At the beginning of the year, Mr. Sterling patted my shoulder and said, "We're projecting a $4 million profit! Core employees will split a 10% profit-sharing bonus pool!" I went home and told my husband I could get $80,000. He was absolutely thrilled, saying we could finally pay off a chunk of our mortgage early. On December 22nd, my phone buzzed: "Payroll deposit: $2,800." I stared at that number for a long time, thinking I had misread it. My husband asked how much I got. When I said $2,800, the spatula in his hand dropped straight to the kitchen floor. I went to the finance department to ask for the financial statements. Brenda didn't even look up: "You can't just look at the statements whenever you want. You're not a shareholder." Since that's how it is, let's settle this score in three months. 1 December 22nd, 3:10 PM. My year-end bonus was distributed. "Your payroll account has received a deposit of $2,800." The office was dead silent. Everyone was looking down at their phones. No one spoke. I gripped my phone, my knuckles turning white. That afternoon at the beginning of the year was still vivid in my mind. Mr. Sterling had slammed his hand on the conference table, his voice booming. "Our profit target this year is $4 million! Core employees will split a 10% bonus pool. Let's work hard, everyone!" Everyone had clapped. Tyler, sitting next to me, had excitedly whispered that we'd be making tens of thousands. Now, the company's profit was $4.2 million. We had over-delivered. And my bonus was $2,800. Tyler leaned over, lowering his voice: "Chloe, how much did you get?" "$2,800." I looked at him. "You?" His expression looked a bit unnatural. His lips moved: "I got... about the same." With that, he retreated to his cubicle, not even daring to meet my eyes. I stood up and headed straight for the finance department. Brenda was sitting at her computer, her fingers flying across the keyboard. "Brenda." She didn't look up. "What's up?" "The bonus statements. I want to see them." Brenda's hands stopped. She looked up at me, her eyes shifting. "Go ask HR." I turned and walked out, my heart pounding. The HR office was at the end of the hall. Nancy was in the middle of applying her lipstick. Seeing me walk in, she smiled and set her mirror down. "Chloe, what can I do for you?" "It's about the bonuses. At the beginning of the year, we were promised 10%..." Nancy cut me off, her tone turning cold. "That 10% is based on net profit." "Net profit?" I stared at her. "The operating profit was $4.2 million." Nancy put down her lipstick. "Chloe, are you an accounting major?" I didn't speak. "Net profit is calculated after audits. Executive bonuses are counted as operating expenses. There's nothing wrong with the math." Nancy took a sip from her coffee mug, acting completely unbothered. "It's written crystal clear in the company bylaws." I took a deep breath. "Then I want to see the financial statements." Nancy laughed. It was a grating, blinding kind of laugh. "You can't just look at the statements whenever you want. You're not in finance, and you're not a shareholder." I stared at her for ten seconds, unable to utter a single word. Finally, I turned and left. The office door closed behind me with a heavy thud. When I got off work, I drove home. The ride was silent. As the traffic lights shifted before my eyes, all I could think about was that number. $2,800. This time last year, I told my husband we'd be getting an $80,000 bonus. He had smiled so brightly, saying we could finally pay down a chunk of our mortgage. Now, it was $2,800. I pushed open the front door. My husband, Mark, was in the kitchen stirring a pot of pasta. Hearing me come in, he looked over his shoulder. "Did the money hit your account?" I nodded. "It did." "How much?" I took off my coat, my voice a little dry: "$2,800." The spatula in Mark's hand hit the cutting board with a loud smack. "What did you say?" "$2,800." I sat down on the sofa. "The company said it was calculated based on net profit." Mark's face instantly changed. He quickly put down the spatula, turned off the stove, and walked over. "Didn't you say it would be $80,000? How are we going to pay the extra toward the mortgage?" "I'll figure something out." "Figure what out?" Mark's voice pitched up. "Did you talk to the company?" "I did. They said they were following the bylaws." Mark stared at me, his eyes full of disappointment and anger. "Chloe, why are you such a doormat? For three years, besides burying your head in your work, what else do you do?" "When other people steal credit for your work, you say nothing. When the company robs you blind, you say nothing." His voice cracked slightly. "Even a workhorse shouldn't be exploited like this!" I opened my mouth to say something, but in the end, nothing came out. Mark turned and walked into the bedroom, slamming the door shut with a loud bang. I sat alone in the living room, staring at the fresh pasta on the counter that I hadn't even had the chance to put in the fridge. 