Chapter 4: Scandals and Scapegoats

Three months later, the Product Manager burst into my office to vent.

"Jason is ruthless. He straight up asked the supplier for a house."

My curiosity spiked. I leaned in, lowering my voice. "You’re kidding. Give me the details."

"I visited our biggest supplier yesterday. Their boss barely acknowledged me. Luckily, their tech manager’s an old college buddy. Turns out Jason told them not to bother with anyone else—the business was theirs."

My approach had always been to let Product and Tech handle supplier quality and technical checks. Suppliers treated them well, and whether or not they took perks, I didn’t care—so long as the chain held.

"Word is, Jason wanted the supplier boss to show some gratitude. The boss is a real shark—he bought an apartment in Jason’s name, put down $40,000, took out a $160,000 mortgage in Jason’s name, with $4,000 monthly payments. Now he’s got Jason on the hook: as long as he keeps getting business, he’ll keep paying the mortgage. If not, Jason’s stuck with the bill."

That was cold-blooded. Money really does make the world go round.

But it put the Product Manager in a bind.

After touring the factory, he found the new supplier was a disaster—no real quality system, untrained workers, people smoking next to the equipment.

But now, no matter what anyone said, the boss only trusted Jason.

If quality issues cropped up, the Product Manager would be first in the firing line.

He looked like he’d pulled an all-nighter in the warehouse—shirt wrinkled, eyes bloodshot, fingers drumming nervously on my desk.

This time, I didn’t dare feel smug. Who knew—next time it could be me or my team getting dragged into the mess.

This supplier gave a house; the next might give a car, another might send women. Jason was really playing for keeps.

Compared to me—Mike the Millionaire—Jason was a pro at the game.

But the first to get burned wasn’t the Product Manager. It was the HR Manager.

One morning, the Marketing Director, looking grim, called Jason, Sarah, and a few other managers into the boss’s office.

A European client had come for a factory audit. The temp agency Jason picked had teamed up with a local community college principal to trick students into working at our factory as "interns," charging each a $30 fee. Normally, we pay temps $700–$800 a week. These folks not only pocketed the wages—they charged the kids, too.

During the audit, the auditor ran into these students and suspected we were using child labor. Some were under 16—clear-cut child labor. Worse, they hadn’t even been paid.

The auditor was furious, halted the audit, and that night the European supply chain director suspended all cooperation and demanded answers.

Child labor and wage theft—those are red lines. "Suspension" basically meant we were toast.

The auditor also said he’d report us to the local government and industry peers.

The Sales Director was so angry he could barely speak.

He told Jason and Sarah, "My flight to Europe is tomorrow. You two can explain this."

Jason said, "Director Wilson, HR handles wages and employee checks. I had no idea."

Sarah was stunned. "Jason, that’s not fair. We pay the agency monthly, and I asked for the interns’ IDs. Didn’t I tell you to follow up?"

"Sarah, verifying employees is your job. It’s a fact you didn’t do it well, isn’t it?"

Sarah was about to argue when the boss, face like thunder, cut in, "Enough! Figure out how to explain this to the client."

Director Wilson added, "Yeah, focus on fixing it first."

After hours, the solution was: the agency had withheld wages, the audit caught us in a "transitional period," and it was all a coincidence.

Wilson cursed as he went home to pack for the client meeting.

The boss glared at Sarah. "Can you still be HR Manager? If we lose this client, you can pack up and leave."

With that, he kicked everyone out.

Sarah looked utterly defeated—a shadow of the person who’d once gossiped about my supposed kickbacks. As we left, she pulled me aside.

"This temp agency is a disaster. The one you used before was better. I’ll probably have to start job-hunting. It’s all that unreliable Jason’s fault. I told him it was shady, but he insisted."

She had bags under her eyes, voice barely above a whisper. I could tell she’d been up all night, probably updating her LinkedIn.

I didn’t say much—just a few words of comfort before heading back to my office.

After all, I knew they’d called me Mike the Millionaire behind my back plenty of times.

I paused at the water cooler, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, and thought: some days, all you can do is keep moving.