I have a terrible temper. I roast anyone who crosses me, and I’ve made it my personal mission to give corporate America a brutal reality check. Coincidentally, our conglomerate got a new CEO. He shares my last name. Instantly, a rumor spread through the agency that I was the new big boss's daughter. Hahaha. So don’t even think about texting your auntie for a project proposal at midnight. Got it? 1 My manager was a complete moron. When I first joined the company, the first thing he did was poke around to see who I was connected to. I told him I didn't pull any strings; I got in by passing the brutal multi-round corporate assessments fair and square. He looked at me like I had just told a joke. "No connections? How the hell did you get a desk here?" I ignored him. What a clown. Later, he snooped around and even tracked down the HR rep who interviewed me. Once he confirmed that I actually got in on pure merit, he started looking down his nose at me. I was the youngest in our department, the only Gen Z hire. He claimed he wanted to "challenge the younger generation," but in reality, he just dumped all the grunt work on me—the stuff the older, do-nothing lifers in the office refused to do. And this work was mind-numbingly stupid. For example: finalizing the schedule for cross-departmental meetings, and then making me call every single department head one by one to inform them. Right after I finished calling everyone, Greg Patterson—my manager—would casually say, "Oops, let's change the time." Then he'd make me call everyone back. And I would be the one getting yelled at by the annoyed department heads. After bowing and apologizing on the phone, I'd walk back to our suite. Before I even pushed the door open, I could hear Greg gloating inside, saying that young hires needed to be broken in and put in their place so they’d be obedient. I laughed out loud. According to the laws of corporate physics, if I get yelled at, you’re not escaping the blast radius either, buddy. I pushed the door open, smiled sweetly, and said, "Did you guys catch the news lately? My dad always says the men who have no control over their own lives love acting like everyone's father at work. Take care of your own miserable little cubicle first before trying to play daddy to the rest of us." Greg's face turned sheet white. I pretended I just noticed him and gasped. "Greg! Why do you look so pale? You should really get a prescription for testosterone or something. Balance yourself out!" A few coworkers stifled laughs, quickly biting their lips and looking down. Whatever. They were scared of Greg. I wasn't. Before getting this job, I made a killing running a snarky commentary channel on YouTube. I only took this corporate gig to make my grandfather, who was bedridden in the hospital, happy and proud. To say something incredibly rebellious: I had already decided that the day my grandpa passed away, I would quit this place. But before I quit, I planned to march up to Greg's desk and slap every single document he ever wrote—complete with all his typos and horrific formatting—right across his face. He was an incompetent hack who did nothing but bark orders. A total waste of oxygen. On Friday morning, I handed my project proposal to Greg. He was glued to his phone, aggressively texting either his wife or his mistress. He didn't read a single word of the proposal. I couldn't care less. When the clock struck 5:00 PM, I grabbed my bag and headed for the elevator. Suddenly, he cared about the work—specifically, my work. "Riley! Are you done with everything? Leaving so early?" I rolled my eyes. "I've been here for my required eight hours. Are you approving overtime pay if I stay?" I walked out without waiting for an answer. Our conglomerate was massive, and hiring was strictly regulated. Greg didn't have the authority to fire me. He didn't even have the power to give me a raise or a promotion. So, his entire management strategy consisted of shifting blame, making empty promises, and using verbal manipulation. Before me, two or three junior staff members had quit entirely because of this idiot. When I first started, a guy from the neighboring department warned me that Greg was a nightmare to work with. I told him it was fine. There isn't a coworker in this world I can't "get along" with. And if we can't get along, they become my enemy, and they don't deserve to be in my airspace anyway. I've had plenty of bosses. Some were perfectionists, but as long as we got the job done, I could reason with them. But someone as aggressively stupid as Greg? This was a first. I handed in my proposal on Friday morning. He didn't say a word. Fast forward to Saturday night. I was at my apartment playing with my cat when he tagged me in the massive, company-wide Slack channel. "@Riley Lawson, there are glaring issues with this proposal." Wow. The sheer audacity. Our department had its own private group chat. Are you blind? You’re dragging me in the company-wide channel just to show the executives that you’re "working hard" on a Saturday night, right? I put my cat down and cracked my knuckles over my keyboard. "Good evening, Greg! I actually sent that proposal to you on Friday morning. But you seemed pretty busy all afternoon having a very loud phone conversation about how to grill the perfect brisket." "I reminded you to review it, but you ignored me. I'm so sorry there are mistakes! Please point them out so I can fix them. Oh, and while you're at it, drop that brisket recipe in the chat! It sounded delicious." Enter. Send. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Half an hour. The company-wide channel was dead silent, but my DMs were blowing up. Coworker A: Riley, you absolute legend! Me: Thank you, I try. [Blushing Emoji] Coworker B: LMAOOOO! Now I want brisket! Me: Tell Greg to drop the recipe. Coworker C: Girl, that was the MAIN channel! Me: Exactly. It’s the MAIN channel, Greg! Greg was completely mute. He didn't reply in the main chat, and he didn't even dare DM me. My dad was right. The men who love playing alpha dog are just paper tigers. They bully the weak and cower before the strong. It takes a man to know a man! 2 Monday morning. Greg slammed the printed proposal down on my desk. Smack. His face was the color of a bruised plum, his eyes bulging out of his head. My coworkers held their breath, furiously typing on their keyboards to look busy. Yeah... most people would be intimidated. But this is Riley we're talking about. Back in my YouTube days, I dealt with internet trolls wilder than anything in a corporate office. You think I’m scared of a guy going through a midlife crisis? Greg glared at me, dead silent, waiting for me to speak first. Always the considerate employee, I asked with deep concern, "Greg, your face is super red. Is your blood pressure spiking? You can't mess around with high blood pressure at your age. It leads to strokes, and strokes lead to paralysis. If you're paralyzed, your wife is going to end up pushing your wheelchair while she flirts with the pool boy." Greg’s face went from plum to a vibrant crimson. He slammed his fist on my desk. "Riley Lawson! Is that how you speak to your manager?!" I immediately feigned panic. "Huh? Greg, I'm just a straightforward person! I don't mean any harm, I'm just worried about your health! Don't hide your symptoms from your doctor!" He looked like he wanted to hit me. He literally rolled up his sleeves. My coworkers hesitantly looked over, looking like they were ready to break up a fight. I shrank back in mock terror and asked tentatively, "You’re not going to assault me in an office building exactly three blocks away from the Chicago Police Department headquarters, are you?" Yep, the precinct was right around the corner. Response time would be phenomenal. Greg roared, "Fix your proposal! I spent my whole weekend correcting it! Don't ever make me clean up your messes again!" I nodded, pretending to be terrified. "Yes, yes, absolutely. I will heed your wise teachings and fix it at the speed of light." Greg stomped back to his corner office. Before stepping inside, he shot me a death glare. Ugh. When beautiful people glare, it's fiery and romantic. When ugly men glare, they look like wild boars stuck in a fence. If Greg had just left me alone, I actually would have fixed it immediately. But there was nothing fundamentally wrong with the proposal. He was just nitpicking to assert dominance, demanding the corporate equivalent of drawing a transparent line with red ink. Since he wanted to disgust me, I decided the proposal could wait. Time to look at some handsome celebrities to cleanse my eyes. The number one rule of office slacking: master your keyboard shortcuts. You must be able to switch to an Excel spreadsheet in a fraction of a second. To set the trap, I piously opened the company's internal intranet homepage and left the top news bulletin running in the background. Then, I opened a pop-culture site and happily scrolled away. Footsteps approached! I unleashed the finger speed of a twenty-something gamer and instantly swapped my tabs. Greg roared with righteous fury, "Riley! What the hell are you looking at?!" I looked up innocently. "Huh? I'm reading the company news portal. Did you want to read it too, boss?" Greg thought he had me cornered. "I saw the reflection in the glass! You're reading garbage tabloid news!" I silently turned my monitor around so the whole office could see, and slowly read the headline of the intranet article aloud: "Conglomerate Appoints New CEO: William Lawson Takes the Helm." I looked at him politely. "Greg, are you saying the new CEO is garbage tabloid news?" Greg's face turned a sickening shade of green. My coworkers' expressions were absolutely priceless. 