2 My phone buzzed a few times. I picked it up to look. It was a few messages from my coworkers, all generic pleasantries. "Keep up the hard work next year, Chloe." "Even though the bonus was a bit light this year, the company will definitely get better." I didn't reply to a single one. I placed the phone face-down on the coffee table. From the bedroom came the muffled sound of Mark crying. It was faint, but in the quiet night, it was piercingly clear. I stood up, walked out to the balcony, and lit a cigarette. The smoke quickly dissipated in the freezing wind, just like my sacrifices over the last three years. That all-nighter in June, when I wrote 3,000 lines of code entirely by myself to secure the $1.2 million contract with the Horizon Group. That system crash in September, when I crawled out of bed at 3 AM and fixed it single-handedly for four hours. Every single time, Tyler took the credit in the meetings while I sat in the corner drinking coffee. Every single time, it was, "Chloe helped out a bit too." I crushed the cigarette and went back into the living room. The bedroom door was still closed. I didn't knock. I just lay down on the sofa. I barely slept all night. My head was full of those numbers and Mark's words. The next day was Christmas Eve. As per tradition, we were supposed to drive back to our hometown to see our parents. Mark got up early to pack. He didn't say a single word to me the entire time. During the drive, the silence in the car was suffocating. Several times I wanted to open my mouth and say something, but seeing his icy profile, I swallowed the words back down. We arrived in the afternoon. Mom had cooked a massive feast and was beaming when she saw us. "You're back! Must be tired. Come sit, sit." Dad came out of the living room and patted my shoulder. "Got your year-end bonus, huh?" I froze for a second and glanced at Mark. "Yeah." "How much?" Mom leaned in, her eyes full of expectation. My throat tightened. "$2,800." Dad's hand froze in mid-air. Mom's smile stiffened. "What did you say?" Dad frowned. "$2,800." The living room suddenly went quiet. The only sound was the stew bubbling in the kitchen. Mark put down his bags and scoffed. "She got played by her company." Mom's face looked a bit strained, but she forced a smile. "It's okay, it's okay. Next year will be better." Dad sighed, didn't say anything, and turned to walk into the kitchen. Christmas Eve dinner was incredibly depressing. The TV was playing holiday specials, and the forced laughter and applause from the screen felt exceptionally grating. Mark barely ate anything, just kept his head down staring at his phone. I took a few bites, but nothing had any flavor. I finally put down my fork and said I was full. Mom looked at me, hesitating, but ultimately just said, "Eat a bit more. Don't starve yourself." That night, as we sat by the fireplace waiting for midnight, Dad sat next to me and lit a cigar. "Chloe, you're not a kid anymore. You need to start learning a few things." "Like what?" "Office politics." Dad blew out a puff of smoke. "Just keeping your head down and working hard gets you nowhere." "Look at that Tyler kid you mentioned. Isn't it just because he knows how to play the game? You need to learn from him." I didn't speak. I just stared at the TV screen where a musical number was playing. "I know you're upset, but this is reality." Dad patted my leg. "Accept your lot in life. This is just how people are." I turned to look at him. I wanted to tell him I wouldn't accept it. But in the end, I said nothing. I just nodded. 3 When we got to my in-laws' house the next day, Mark's expression was even colder. He scrolled through his phone in the car, sighing at whatever he was reading. He sighed at least a dozen times on the way over. Parked in front of my in-laws' house was a brand-new silver Audi, gleaming in the sunlight. My brother-in-law, Eric, was standing by the door. When he saw us get out, he smiled brightly. "Hey, Chloe! I heard you got a massive year-end bonus?" I forced a smile. "It was alright." "I got $15,000 this year." Eric patted the car. "Just enough for the down payment on this." He walked over, a hint of boasting in his voice. "What about you, Chloe? Should be more than mine, right?" Mark said coldly, "$2,800." Eric's smile froze. A flash of surprise crossed his eyes, which quickly morphed into pity. "Oh... that's not bad either." His tone became overly polite. The sudden, palpable distance made me want to laugh. We went inside. My mother-in-law was busy in the kitchen. Seeing us, she greeted us warmly. "Chloe's here? Come sit, sit. Food will be ready in a minute." My sister-in-law, Emily, was sitting on the sofa holding her newborn. Seeing us, she smiled. "Mark, Chloe, Happy Holidays." At the dinner table, my father-in-law poured me a glass of wine and smiled. "Chloe worked hard this year." "It's my job." I picked up the glass. "I heard your company's revenue was great this year?" my father-in-law probed. "It was okay. $4.2 million in profit." My mother-in-law's eyes lit up. "Then your bonus must be huge!" Everyone at the table was looking at me. Eric put down his fork, and Emily held her baby a little tighter. Even a few distant relatives stopped eating, waiting for me to speak. I set down my wine glass. "$2,800." The air solidified. My mother-in-law's smile slowly vanished. My father-in-law's hand paused in mid-air, holding his wine glass, unsure whether to put it down or drink. Eric couldn't hold back a snicker but quickly covered it up with a couple of fake coughs. Emily muttered under her breath, "I knew it. Tech people are stuck on fixed salaries." "You really have to be in sales or management," Eric said smugly. "What's the point of just burying your head and working?" My mother-in-law looked grim. She forced a smile. "Chloe, don't you think it's time you considered finding a new job?" "The company's profits are that high, and they only give you that much. Aren't they just making a fool out of you?" "Yeah," my father-in-law agreed. "A person has to have ambition. You can't just let people bully you all the time." Mark put down his fork, his voice freezing cold. "I'm full." He stood up, turned, and walked into the guest bedroom. I kept eating. Bite by bite. Very slowly. Every bite tasted like cardboard, but I mechanically chewed and swallowed. Eric watched me, his eyes full of pity and a sense of superiority. "Chloe, want me to introduce you to a job? Our company actually needs tech people." "But the pay might not be as high as what you're making now. You know how the market is right now." I looked up at him and smiled. "Thanks, but no thanks." "Then what are you going to do?" Emily asked. "You can't just keep going on like this." I put down my fork and wiped my mouth. "I already have a plan." My mother-in-law sighed in relief. "That's good. It's about time you started looking out for yourself." 4 After dinner, I went to the guest bedroom to find Mark. He was sitting on the edge of the bed. When he saw me walk in, he turned his head away. "I'm sorry," I said. "Who are you sorry to?" He looked out the window. "You should be sorry to yourself." "It's been three years, Chloe. Besides working, what else can you do?" His voice was trembling slightly. "When people steal your credit, you say nothing." "When the company docks your pay, you say nothing." "Now even my parents and my brother look down on you." "Do you have any idea how humiliated I feel?" I stood behind him, opening my mouth to explain. But in the end, nothing came out. Mark stood up. "I need to be alone. Get out." I turned and left. The hallway was freezing. I leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette. The sound of fireworks echoed from outside. Every household was laughing; I was the only one standing here like a joke. The smoke blurred my vision. I thought back to the day I signed my performance-based incentive agreement earlier this year. Mr. Sterling had patted my shoulder and said, "Chloe, work hard. The company won't mistreat you." Looking at it now, his definition of "not mistreating" was very different from mine. I crushed the cigarette and went back to the living room. Eric was still bragging to his dad about his new car, talking about loan interest rates and maintenance costs. My mother-in-law was washing dishes in the kitchen. When she saw me, she looked like she wanted to say something but stopped herself. I sat in the corner of the sofa, pulled out my phone, and scrolled aimlessly. My thumb swiped across the screen, my eyes staring at the holiday greetings, but I wasn't absorbing a single word. My head was full of those voices. "Are you really this much of a doormat?" "What's the point of just burying your head and working?" "A person has to have ambition." I locked my phone, leaned back against the sofa, and closed my eyes. Something was slowly fermenting in my chest. Like a fire, burning hotter and hotter. 5 It was already night by the time we got back from my in-laws' house. Mark hadn't said a word the entire drive. Once we got home, he went straight into the bedroom, leaving me alone in the living room. I didn't turn on the lights. The streetlights outside cast mottled shadows on the hardwood floor through the curtains. My phone buzzed a few times. It was messages from the company group chat. Tyler had posted a photo in the group: a beach in Hawaii, sunshine, women in bikinis. The caption read: "This is how you spend the holidays." Below it was a row of likes and envious emojis. I stared at that photo for a long time. Then I left the group chat. I stood up, walked into my home office, and turned on my computer. My sysadmin privileges were still active. I had backend access to the financial reporting system. I clicked open the interface. The numbers popped up line by line, so glaring I wanted to close my eyes. Operating Profit: $4,200,000. Administrative Expenses: $2,800,000. Net Profit: $1,400,000. My mouse hovered over "Administrative Expenses" for a long time. Then I clicked to open the itemized breakdown. Executive Year-End Bonuses: $1,200,000. Consulting Fees: $800,000. Team Building Expenses: $600,000. Other: $200,000. I kept reading. The payee for the consulting fees was a company called "Summit Management Consulting." Legal Representative: Mary Sterling. The name of our boss's wife. I took a screenshot, saved it, and kept scrolling. Under the team building expenses, there was a $380,000 charge for an "Overseas Inspection Tour." The location was the Maldives. Participants: Mr. Sterling, the Vice President, and the CFO. The date was last November. I remembered that month. I had worked overtime in the office for three straight weeks to patch a system vulnerability for the Horizon Group contract. While they were in the Maldives "inspecting." I leaned back in my chair, staring at the numbers on the screen. Scrolling down from that $1.2 million executive bonus pool, I saw Tyler's name. $80,000. He had taken $80,000. I kept scrolling, page by page. The further I went, the colder my hands got. The executive bonus pool: $1.2 million—split among 12 people. The remaining $200,000 in net profit was the actual "profit-sharing pool" for the core employees. And there were 73 core employees. I did the math: $200,000 ÷ 73 people ≈ $2,740. That was exactly where my $2,800 came from. They had artificially deflated the profit to $1.4 million, paid themselves $1.2 million, and the remaining $200,000 was the "charity" they tossed to the rest of us. Those legal embezzlements, those high-sounding expenses, that money that belonged to me. Eaten clean by them using the two words: "Net Profit." I closed the browser tab and opened another folder. Three years of work logs. Every single line of code submitted, every optimization timestamp. That "Dynamic Self-Balancing Algorithm." I was the only one who understood its core logic. I stared at the code for a long time. Then I opened a new document and started organizing. I stripped the core technology out of the main system, turning it into an independent module, restructuring the logic. The sound of typing was exceptionally clear in the quiet night. The wind outside was howling.
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