The colleague who has spent the last two years making my life a living hell—the one who "forgets" her wallet every time the check comes—just announced she’s treating the entire department to dinner. “My treat tonight, guys! We’re going to The Gilded Pot across the street.” I stared at her, my pen hovering over my legal pad. Whitney was the office leech. When we had team lunches, she was the master of the "bathroom vanish" when the bill arrived. She was the person who’d help herself to your expensive oat milk in the communal fridge and then complain it wasn't the brand she liked. Why the sudden philanthropic streak? She leaned against the doorway of the breakroom, a smug, cat-like grin on her face. “Budget is three thousand dollars. Order whatever you want, guys. The sky’s the limit!” My heart did a slow, heavy thud against my ribs. Three thousand. That was the exact balance remaining on my VIP membership card for The Gilded Pot. The card I had lost three days ago. The realization turned my stomach into a knot. She wasn't being generous; she was planning to commit identity theft on a grand scale. My coworkers, tired of being mooched off of for months, didn't hesitate. They were already pulling up the menu, picking out the Wagyu and the premium sake. By the time they were done, the pre-bill was already sitting at $2,980. Sure enough, when it came time to pay, Whitney rattled off my phone number with practiced ease. The server paused, looking at his tablet. “Thank you, ma’am. I just need you to enter the six-digit verification code sent to the registered mobile device.” Whitney’s face went the color of curdled milk. “Wait—what? Since when? It didn't need a code last time...” 1 Ping. My phone vibrated on my desk. A push notification from the Gilded Pot app. “Your VIP Account has been charged $45.00. Current Balance: $2,955.00.” I frowned, staring at the screen. I was sitting in my cubicle in downtown Chicago, nowhere near the restaurant. I was about to call the manager to report a fraudulent charge when a shrill, triumphant voice cut through the afternoon slump of the office. It was Whitney. “Hey, everyone! Listen up!” she chirped, clapping her hands. “Since we’ve all been working so hard on the Miller account, I want to do something special. Dinner is on me tonight. The Gilded Pot. Who’s in?” The office went silent. No one moved. Whitney was our department’s resident "Penny-Pincher." Last Friday, when it was her turn to bring in the team snack, she’d showed up with a single bag of generic, stale pretzels she’d clearly bought at a gas station for ninety-nine cents to share among twenty people. Last month’s happy hour? she’d spent the whole time ordering the most expensive cocktails only to "discover" her phone was dead and her cards were at home. The "I'll get you next time" she always promised was a ghost that never materialized. “Whitney, you feeling okay?” Gwen, a senior analyst who had no time for games, looked at her over her glasses. “Did you win the lottery or something?” “Oh, stop it! I just want to show some appreciation,” Whitney said, her voice rising an octave. “I put three thousand on a VIP card there. Seriously, order the A5 Wagyu, the lobster tails—I want us to go all out!” Three thousand. That number hit me like a physical blow. I had just reloaded my membership card with exactly three thousand dollars last Monday. It was my splurge for my upcoming birthday. “Whitney, come on,” Penny said. Penny was my work bestie, the only person who knew where the bodies were buried. “You still owe me twenty bucks for that Uber last week.” “And you still haven't reimbursed me for the birthday cake we got for the boss,” another voice chimed in. Whitney’s smile faltered, but only for a second. She reached into her designer bag—one I knew she couldn't afford—and slapped a sleek, sapphire-blue card onto the communal table. “I told you, I’m loaded. See?” The card shimmered under the fluorescent office lights. My breath hitched. That was my card. I’d know it anywhere. Right below the gold-embossed logo of the restaurant, there was a faint, jagged scratch. I had done it myself while fumbling with my keys in the dark. When it went missing, I’d assumed I’d dropped it in my apartment or left it in a coat pocket. Since I usually just paid by giving the restaurant my phone number, I hadn't panicked yet. But there it was. In her hand. The mood in the room shifted instantly. The sight of the physical card acted like a magic wand, turning skepticism into greed. “Damn, Whitney! Okay, I see you!” “It’s about time. That latte I bought you last week was seven bucks.” “I’m ordering two orders of the truffle steak tonight!” Whitney soaked up the sudden praise, her face flushed with a sickening kind of pride. “Order it all! Like I said, three thousand dollar budget. I’ve got us covered!” I sat back in my chair, my heart racing, and pulled up the Gilded Pot app on my phone. I didn't report it stolen. Not yet. Instead, I went into the security settings. I disabled the "Quick Pay" feature. I toggled on the "Require 2FA for all transactions" switch. Then, I set a "Single Transaction Limit" of exactly $1.00. Penny leaned over my shoulder, her voice a sharp whisper. “Natalie, that card…” “It’s mine,” I said, my voice eerily calm. Penny’s eyes went wide. She started to say something, but I gripped her wrist, shaking my head. “Let her play,” I whispered. “She’s been bleeding this office dry for years. It’s time she learned what a real bill looks like.” 2 It was the Friday before a long holiday weekend, and the air was thick with that restless, pre-vacation energy. The team Slack channel was blowing up. “The spicy miso broth is to die for.” “Can we get the frozen lychee martinis too?” “I’m skipping lunch to make room for tonight.” Whitney was in the chat, responding at lightning speed. “Of course! Order everything! Take a doggy bag home for your husbands too! My treat!” There was a desperate kind of bravado in her typing. Gwen messaged the group: “Whitney, what’s with the change of heart? Did you have a religious experience?” Whitney immediately sent a voice note, her tone dripping with a performative, tremulous sincerity. “Actually, guys, I know I’ve been… frugal lately. My mom was in and out of the hospital, and things were just really tight. I felt so bad about not being able to contribute. But things are better now, and this dinner is my way of saying thank you for putting up with me.” It was a masterclass in manipulation. The chat filled up with heart emojis and “we understand” messages. Penny DMed me: “Her mom? She posted a TikTok of her and her mom at a spa in Miami three weeks ago. She’s a freaking sociopath.” I typed back: “Let her build the stage. The higher it is, the further she falls.” “You sure the card won't work?” Penny asked. “I set the verification code. Anything over a dollar needs a text confirmation sent to my phone. She’s going to be standing at that register with a $3,000 bill and a card that won’t authorize for the price of a stick of gum.” Penny sent back a string of fire emojis. “I am going to order the most expensive thing on the menu. Twice.” At 4:00 PM, Whitney tagged everyone. “See you all at 6:00! I booked the private VIP lounge!” Then, she sent a private message to me. “Natalie, you’d better show up. I know you have a membership there too, and you’ve never once offered to take the team out. Don't be shy just because I’m the one being generous this time.” I stared at the screen, my fingers hovering. I replied: “Wouldn't miss it for the world, Whitney. Thank you.” Apparently, that wasn't enough. She walked past my desk a few minutes later, making sure half the office could hear her. “You know, Natalie, some people are just so… transactional. It’s just a dinner. When you have the means, you should share the joy. You shouldn't be so selfish with your success.” A few colleagues looked up, their expressions uncomfortable. I stood up slowly, a polite, practiced smile on my face. “You’re absolutely right, Whitney. It’s incredibly generous of you. Three thousand dollars is a lot of money to spend on a whim. We’re all really looking forward to seeing how the night goes.” Whitney smirked, the look of a victor, and sashayed away. Penny sent me a text: “She’s literally insane. She’s using your money to brag about how much better she is than you.” I looked at the transaction history on my app. At 1:18 PM today, she’d spent $45.00. A test run. She’d gone there for lunch alone, confirmed the card worked, and then came back to the office to play the hero. She was calculated. But I was the one who held the math. 3 By 6:00 PM, the office was a ghost town. Twenty-five of us marched across the street to The Gilded Pot. It was one of those trendy, high-end spots where the lighting is low, the music is deep house, and the steam from the smells like a million dollars. Whitney led the way like a queen returning to her court. She’d snagged the master seat at the long table, flourishing the menu. “Order everything!” she shouted over the music. “Don't look at the prices!” She sat right next to me, leaning in with a conspiratorial whisper that reeked of cheap perfume and malice. “Look how happy everyone is, Natalie. I know what you’ve been saying about me behind my back. That I’m a moocher. A ‘charity case.’” She swirled her water glass, watching the ice cubes clink. “But look at them now. One expensive meal and they’ll forget every latte I didn't pay for. People are so simple, aren't they? One night of being the ‘big spender’ and I’m the department favorite.” She leaned closer, her eyes glittering. “Are you disappointed? You thought they’d side with you forever? At the end of the day, Natalie, everyone has a price. And it turns out, their loyalty costs exactly one Wagyu ribeye.” She finished with a smug, "Anyway, it’s not like it’s coming out of my pocket." I looked at her, tilting my head. “It’s not?” She gave me a long, meaningful look, then laughed. “Enjoy the food, Natalie. You look like you need the protein.” The feast began. Plates of marbled beef piled up like small mountains. Lobster tails arrived on beds of shaved ice. The server was constantly uncorking bottles of premium sake and pouring rounds of $20 cocktails. Whitney was in her element. Every time someone thanked her, she’d wave it off. “Oh, it’s nothing! We’re family!” Halfway through the meal, I took a photo of the mounting stack of plates and sent it to Penny. Whitney noticed. “Counting the pennies, Natalie? Honestly, it’s a party. Stop being so boring.” The table erupted in laughter. “You’re right, Whitney,” I said, raising my glass. “We should really make this a night to remember. Should we do a round of the 25-year-old Hibiki? It’s only $80 a pour.” Whitney didn't even flinch. She was drunk on the attention. “Yes! A round for everyone! To the team!” The bill was skyrocketing. I did the math in my head. With the Hibiki, we were sitting at $2,920. “Whitney, you’re a legend!” Ben from accounting shouted, his face red from the sake. “Seriously, the best night ever!” Chloe added, snapping a selfie with Whitney. I looked at the menu one last time. “We’re missing dessert. They have the gold-leaf chocolate lava cakes. Let’s get ten of them to share.” “Do it!” Whitney yelled, slamming her hand on the table. “Get twenty!” The cakes arrived. The table was a wreckage of luxury—empty lobster shells, pools of melted chocolate, and half-full glasses of incredibly expensive whiskey. Everyone was stuffed, happy, and thoroughly convinced that Whitney was the most generous person they had ever met. We stood up to leave, the group heading toward the coat check. Whitney walked toward the front podium with the air of a high-roller. She rattled off my phone number. The server entered it into the system. “Alright,” the server said, his voice polite. “The total comes to $2,980. I’ve swiped the VIP card on file, but because this is a high-value transaction, I need the six-digit verification code sent to the owner's phone.” The silence that followed was deafening. Whitney’s face went from flushed red to a ghostly, sickly white in three seconds flat. “Wait… what? It didn't need that earlier today…”
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "454698", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel