Chapter 6: The Final Reckoning

Suddenly, my coworker reached out and patted me on the shoulder. "You might not be so lucky. You’re new here, so it’d be cheap to fire you. Especially since you picked a fight with me, an old hand, first thing this morning. You’re in a tough spot."

He said it with a smirk, as if he were bestowing wisdom. Some of the others actually looked at me with sympathy.

Everyone looked at me with sympathy. For a moment, I was the office underdog—until they remembered I was the one holding the layoff list.

They forgot that because I was new, I wasn’t afraid to offend anyone—and it made my transfer to headquarters easier. I’d been the outsider long enough to know where the bodies were buried—and who’d buried them.

Plus, being new meant I’d worked all over, giving me the most contact with every department. They didn’t see the network I’d built—the favors I’d done, the alliances I’d brokered. That mattered now.

This job was always going to be mine. No matter who tried to block my path, I’d already planned my next move.

My coworker suddenly turned to HR: "Can you give me his address?"

His voice was loud enough to draw glances from across the room. HR stiffened.

I frowned. "Why do you need my address?" I could already see where this was going. His sense of entitlement knew no bounds.

He said, "You still owe me forty-five hundred. If you get laid off, how will I find you?" He sounded genuinely concerned, like I was planning to change my name and flee the country.

HR looked awkward. "Employee information is private. I can’t give it to you."

They shuffled their papers, avoiding his gaze. They weren’t about to break protocol for this circus act.

My coworker got anxious. "That’s not good enough. If he runs off after being laid off, how will I get my money?" He started to pace, gesturing wildly. People watched with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement.

I said coldly, "I won’t run." My patience was wearing thin. I let my words hang in the air, daring him to keep pushing.

He shot back, "That’s what every debtor says before they disappear. Your mom’s still in the hospital, and if you get laid off, how could you pay me back? No, you need to give me your address now."

He marched over to the HR desk, as if he could just take what he wanted. He walked over to HR, grabbed the files, and started rifling through them, muttering, "I have to write down your address first."

People gasped. HR leapt up, trying to yank the folder away. It was chaos—pure, embarrassing chaos. HR panicked, trying to snatch the folder back. "Are you crazy? You can’t go through HR files!"

Voices rose, papers scattered. The whole department was on edge, waiting for someone to step in.

My coworker pointed at me. "He’s broke, his mom’s sick, and now he’s about to get laid off. How likely do you think it is he’ll default?" He made it sound like I was some grifter, ready to skip town with the cash. I clenched my fists under the table.

HR said, "Even if he is laid off, you’ll have to wait for the result." They tried to regain control, voice tight with frustration.

My coworker insisted, "By then, it’ll be too late." He slammed the folder down, glaring. His desperation was starting to show.

HR sighed, "If you really have a financial dispute, call the cops. They’ll help you get the info. But we can’t give you employee information now."

They were done arguing, voice final. It was time to put an end to the circus.

Only then did my coworker back down, turning to me with a smug look. "That’s fine. You wouldn’t want to make it a police matter."

He said it like a threat, but I was past caring. I just stared him down.

HR couldn’t help but say, "We’re all coworkers. Don’t make things so ugly."

Their voice was weary, tired of babysitting grown adults. I felt a pang of sympathy.

My coworker sighed dramatically, "It’s not my fault. He said himself when he signed that we’re done. Who knew the company would announce layoffs right after? Who’s to blame for that?" He made a show of shrugging, the drama queen to the last. A few people rolled their eyes.

He was so over the top that even his earlier supporters laughed. One guy from Marketing snorted into his coffee, shaking his head.

Someone even said to me, "If you really get laid off, you don’t have to treat us to a meal."

The mood was shifting—now it was just awkward humor, everyone trying to save face.

My coworker sneered, "Would he treat us? Didn’t you hear him say there’s nothing between us?" He turned to me, "That’s what you said, right?"

I nodded. "Right. Our relationship is over." My words felt like a door slamming shut. He blinked, as if the finality surprised him.

He clicked his tongue. "No need to pretend. If you’d been nice from the start, maybe I’d have cut you some slack. But now? For someone I have no ties to, I’ll just say—if you don’t pay me back on payday, I’m calling the cops."

He spat the words out, daring me to challenge him. I just shook my head.

I sighed. I’m the one who should call the cops. I looked at the floor, biting back a bitter laugh. The irony was too much—if anyone was a criminal here, it wasn’t me.

He leaked confidential company files. If the boss and I pressed charges, he’d end up in jail. I let the thought sit, a silent threat. He had no clue how close he was to real trouble.

He shook his head and walked off. Everyone else started packing up, bracing for the layoffs. The room emptied quickly, everyone eager to avoid being next on the chopping block. I sat for a moment, letting the chaos settle.

I wasn’t in a rush. I pulled out the layoff list and opened it slowly. I took my time, running my fingers down the names. Each one felt like a weight on my conscience.

No one noticed what I was doing. I cleared my throat and said, "Next, I’ll read off some names. If I call your name, please stay. Everyone else, please leave."

My voice rang out, clear and steady. Suddenly, all eyes were on me. At that, everyone turned to stare at me in shock. Their surprise was almost comical. Some jaws actually dropped.

Especially my coworker—his eyes wide, his face frozen in disbelief. He looked like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over him. His bravado vanished in an instant.

He stammered, "Wait, whose names are you reading?"

He couldn’t keep the panic from his voice. It was almost satisfying to watch.

I said, "The layoff list. I’m in charge of this round. Please be quiet."

I didn’t raise my voice, but the authority was clear. The room went dead still. In an instant, his face went pale. He sat back, hands shaking. I almost felt sorry for him—almost.

And those who’d tried to smooth things over for him earlier suddenly looked nervous. They realized too late that they’d backed the wrong horse.

He asked, stunned, "You’re the specialist?" His voice was a whisper. He looked at me like he’d never seen me before.

I ignored him and continued, "Over the past month, I’ve worked with each department and thoroughly investigated everyone’s performance. Rest assured, we’ve come up with a fair, legal plan for every coworker."

I kept my tone professional, hiding the satisfaction I felt. This was my job now—to clean house.

I read off the names of junior employees, asking them to stay. The tension ratcheted up. Those who stayed looked both relieved and terrified.

After I finished, I said, "The compensation for these people is the same, so I’ll talk to you together. The rest, please leave. I’ll call the senior employees’ names later for one-on-one discussions."

People filed out, some muttering, others in stunned silence. The air felt thick with regret and betrayal.

The room was suddenly tense. You could feel the shift. Suddenly, no one wanted to be seen as a troublemaker—or a friend to the wrong person. Just moments ago, these people had been so eager to spend my money, siding with the boss and criticizing me. Now, all they wanted was to keep their heads down and hope they weren’t next.

Now, they finally understood what the boss meant by "ungrateful jerk." It was written all over their faces—the realization that loyalty, real loyalty, was a rare thing here.

My coworker’s face was ashen. He asked, "What did the boss mean by ungrateful jerk? Is he firing me, and you tried to save me?"

His voice cracked. I looked him in the eye, letting the silence answer for me.

I said, "Your name hasn’t been called yet. Please leave."

My voice was cool, measured. I owed him nothing now.

He anxiously leaned over to peek at my list. "Is my name really on it? I was wrong before—I’ll tear up the IOU right now!"

His hands shook so badly the paper tore jagged, scraps fluttering to the floor like snow. For a second, I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

I put away the list and said quietly, "Let’s keep things professional. We agreed—there’s nothing between us now. You said it yourself. You’re not going to take that back, are you?"

He stared at me, speechless. For the first time all day, he had nothing to say. And for the first time, it was over. The weight finally slid off my shoulders—leaving just enough room to breathe, and maybe, to hope.