The people I was carpooling with wanted to kick me out. The only problem? It was my car. Since three of my colleagues lived in my neighborhood, I’d suggested we carpool to work. To keep things from feeling awkward or like they owed me a massive favor, I told them the driver, Arthur, was a distant relative who happened to work nearby. I had Arthur charge them a rate that was barely more than a bus pass. It was a steal, considering it saved them two hours of transit time and kept them out of the grueling Seattle rain. For two months, everything was smooth. Or so I thought. Then came today. I was in a stall in the office lounge when I heard whispering near the sinks. “I did some digging,” a male voice said—Mark, from sales. “A private car service for this route usually costs two hundred a day. We’re paying fifty between the three of us. If we could just get one more person in that fourth seat and charge them fifty, our own ride would be free.” The other two chimed in with murmurs of agreement. After a beat of silence, Mark spoke again. “Why don't we just cut Riley loose? She’s always acting so precious about the car, telling us to be careful with the upholstery like she owns the place. If she’s gone, we can actually relax.” “I’m in,” Jessica added, her voice sharp. “I’m sick of that 'better-than-you' vibe she gives off. Let her go back to squeezing onto the light rail with everyone else. It’s where she belongs.” I leaned my forehead against the cold metal of the stall door and let out a silent, jagged laugh. Me? On the light rail? They had no idea. It was my car. 1 The conversation continued, dripping with a casual cruelty that made my skin crawl. “We haven’t paid for next month yet,” Mark said. “Let’s just tell her we’re done carpooling. Force her to drop out on her own.” “Exactly,” Jessica giggled. “And that story about the driver being her relative? Who actually believes that? They barely speak to each other in the car.” “God, the look on her face when she thinks she’s been dumped,” Mark laughed. “She acts like she’s the queen of the office. I already texted Arthur; he said he’d keep the same price for the rest of us.” I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. They didn't know the car was a graduation gift from my parents. They didn't know Arthur had been my family’s driver since I was in pigtails. I’d started this out of pity. One morning after a storm, I’d seen Mark and the others walk into the office looking like drowned rats. They’d mentioned they lived in a remote suburb to save on rent, which meant a soul-crushing two-hour commute each way. My parents had bought a house for me in that same area—not because they wanted me in the suburbs, but because I liked the quiet. They insisted Arthur keep driving me for safety. Out of a genuine desire to help, I offered them a ride. I cut their commute from two hours to thirty minutes, door-to-door. To protect their pride, I’d lied, saying it was just a relative’s car and they were doing me a favor by filling seats. Back then, their faces had been masks of pure gratitude. “Riley, you’re a lifesaver,” Jessica had said, clutching my arm. “I knew you were the sweetest person in this department.” Mark had even clapped me on the shoulder. “If you ever need anything, kid, you come to me. I’ve been at this firm the longest. I’ve got your back.” I realized now that my kindness hadn't bought me friends; it had only bred resentment. To them, I wasn't a benefactor; I was an obstacle to a free ride. I took a breath, composed myself, and stepped out of the stall. I walked to the sink and began washing my hands as if I hadn't heard a word. The three of them jumped. Panic flared in their eyes for a split second before they masked it with practiced corporate indifference. I saw Mark catch Jessica’s eye in the mirror. Mark was the one to break the silence. “Hey, Riley. We were actually just talking about you. The three of us decided we’re going back to the train next month. It’s… cheaper. So, we’re out of the carpool.” I looked at him, feigning confusion. “But the carpool is barely more expensive than the transit pass.” It was fifty dollars a day for three people—roughly sixteen bucks each. The light rail was twelve dollars round-trip. When you factored in the time they saved and the fact that they were no longer getting docked for being late on rainy days, they were actually saving money with me. Not to mention, if someone stayed late, I’d tell Arthur not to charge them for the day. The gas alone cost more than what they were paying. Jessica stepped forward, her voice a sickly-sweet imitation of concern. “We’re just trying to be responsible, Riley. We’re working class, you know? Every dollar counts. And since we’re dropping out, it wouldn't be fair for you to bear the cost of the car alone. You should probably just join us on the train.” I looked at her, seeing the predatory gleam in her eyes. They weren't going to the train. They were going to tell Arthur they’d "renegotiated" and try to leave me at the station. “I think I’ll keep the car,” I said quietly. “I enjoy the comfort. If you’re out, I’ll just tell Arthur not to pick you up tomorrow.” 2 Mark’s face tightened. Jessica gripped his arm, stepping into my personal space. “Riley, be realistic. Your salary isn’t that high. Fifteen hundred a month for a private car? That’s a massive burden for a girl like you.” “You’re young,” she continued, her tone patronizing, like a mother lecturing a toddler. “You shouldn't be so obsessed with luxury. A two-hour commute builds character. Don't be lazy.” I pretended to think about it for a moment, tilting my head. “You’re right. It is a lot of money. But I guess I’m just a fan of luxury. I’ll keep the ride. Since you're done, I'll let Arthur know he doesn't need to stop at your places anymore.” The third member of their group, Natalie, finally spoke up. Natalie was the one I’d considered a real friend. “Riley, honestly? We don't really want to ride with you anymore anyway. Unless you’re willing to cover our portion of the fee as a ‘thank you’ for our company, we’re done with you.” The other two nodded aggressively. “If you were smart, you’d pay for us to stay,” Mark added. “Otherwise, enjoy the rain, princess.” I stared into Natalie’s eyes. She actually looked indignant. Six months ago, Natalie had botched a major data set for a five-million-dollar acquisition. The client had been ready to walk. I’d stayed up for forty-eight hours straight, fixing her errors and rewriting the proposal. I’d even put her name on the final slide so she wouldn't get fired. She had sobbed into my shoulder afterward. “Riley, you’re my guardian angel. I owe you my life. I’ll never forget this.” Memory is a fickle thing, apparently. Looking at her now, I saw no gratitude. Only the cold, hard calculation of someone who thought they’d found a way to win. This was the "backstab" my father had warned me about. He always told me that unconditional kindness often leads to a sense of entitlement in others. I hadn't believed him. I believed him now. “I see,” I said, my voice trembling slightly—not from sadness, but from a burgeoning, icy rage. “Good to know.” Natalie’s face lit up with a triumphant smile. She reached out to pat my hand. “I knew you were the most generous person in the office, Riley!” I pulled my hand back before she could touch me. I walked past them without another word, my heels clicking sharply on the linoleum. I sat at my desk and took a long, slow sip of hot tea until my heart rate leveled out. Then, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts. I dialed. “Arthur?” “Yes, Miss Riley? Is everything alright?” “The carpool rate is going up,” I said. “Two hundred dollars a day, starting now.” “As you wish, Miss Riley.” I hung up. If they wanted to play the game of "market rates," they could pay them. They’d forgotten what it was like to stand on a freezing platform at 6:00 AM. They thought they were the masters of the universe. I was just getting started. I was deep into a quarterly report when the three of them suddenly surrounded my cubicle, looking like a lynch mob in business casual. 3 “Riley! Did you tell Arthur to raise the price?!” Mark shouted, slamming his hand on my desk. “I can’t believe you,” Jessica hissed. “Two-faced much? I never realized how pathetic you actually were.” Mark’s face was beet-red. “You call him right now and tell him to drop the price back down, or we’re going to have a very serious problem.” I didn't look up from my screen. “I told you, he’s a distant relative. He decided the extra mileage wasn't worth the low rate. If you have an issue, take it up with him.” Jessica’s voice hit a glass-shattering register. “Take it up with him? You’re the one who set this up! You acted like a big shot, and now you’re trying to scam us? Were we just a paycheck to you this whole time?” My silence only fed their fire. Natalie stepped forward, looking "hurt" again. “Riley, I’m so disappointed. We were trying to be your friends, and you treat us like fools.” I felt a surge of nausea. If I hadn't heard them in the bathroom, I might have actually felt guilty. “It’s work hours,” I said coldly. “Go back to your desks.” Mark’s hand blurred. CRASH. He swept my ceramic mug off the desk. It shattered against the floor, and a shard of porcelain sliced across my forearm. I gasped as a line of crimson began to bead on my skin. Mark froze for a second, then doubled down. “Don't you dare try to play the victim! You probably moved your arm into it on purpose!” The office went silent. Colleagues started peeking over their monitors. “Are you crazy?” someone yelled from across the room. A few people rushed over with gauze, helping me wrap the cut. As the crowd gathered, Jessica took a breath and put on her best "concerned citizen" face. She raised her voice so the whole floor could hear. “Everyone, we didn't want it to come to this. But Riley has been running a scam. she recruited us for a carpool at a low rate, and now that she’s got us hooked, she’s quadrupled the price to line her own pockets. We just wanted an explanation, and Mark got a little heated because we’re all struggling to make ends meet while she plays games with our livelihoods!” Mark nodded. “She probably cut herself just to get me in trouble. Look at her, trying to extort us even now.” The whispers started. The looks of sympathy from my coworkers turned into suspicious glares. “Riley, that’s not right,” someone muttered. “You can’t exploit your coworkers like that.” The cut on my arm stung, but the coldness in my chest was worse. I had given these people everything—my time, my car, my protection. And they had turned it into a weapon to destroy my reputation. I reached into my pocket and hit a speed-dial button. “Dad?” I whispered when he picked up. “How does the firm handle employees with severe character and integrity issues?” 4 When the clock hit five, I walked down to the parking garage. As I reached for the passenger door of the black sedan, a hand shoved me back. “You don't get to ride,” Mark growled. “Not until you fix the price.” Natalie stood behind him, her voice trembling with fake pity. “Riley, it’s pouring rain out there. Your wound will get infected. Just be a big girl, pay our fees for the month, and we’ll let this go.” I looked at her—really looked at her—and felt like I was going to lose my lunch. The hypocrisy was suffocating. I ignored them and reached for the handle again. This time, Mark lunged to grab my shoulder, but a large, solid figure stepped between us. Arthur. He didn't say a word, but his presence was a wall. He tucked me behind him. “Arthur, let's go home,” I said. “Of course, Miss Riley.” The three of them froze. “Miss Riley?” Mark barked a laugh. “Give me a break. What is this, a period piece? What kind of ‘Miss’ are you exactly, Riley? The kind that charges by the hour?” He made a lewd gesture, his face twisting into something grotesque. Jessica joined in, smirking. “I always wondered how you could afford those designer bags on our salary. I guess the ‘driver’ is more than just a relative, huh?” The filth they were spewing was unbelievable. Arthur’s jaw tightened, his fist clenching, but I touched his arm. “Don't,” I whispered. “Let’s just go.” I got into the front seat and immediately locked all the doors. Out of habit, the three of them tried to open the back doors. They pulled and jerked at the handles, looking like frantic monkeys. It was almost comical. I rolled the window down halfway. “With mouths that dirty,” I said, my voice level, “the bus is probably too good for you.” We pulled away, leaving them standing in the exhaust fumes, screaming obscenities into the rainy darkness. Inside the car, the heater hummed, and the scent of expensive leather filled my senses. I leaned back and watched the rain lash against the glass. “Miss Riley, they were incredibly disrespectful,” Arthur said softly. “Why didn't you let me—” “Because, Arthur,” I interrupted, “when a dog barks at you, you don't get down on all fours and bark back. You just shut the gate.” I looked at him in the rearview mirror. “Did you get the recording?” “Every word, Miss.” I went home, took a hot shower, and checked my phone. 59 unread messages. All from them. Threats, insults, and then—as the rain got worse—begging. I deleted the thread and blocked their numbers. I checked the local news. Red Alert: Record rainfall. Flash flooding on major highways. Light rail suspended due to track debris. Bus delays exceeding two hours. I took a sip of my wine and smiled. This was only the first night. They had a long way to go.
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