxes… or even launder money.”

“Launder money?”

Even Maggie sounded startled. “Julian, you can’t just throw accusations like that around.”

“How am I making it up?” Julian said confidently. “I’ve got a friend interning at the IRS. He’s seen this kind of trick plenty of times.

“They disguise company profits as employee benefits to balance the books while the boss takes the real money. This six hundred is basically hush money for us.”

“Man… that’s really shady.” Daniel sighed. “And here I used to think Mr. Shaw was a decent guy.”

“A decent guy?” Julian snorted.

“A decent guy doesn’t drive a luxury car and wear luxury watches.

“That luxury car of his? Pretty sure it was bought with our sweat and blood.

“Think about it, we work overtime every day until we’re exhausted. And him? He just drops by, walks around for a bit, then leaves. Why does he deserve it?

“Exactly. What’s the point of six hundred bucks? Having a private chef come in would’ve looked way better,” Eric chimed in.

“I even posted those desserts on my social media before, and someone commented that they looked like something bought off a discount website.

“If the company had actually hired a Michelin chef, imagine how impressive that would’ve looked on my feed.

“Mr. Shaw always dresses so polished, but who would’ve thought he’s this stingy? He can’t even be bothered to give employees a little morale boost.”

I stood outside the door, my fingers tightening around the mug until they turned pale.

So, this was human nature.

A small favor brings gratitude. Too much generosity breeds resentment.

I had been paying out of my own pocket to subsidize the company. I hadn’t expected anything in return; I just wanted everyone to be comfortable.

Instead, I’d raised a pack of ungrateful wolves.

I turned and walked back to my office, then posted a new announcement in the company chat.

“To thank everyone for their hard work lately, the company has decided to organize a team retreat next month.

“Location: Azure Haven Islands. Duration: Seven days and six nights.

“Package: Chartered direct flight, five-star all-inclusive private island resort, ten thousand dollars per person. Fully paid leave, all expenses covered.”

The moment the message was sent, the group chat exploded.

“Long live the boss!”

“Oh my god, the Azure Haven Islands! I’ve dreamed of going there!”

“Ten thousand per person? What kind of dream company is this?”

“Mr. Shaw, you’re the best!”

I stared at the flood of emojis and praise without any expression.

The same people who had just called me “corrupt” and accused me of “money laundering” in the break room were now spamming the chat with thank-you memes.

Daniel: “Mr. Shaw, you’re amazing! I knew sticking with you was the right choice!”

Maggie: “Thank you, Mr. Shaw! I’m going to start looking up travel guides right now!”

Eric: “Ahhh! I’m buying new swim trunks for photos!”

Hah.

Their attitudes changed faster than flipping a page.

Just as the excitement in the chat reached its peak, an untimely message popped up.

Julian: “Azure Haven Islands? That’s where tacky rich people go. Hot, crowded, and totally basic.”

The scrolling messages in the chat abruptly stopped.

Julian kept going. “Anyone with real taste these days goes to Nordhaven to see the northern lights and stay in glass cabins. That’s what a real life experience looks like.”

He tagged me directly.

“Boss, did you pick an island just to save money? Or is this really the level of your taste?”

I stared at the screen, the corner of my mouth curling into a cold smile.

My fingers tapped across the keyboard.

“This time of year in Nordhaven? It’s the polar night season, with temperatures around negative twenty or thirty degrees.

“There’s nothing to do except stay indoors. And visas take time to process. We’re leaving next month. It’s impossible to arrange in time.”

Julian replied instantly.

“Visas are an admin problem. If they can’t handle it, that’s just incompetence. And as for the cold, you just don’t understand the beauty of it. The romance of the northern lights isn’t something a tacky island can compare to.”

Then he suddenly changed direction.

“Besides, with a ten-thousand-per-person budget, a trip to the Azure Haven Islands probably means basic beach villas anyway. If we can’t go to Nordhaven, honestly there’s no need for a company trip at all.”

He started a poll in the group chat.

“Suggestions for the company trip:

“A. Go suffer in the Azure Haven Islands (too hot, exhausting, and probably sharing rooms with coworkers)

“B. Convert the ten thousand into cash so everyone can do their own thing (wouldn’t buying a watch or new sneakers be way better?)”

After posting the poll, he tagged everyone again.

“Don’t kid yourselves. Company retreats are just work in a different location. You still have to keep the boss happy and sit through all those cringe team-building games.

“It’s exhausting. Cash is way better. Ten grand! That’s enough for a nice watch or several months of mortgage payments.”

As soon as the poll appeared, the numbers started jumping wildly.

At first a few people chose A, probably those who actually wanted to travel.

But after Julian posted, “Anyone choosing A must be stupid. Who turns down free money?” the votes quickly changed.

Those who had picked A withdrew their votes and switched to B.

In less than ten minutes, out of the thirty people in the company, everyone except me and Ian chose B.

The tone in the chat began to turn sarcastic.

Maggie: “Mr. Shaw, since the budget’s already there, why not just give it to us directly? I just had my second baby, and the expenses are piling up. That ten thousand would really help.”

Daniel: “Yeah, Mr. Shaw. None of us really want a company trip. We just want to rest. Work is already exhausting. If we finally get a break, spending it with coworkers still feels stressful. Cash would make everyone happier.”

Eric: “Julian’s right. With ten thousand, I could travel several times on my own. When companies organize trips, there are always kickbacks. By the time the money is actually spent, that ten thousand probably turns into four thousand. It’s a bad deal.”

Julian sent a smug meme. “The people have spoken. Mr. Shaw, better listen to the will of the masses.”

I looked at the messages and felt nothing but absurdity.

That ten-thousand-dollar budget was coming entirely from my personal account. I had planned to pay for the trip out of my own pocket.

Now not only did they refuse to go, they wanted to pocket the money instead.

Why?

Because they had the nerve to ask?

I took a deep breath and typed into the group chat.

“Since no one wants to go, the company trip is canceled.”

The chat fell silent for a second.

Everyone was waiting for the words “cash payout.”

Slowly, I typed the next line.

“As for converting it into cash, company policy states that team-building funds are designated benefits and must be used for that purpose only. If no trip takes place, the funds return to the company and will not be distributed.”