Chapter 1: Breaking Point

They thought they broke me. But when the scam text hit my phone, I made a choice: I’d burn the whole place down, dollar by dollar.

The fluorescent lights buzzed above my head in the cramped accountant’s office, the air thick with the stale stench of burnt coffee. My hands hovered over the keyboard, sweat prickling the back of my neck as I stared at the computer screen. My stomach churned with a mix of fear and bitter satisfaction. This was the moment I’d been pushed to.

I did it on purpose.

My pulse thudded in my ears. I wanted those corporate big shots to finally get it: push me to the edge, and I’ll take you with me. I’d torch my own miserable life just to drag your rich, rotten family down into the dirt.

Since my family fell on hard times, I never asked the company for help. Instead, they squeezed me dry. The boss worked me to the bone, made me put in endless overtime without a dime extra, and sometimes even docked my pay for kicks.

Every week was the same—canceled plans with my kids, bills stacking up, my dad’s old Dodge coughing and dying on the way home because I couldn’t afford a proper repair. I kept hoping maybe, just once, they’d throw me a bone. Instead, it was always one more hour, one more shift, one more excuse.

Whenever I tried to talk to him, he’d just shrug and say, “The economy’s tough right now. We all gotta help the company through the hard times.”

His office was decorated with sports memorabilia and a fake inspirational quote. A dusty Yankees cap sat next to a plaque that read “There’s no ‘I’ in Team”—as if that made up for the unpaid overtime. He never looked me in the eye, just waved me off with that same tired corporate spiel.

But I was already getting crushed by life, barely able to breathe.

There were nights I’d sit in my car in the employee parking lot, hands gripping the steering wheel, staring out at the dark strip mall across the road, wondering how much more I could take. The radio played static, my breath fogged up the cracked windshield, and I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles went white.

I demanded the overtime pay I was owed and told him if he didn’t cough it up, I’d file a complaint with the Department of Labor.

My voice shook, but I forced myself to stand tall. I thought maybe, for once, he’d blink. But instead...

The boss just spread his hands, totally unfazed. “Go ahead, call the feds. Yeah, I’m screwing you over. What are you gonna do—starve for six months while I wait it out? I’ll pay a slap-on-the-wrist fine, you’ll be out on the street.”

Right then, my heart went cold.

He knew my family was in trouble, knew I couldn’t afford to quit, and he bullied me for it—deliberately.

Most people would just swallow it.

But not me.

Because I know the law.

As a working-class American, as long as I’m willing to pay the price for breaking the law, the boss is nothing in front of me.

I’d watched enough news stories to know that sometimes, when the odds are this stacked, you’ve got to play dirty just to get even. Sometimes, justice only comes when you’re willing to get your hands dirty, too.

When the cost of crime is so much less than the reward, plenty of people will choose to break the law.

And my goal was clear.

Every day alive is suffering anyway. If you push me too far, I’ll use my miserable life to destroy this heartless boss.

To put it bluntly: if I blew up a client meeting, sure, I’d get canned. But the company? They’d bleed millions.

I’d seen it before—someone messes up in a big meeting, loses the client, and the whole place goes into meltdown. One little spark, and all those years of exploitation can go up in smoke, just like that.

Back at my desk, I was plotting how to get revenge when my phone buzzed.

I nearly jumped. For a second, I thought it was my wife texting about dinner. But no—it was a work message. Except this one was different.

A text message—short and to the point.

“Hey, new banking info for this month. Send the wire here ASAP: [account number].”

I stared at the message, hesitating.

Of course I knew it was a scam. And I just happened to be the company’s accountant.

At any moment, I could stab the boss right in the back.

This was my chance.

If I wired the company’s money to the scammer, the boss would be finished.

But I hesitated—was this jerk really worth it?