3 The rumor mill fired up immediately. Word around the water cooler was that I was William Lawson's daughter. One day, Jessica from HR came over to subtly interrogate me. I found it hilarious. Sure, the new CEO kept his private family life strictly confidential, but still... "You guys have my background check and emergency contact forms, right?" I asked. Jessica gave me a knowing wink. "Come on, it's just us, you don't have to play dumb. The CEO's daughter is your exact age. And on your HR forms, the 'Father' section is left completely blank. We get it. We just didn't expect a nepo baby to be so low-key... well, I guess you're not that low-key, hahaha. We should have known! With an attitude like yours, you definitely have someone powerful backing you." Yep. My father, who is currently resting in peace in the cemetery, is backing me. I've got the ghosts of my ancestors on my side. Are you scared yet? I told my best friend about this over drinks. She laughed so hard she choked. "Did you clarify things?" I took a sip of my martini. "I basically inherited a billionaire work-dad for free, and no one actually confronted me directly. Would you clarify it?" She slammed her glass down. "Clarify my ass. Only an idiot would correct them." Exactly. The rumor spread like wildfire. With my new "cheap dad" in play, my work life became unexpectedly smooth. Every department head was suddenly incredibly polite to me. If I stared at them for more than two seconds, they started sweating. Except for Greg. During the week the rumor peaked, Greg was away on a business trip. I don't know if his social standing was just that terrible or if people were intentionally trying to screw him over, but absolutely no one told him about the "Riley is the CEO's daughter" theory. He was completely in the dark. When he came back, he was as arrogant and obnoxious as ever. He walked into the office, didn't even sit down, and started screaming. "I leave for one week, and the office looks like a dump! Do you people not know how to clean? Do you expect me to do it?" After venting his weird midlife-crisis rage, his eyes darted around and locked onto me. "Riley, go mop the floor and Windex the glass partitions." Was he actually insane? We had a dedicated janitorial staff that cleaned the building every night. Plus, we were on the 30th floor. Who the hell washes the outside windows? If you want me to fall to my death, just say it directly. I sat in silence for two seconds. Suddenly, Brenda, a senior woman in our office, shot up from her chair. "I'll do it! Riley, you focus on your work!" I stared at her in shock. Brenda used to be Greg's number one lackey. Whenever us younger hires got tortured, she played deaf and blind. But today... she clearly realized that my metaphorical thighs were much thicker than Greg's, so she was jumping ship to my side. Greg was baffled. "Brenda, you don't need to cover for them. You work hard enough taking care of your kids. Take a rest." Oh right. Brenda was the one who constantly complained about how hard it was to be a mom, using it as an excuse to dump her actual corporate workload onto the juniors. She spent her days in the office knitting sweaters and doing her kids' arts and crafts homework. Watching her had honestly made me fear marriage and childbirth. Brenda waved her hands frantically. "I'm not tired at all! It's the young kids who are tired from working all the time! Hahaha, I'll go get the mop." She practically sprinted out to find a bucket. Um... ma'am, I'm actually not tired at all, because I don't do overtime. Greg watched her leave in utter confusion. When he caught me staring at him, he quickly adjusted his expression and snapped at me. "Young people need to have some initiative! You shouldn't have to wait for management to tell you what to do! How did your parents even raise you?!" The moment those words left his mouth, the temperature in the office dropped to absolute zero. Brenda had just walked back in with a mop. Hearing that, she dropped the bucket in sheer terror and stammered, "Oh my god, Greg, you really shouldn't say things like that." Greg puffed out his chest. "I said what I said! So what? Dragons beget dragons, mice beget mice. In my opinion, her attitude is a direct reflection of her parents!" Seeing the sheer panic in Brenda's eyes, I nodded in profound realization. "Greg, that makes perfect sense! No wonder you look like a giant rat!" ... Greg was genuinely awful. He couldn't beat me in an argument, so he resorted to sabotage. Later that day, he told me to take a report upstairs to Mr. Davis, a senior director. I actually needed to talk to Mr. Davis about something else anyway, so I grabbed the folder and headed to the elevators. On the way up, I bumped into Mr. Davis's secretary. When she heard Greg sent me, her eyes went wide. "He sent you?" "Yeah, why?" The secretary leaned in and whispered frantically, "Mr. Davis is furious right now. Your department submitted a summary report that is completely botched. We have representatives from our sister companies visiting today, and Mr. Davis is going to rip whoever walks through that door to shreds." I was stunned. "Which report?" She gave me a brief description, and I instantly knew what was happening. That shameless rat Greg. It was the garbage report he wrote himself while he was on his business trip. To prevent us from "stealing his credit," he refused to let any of us review it and submitted it directly to the director. Haha. So when there's glory, you hoard it. But when there's a grenade, you throw me on top of it? I don't think so. The secretary gave me a sympathetic look. "Go back down. Tell Greg you're busy and make him bring it up himself. What's he going to do, fire you?" A wicked idea formed in my head. I smiled brightly. "No way, I have to go. If I don't, who's going to speak up for our dear Greg?" 4 The moment I pushed the door open, a heavy folder came flying at my head, accompanied by a furious roar. "Look at the garbage you submitted!" Thankfully, I have good reflexes. I dodged it, and the folder smacked loudly against the wall. The secretary nervously picked it up and whispered, "Mr. Davis, it's Riley Lawson." Mr. Davis looked up. When he saw it was me, his tone instantly changed. He tried to quickly swap his furious scowl for a polite smile, but his facial muscles spasmed awkwardly in the process. "Oh, Riley! Uh, well... the proposal your department submitted has some, um, issues." The visiting executives sitting on his couches drinking espresso looked at each other in confusion. They clearly didn't understand why the ferocious Mr. Davis had suddenly turned into a polite golden retriever. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the visitors texting someone under the table: William Lawson. The other visitor saw the text and his eyes widened in sudden realization. I wanted to laugh so badly. Is this what it feels like to ride the CEO's coattails? It's incredible. Facing Mr. Davis's strained, twisting smile, I spoke with the utmost sincerity. "Mr. Davis, no one else in our department has even seen this proposal. Greg wrote it entirely by himself during his business trip. We offered to proofread it for him, but he insisted on submitting it directly to you. So..." Mr. Davis, likely recalling the rumors of how I was being bullied in the lower ranks, understood the assignment immediately. He slammed his hand on his desk phone, hit the intercom, and bellowed, "Greg Patterson! Get your ass up here right now!" Greg scurried up. The moment he walked through the door, he tried to take control of the narrative. "Mr. Davis, please don't be angry! The young hires in our department are so careless. I will discipline her the second we get back to our desks!" You son of a bitch. You walk into the room and immediately throw your auntie under the bus? I instantly put on my best 'wronged victim' face. "Greg... I haven't even seen this report..." Greg yelled at me, "Riley, your work ethic is slipping! You didn't even bother to review the departmental report, and you have the nerve to make excuses? Are you even earning your paycheck?" My dad pays your entire bloodline's paycheck, buddy. The harder I cursed him in my head, the more pathetic and teary my face looked. "But Greg... you're the primary author of this report..." Before he could react, I took two quick steps forward, grabbed the report from the secretary, and flipped it open on Mr. Davis's desk. Right there on the third page, printed in bold, was Greg Patterson's name. Note: Only Greg's name. Greg panicked and opened his mouth to yell at me again. Mr. Davis slammed his hand on the desk. "Enough! Look where you are! You're embarrassing us in front of our guests!" The visiting executives, who had been enjoying the drama while sipping their espresso, immediately straightened their ties and put on serious, professional faces. I could read their minds perfectly: What? Who doesn't love workplace drama? Corporate life is a grind, let us enjoy the circus! Sweat poured down Greg's forehead. "Mr. Davis, please let me explain..." Mr. Davis snatched the folder from my hand and shoved it hard against Greg's chest. "The aggregated data is completely wrong! You didn't even separate the incremental assets from the base inventory! You're a department head, and this is the trash you produce? You've been coasting in your position for far too long!" That set the tone. It wasn't just a critique of the report; it was a direct attack on Greg's entire work ethic and job security. Fly high, Greg. Carry your own garbage. Greg's face sagged. His voice went completely soft. "Mr. Davis, I apologize. I will rewrite it immediately." Mr. Davis, still fuming, didn't even look at him. "Get out!" Greg walked out looking like a beaten dog. I followed behind him, looking meek and submissive, while internally doing cartwheels. In the elevator, it was just the two of us. He dropped the pathetic act instantly and glared at me with venom. "Riley, you're pretty ruthless, aren't you? You think you're so clever." Is this guy brain-dead? I gave him a polite smile. "I'm not clever at all, Greg. After all, I didn't write the report. You're the truly clever one—trying to make a junior employee take the fall for your incompetence. A grown man like you, you should be proud." Greg turned fully toward me, furious. "So what if I made you take the hit? Everyone goes through it! Young people need to be yelled at to build character and mental resilience!" Idiot. An absolute idiot. I replied softly, "I don't know if getting yelled at builds character when you're young. But looking at you, all those years of swallowing insults clearly just made you mentally unhinged." My floor arrived. I stepped forward to leave. Just as the doors began to open, Greg violently mashed the 'Close Door' button and screamed, "Riley, shut your filthy mouth!" I pointed up at the security camera in the corner of the elevator. "Greg, language. We're trying to foster a professional corporate environment here. Everyone has a role to play." The doors slid open. A crowd of people was waiting for the elevator. They had clearly heard Greg screaming through the doors. Their expressions were a kaleidoscope of shock and gossip. I mentally reviewed my own dialogue. Perfect. I sounded like an upstanding, highly professional corporate citizen. Hehe. 5 Why had no one told Greg the rumor about me? I was genuinely puzzled. Was he really that universally hated? My best friend explained it to me over drinks. "Isn't it obvious? Based on your stories, who would actually want to talk to him? Everyone hates him. They're hoping he digs his own grave, offends the CEO's daughter, and gets fired so they can get a normal manager." I didn't have the actual power to fire him, unfortunately. But Greg definitely wanted to fire me. A few days later, he somehow procured a biometric fingerprint time clock and announced that our department—and only our department—would be strictly clocking in and out. He claimed that the total hours tracked by the machine would be the sole basis for our end-of-year performance bonuses. Haha. Moron. HR hadn't issued any such policy. What right did he have? But since I honestly didn't care about a few hundred extra dollars in my bonus, I ignored him. The machine was obviously targeted at me, since I refused to do unpaid overtime. But Brenda was the first one to snap. Because she had to drop her two kids off at schools on opposite sides of the city, she was chronically five to ten minutes late every single day. Consequently, just a few days after the fingerprint scanner was installed, the power cord mysteriously snapped. Greg was furious. "Who did this?! Who broke it?!" Brenda casually filed her nails. "Probably chewed up by mice?" Greg exploded. "There are no mice in a Class-A corporate high-rise!" I smiled. "Rats get pretty bold during the day, so it makes sense they’d come out to grind their teeth at night." Greg stared at me, opening his mouth, but surprisingly didn't say anything. He just went back to inspecting the frayed cord. Sigh. He was so uncultured. He didn't even understand I was calling him a rat. It’s lonely at the top. That afternoon, Jessica from HR invited me to lunch. Her department always had the best gossip, so I happily took my salad over to their table. To my surprise, the VP of Human Resources—a guy you rarely saw mingling with the plebs—walked over and sat at our table. Jessica immediately looked terrified and stopped chewing. I was completely chill. He wasn't my boss. The VP asked me very warmly how I was adjusting to the company. Then he mentioned that the conglomerate was undergoing massive structural reforms, and asked if I had any "suggestions" regarding HR policies. He looked at me like a royal eunuch trying to divine the Emperor's true intentions. Wow. So this is what it feels like to be part of the inner circle? Succession really nailed the corporate sycophant dynamic. If I didn't use this opportunity to drop a metaphorical piano on Greg's head, I'd be wasting my golden ticket. I pretended to think deeply, then spoke slowly. "I do have one curiosity... when did our company introduce fingerprint time clocks?" The VP immediately shot a sharp look at Jessica. "We did?" Jessica looked like she was about to cry. "No, sir! It's just Riley's department. Greg bought a machine himself and mandated it. Department heads do have a certain level of discretionary authority, so we didn't feel we could intervene." The VP poked at his salad with his fork, saying nothing. I smiled sweetly. "Discretionary authority is a wonderful thing! But you know... today he installs a time clock. Tomorrow, another manager installs their own system. If every department creates its own unique evaluation metrics, what do we even need an HR department for? The relevance of HR really starts to... plummet." His fork stopped moving completely. I threw some more fuel on the fire. "We have a lot of VIP hires here. Daughters, sons, relatives of important people. If they all start getting written up by rogue time clocks, they won't blame Greg. They'll complain to their connections that HR is targeting them. You'll be the one taking the fall, sir." The VP might not care about the lives of entry-level employees, but he absolutely cared about his own turf. If HR's relevance dropped, his personal power dropped. And if the nepo babies complained to the C-suite, he'd be the one getting fired. Corporate survival 101. Since Greg loved making me read Machiavelli and corporate strategy books to write his reports, I was putting that theory into practice. Using executive paranoia to crush middle management is like dropping a nuke on an anthill. Upon hearing this, the VP abandoned his lunch entirely. He threw his napkin down and said, "Riley, you make an excellent point. We are one unified company, and we must operate under one unified system. I am going to have a chat with Greg right now." He marched off with righteous fury. I watched his retreating figure, then looked down at his plate. A perfectly cooked, untouched filet mignon. Corporate executives are crazy. They get so caught up in power struggles they forget to eat their steak? You could have at least given it to me! 6 Later that afternoon, a contract electrician came up to replace the cord on the time clock. Greg, already in a foul mood after getting chewed out by HR, snapped at the guy. "Stop working on it! Just leave it. Dammit." His "dammit" was aimed at the VP of HR. They had gotten into a screaming match in the hallway that everyone heard. So, the poor electrician became his punching bag. But here was the problem: the building's electricians were external contractors. In other words, Greg had zero authority over him. The electrician dropped his tool bag, his face hardening. "You called dispatch four times crying about this wire, and I skipped my lunch to come fix it for you. Who the hell are you cursing at? Watch your mouth." If they had been alone, Greg probably would have apologized and backed down. But all of us junior employees were watching. Greg felt his fragile masculinity was at stake. "So what? What if I did curse? Fixing things is your job, isn't it? I'm the client! I can say whatever I want!" Idiot. An absolute, colossal idiot. The electrician was a no-nonsense blue-collar guy. He didn't say a word. He just picked up his heavy canvas tool bag and swung it directly at Greg's face. Whack. Holy shit. Holy shit. Greg's face turned into a bloody pulp instantly. A full-blown brawl erupted. Worried the electrician might get in trouble for defending himself, I quickly signaled the two guys in our office to step in and pull them apart. I grabbed a push broom, shoved myself between them, and started swinging wildly to "break up the fight." Naturally, my wild swings were exclusively landing on Greg. I’m a very loyal person, and Greg was the enemy. The electrician was a guy who worked with his hands all day. He was infinitely stronger than Greg and was basically beating him like a rented mule. And Greg still had the nerve to yell, "Let me at him! Don't hold me back!" Bro, if we weren't holding him back, you would be dead on the carpet right now. Have some self-awareness. Hearing Greg’s taunts, the electrician broke free and lunged forward again. Greg panicked. He blindly grabbed a heavy glass paperweight from his desk to defend himself, but it slipped from his sweaty hands— Crash. It slammed directly into my shin. Motherfucker. My mom always warned me to stand back when watching a fight. She was so right. I clutched my leg and instantly began wailing, taking full advantage of the situation. Brenda screamed at the top of her lungs, "Stop fighting! Riley is hurt! Her leg!" The electrician, realizing I was the one who had secretly helped him hit Greg with the broom, immediately backed off and stood down. Greg was thrilled to have an excuse to stop getting beaten up. He scrambled over, trying to play the concerned boss. "Riley! Are you okay?" I unleashed a cry worthy of an Oscar. "It hurts so much! Greg, what is wrong with you today?! Why did you provoke the electrician, and why did you attack me?!" I had to establish his guilt on the record immediately so the electrician wouldn't take the blame. Everyone in the office stared at Greg. He looked incredibly guilty. "I didn't do it on purpose..." I drowned him out with a theatrical wail. "Call an ambulance! I think my leg is shattered!"
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "425832", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel