The video's title was even more shocking. "I earn five thousand dollars, yet my boss makes me pay one dollar every day for high-blood-pressure meals!"

I tapped on the video.

It started with close-up shots of various meat dishes, overlaid with captions like "high fat, high sodium" and "calorie bomb." The video had cut out all the carefully balanced vegetables and free fruit our nutritionist had prepared.

The final frame was Lindsey's teary face.

"I don't need anything fancy. I don't care which master chef prepared the food. I just want to sleep in on weekends and have a free, healthy meal on workdays."

The comments blew up just as expected.

"Expose the company! Gen Z should be bold. We've got your back!"

"This is disgusting. The company calls it a benefit, yet they serve employees junk food. They even charge them!"

Among them, a few anonymous accounts really stood out.

"I work here, and I can vouch for this! Our health checkups keep getting worse every year. Our pay barely covers medical bills, and we still have to pay for these meals!"

"The veggie options in the cafeteria are awful. The company doesn't even care about us vegetarians!"

My hands and feet tingled with anger. The next day at lunch, I could feel the tension the moment I stepped into the cafeteria.

Several people had gathered around Lindsey. They pretended to scold her for being reckless, but their faces lit up with excitement for drama. Across the tables, others pointed at the food, whispering and smirking.

Someone even pulled out a takeout salad and spoke loudly to a friend. "What else can I do? I need to detox today, or I'll really end up with high blood pressure."

That afternoon, Robert walked into my office with Lindsey right behind him.

As soon as he stepped in, he wore an overly serious expression. "Mr. Shaw, don't be upset. Linz may have handled things in an extreme way, but she's speaking for many young people. For vegetarians like us, it's especially challenging."

Lindsey stood beside him, her arms crossed. She waved her phone at me. "Mr. Shaw, have a look. This is what people want, and it's the trend right now. If you don't switch to free healthy meals, I can't guarantee this won't go viral nationally by tomorrow."

Before I could respond, my assistant rushed in, looking pale. "Mr. Shaw, something's wrong. Mr. Zuckerberg from our partner company just called. He's asking whether our employee benefits are causing issues and raising health concerns."

I refreshed the page. Sure enough, Lindsey's video shot to the top of the local trending list, and the anonymous comments beneath it traced straight back to our office.

The IT Department quickly identified the sources.

"Seriously? Anyone can see it. They call it balanced nutrition, but it's worse than what I cook at home."

"Benefits? Give me a break. They claim the budget is 150 dollars, but the actual cost isn't even 15. Who knows if that meat is just frozen leftovers?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if the company is using cheap pre-made food and inflating the cost just to pocket the difference."

The lies made my head spin.

I looked at the two people gloating in front of me and felt an overwhelming sense of futility.

They wanted luxurious benefits, but they also expected an intern to take the fall if something went wrong. They fantasized about blowing things up just so the meal allowance could be converted into cash.

Everything I had worked so hard to create, and every careful choice made for their health, had become the sharpest weapon they could use against me.

At that moment, I began to wonder whether everything I had been holding on to over the years had ever meant anything at all.

Overnight, my company went from being the coveted dream workplace everyone envied to the hated sweatshop of the internet.

Our company name, my face—everything had been dug up and exposed. Abusive messages and harassing calls flooded my phone, making it buzz vigorously on my desk.

"Cold‑blooded corporate leech. I hope your company goes under tomorrow."

"Exploit your workers all you want! I've already filed a complaint with labor enforcement."

Exhaustion etched deep circles under the HR director's eyes as he set a crisis PR plan in front of me.

"Mr. Shaw, we need to respond immediately. Release the nutritionist's credentials and the full weekly menu. Let's clear things up!" he urged.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose and looked at him.

"If we respond now, it won't come across as reasonable or calm. It'll just seem like we're making excuses. The public isn't looking for the truth. They just want something for nothing."

The HR director froze. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

When emotion overpowered reason, the truth carried no weight.

I realized I had been wrong. I had believed that honesty alone would earn trust. When I refreshed the anonymous forum, a newly pinned thread shot straight to the top, carried by a flood of likes.

I knew without a doubt it came from someone on the inside.

"Stop defending him. I work here. That so-called top-tier nutritionist is nothing more than the boss's unqualified relative from some rural town.

"They cover cheap ingredients with greasy, salty meat. Who takes the blame if someone ends up sick?"

My mind buzzed as I stared at the post. It wasn't anger I felt, but a deep, soul-weary fatigue and disgust.

I could even guess who had typed it—perhaps the employee who had thanked me just last week. The post struck like a boulder, crushing the last bit of hope and turning all goodwill into betrayal. Beneath it, waves of self-proclaimed employees chimed in.

Flashbacks of those early celebrations at a countryside inn filled my mind, when every face had glowed with genuine happiness.

I asked myself if I had ever denied any teammate their fair share of benefits. I hadn't, and in return, I received betrayal on a grand scale. They took my generosity for granted and betrayed me over the smallest advantage.

Every ounce of dignity I had painstakingly upheld now felt like a hollow joke.

The HR director pressed, "Mr. Shaw, if we don't act now, our partners and investors will be on the phone non-stop!"

I waved him off, pushing the plan aside.

"No need," I said calmly. "Prepare a new notice."

I stood up and walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling window. Below, a handful of media vans were already parked.

I let out a bitter laugh. I hadn't lost to Lindsey. I had lost to my own foolish trust.

From today on, I would be just a businessman, concerned only with profit, not feelings. I picked up my phone and personally drafted a company-wide email.

"Attention, everyone! Following employee feedback and to better support healthy eating, the cafeteria meal budget will be reduced from 150 dollars to 20 dollars starting today. Only light, healthy meals will be served. Enjoy your meal!"

After hitting send, I called my assistant's direct line.

"Tell all department directors to be in the main conference room on Friday at 9:00 am sharp for a meeting to finalize this year's company benefits plan."

On the other end, my assistant hesitated. "Mr. Shaw, are we going to compromise with them?"

"No," I said, staring out at the media waiting below. "It's time they paid for their own greed."

The moment the email went out, the company chat exploded with cheers.

"Mr. Shaw, you're the best! You actually listened to us!"

"This is perfect! No more fears about getting fat or having high blood pressure!"

Lindsey and Robert were suddenly hailed as heroes. Robert even flaunted in the chat, "I told you, Mr. Shaw is soft-hearted. As long as we stick together and make enough noise, he'll have to give in!"

Lindsey was even more thrilled. She took a screenshot of the chat and posted it to her social feed with the caption that read, "Gen Z wins! We did it!"

That evening, the cafeteria menu was updated to include the promised healthy light meals. Each tray held a sparse handful of lettuce, a few slices of boiled chicken breast, and half a cherry tomato.

Many employees poked at their food, snapped a photo for social media bragging rights, and then happily headed out in groups to celebrate their hard-won victory.

After facing nearly identical bland salads the next day, their smiles began to freeze. By the third and fourth day, fewer and fewer employees showed up to eat in the cafeteria, while the break rooms buzzed nonstop with the chatter and clatter of takeout orders.

By 9:00 am on Friday, the company's benefits optimization meeting was underway. All the executives sat formally, filling the room with a tense, uneasy air.

I stayed silent, signaling the administrative director to begin.

On the big screen, the new cafeteria menu for the next month appeared.

"Monday: Lettuce salad with chicken breast.

Tuesday: Purple cabbage salad with chicken breast.

Wednesday: Mixed vegetable salad with chicken breast."

…

Day after day, the cafeteria offered only slightly varied versions of the same tasteless meals. Several executives' lips twitched as they looked on.

The administrative director flipped to the next page. "In response to employee feedback and to reduce costs and improve efficiency, starting today, the cafeteria will no longer provide afternoon tea or late-night snacks."

At last, I broke the silence. My voice was soft, yet it reached every ear in the room.

"You all got what you wanted. Shouldn't you be happy?"

No one dared answer. I signaled my assistant, who projected a report onto the screen. The title read, "Impact Report on Annual Bonus Estimates Following Major Cafeteria Budget Cuts."

The report was unambiguous. A single formula showed that slashing the cafeteria budget had significantly reduced the company's annual operating costs.

Consequently, the board had unanimously proposed tying this year's employee bonus multiplier directly to each person's contribution to those savings. Theoretically, the saved funds could turn into bonuses, though the distribution was a separate matter.

I looked around at the growing number of pale faces and calmly said, "First, I want to publicly commend Lindsey and Robert from the Marketing Department. Thanks to their initiative, the company has saved a huge amount of money."

Every eye in the room turned sharply toward the marketing director.

A cold sweat broke out across his forehead, tracing icy lines down his temples. I smiled and delivered my final question.

"The board has asked me to submit a detailed list identifying the initiators and key supporters of this cost-saving initiative. This list will serve as the primary basis for determining their bonuses."

I paused, letting my gaze sweep slowly across each tense, fearful face in the room.

"Now, who among you is willing to step forward and claim the credit?"