Chapter 3: The Reckoning

I walked into the conference room. Everyone was already seated.

The harsh overhead lights flickered, making everyone’s faces look pale and drawn. Someone coughed, and it echoed off the cheap plastic walls. The stale scent of burnt popcorn lingered from the breakroom, mixing with the tang of nervous sweat.

As soon as the meeting started, the boss swept his cold gaze across us. “You all look so listless—guess I’ve been too nice to you.”

I sighed. Why do so many bosses love to spout this kind of garbage?

The boss worked us for free, stole our wages—what the hell was so good about him?

I noticed the boss’s wife and their little princess were present. Instantly, I knew this meeting was going to be something else.

She wore a pink Lululemon scrunchie and sipped from a venti iced caramel macchiato, her nose buried in her phone, rolling her eyes at anyone who dared look her way. The boss’s wife clung to a Michael Kors purse like it was a badge of honor.

If the boss is a monster, then his daughter is a little monster.

She goes to a private school, and those schools waive tuition for top students to boost their stats. There was a poor girl in her class, top grades, there on a scholarship. Out of pure jealousy, the little princess cornered her in the bathroom, snapped humiliating pics, and blasted them all over Snapchat.

Such vile bullying was easily settled with money by her family. The school just gave her a slap on the wrist—an internal punishment, no real consequences.

Her dad probably wrote a check and the principal swept it all under the rug. That’s how it always works for the rich in this country.

The supervisor cleared his throat. “Boss, while we’re meeting, I want to suggest upgrading our machines. Otherwise, there could be more accidents.”

Everyone nodded. After all, a worker had died. How could we not upgrade?

The boss asked, “How much to upgrade?”

The supervisor said, “A whole new assembly line, about $3 million. We can get a bank loan.”

The boss nodded. “I looked into it. The chance of an accident with old equipment is about one in ten thousand. Last time, a worker died and we paid $300,000 in compensation. So $3 million would cover ten accidents.”

He grinned, winked at his daughter, and joked, “If we really get to ten accidents, the company would’ve gone public by then. I’ll buy my little princess a diamond-studded Bentley.”

The little princess giggled. “Dad really knows how to do the math.”

She snapped her gum loudly and shot me a look, like she was already picturing the luxury car in her driveway.

I watched the father-daughter banter, feeling a chill deep in my bones.

The worker’s mother had lost her son, lying in the hospital, waiting for compensation to save her life. But these people laughed like it was a joke, grinning from ear to ear.

My hands balled into fists under the table. How could they be so heartless?

The boss’s wife said, “No more talk of upgrading. The company can afford the compensation. We have over $1.5 million in liquid funds.”

I sneered inwardly.

No, you don’t have a single cent left.

The little princess thought for a moment. “But the workers are in a bad mood. I hope all the uncles and aunties here can go down to the shop floor and comfort them. It’d be best if you operated the machines yourselves, to show the workers our equipment is safe and boost morale.”

She said it in a sugary voice, like she was making a cute suggestion, but everyone knew it was just more humiliation.

The boss beamed at his daughter. “My girl really is management material.”

Everyone fell silent.

The boss continued, “One more thing. My daughter needs an internship for school. See if there’s a less busy position for her.”

I said casually, “Why not let the little princess manage the shop floor? If the boss’s daughter personally operates the machines, the workers will feel reassured.”

The room went dead silent. You could hear a pin drop.

Everyone stared at me, stunned. The boss’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t expected that.

He grabbed a water bottle and hurled it at me. “If you can’t speak properly, then shut up! How could my daughter go to the shop floor?”

The little princess scowled. “What if I die?”

I shot back, “When you asked us to go to the shop floor, did you ever think about us?”

She bristled. “How can I be the same as you?”

“How are you different?”

The little princess, still young and arrogant, said, “People’s lives aren’t equal, don’t you get it?”

Everyone’s faces darkened.

Even the boss tried to smooth things over. “There’s not much difference. We’re all one family here. My kid is young, just talking nonsense—don’t take it seriously.”

I said blandly, “Let’s vote. I propose the boss’s daughter go to the shop floor to encourage the workers. It was her idea in the first place.”

She slammed her palm on the table. “That’s crap! If one of you gets hurt, we can pay. But if anything happens to my daughter, which of you wants to lawyer up?”

I glanced at her.

She didn’t know that before this meeting was over, debt collectors would come and make her whole family lose arms and legs.

In the conference room, my colleagues didn’t even dare to breathe.

They probably thought I’d lost my mind.

The boss’s face was like thunder. He thought I was acting out over unpaid wages, and said coldly, “If you’re going to bring your emotions into this, then get out.”

I sighed. “This isn’t about emotions. It’s about being human.”

My voice cracked just a little. The janitor in the corner wouldn’t meet my eyes. I wondered if he was thinking about his kids, too.

I stood and walked over to the little princess.

I looked down into her eyes and asked, “What were you laughing at just now?”

She was stunned.

Seeing her silent, I pressed on, “A worker died, and you’re laughing here? You say there are differences between people—what’s the difference between you and us?”

The boss exploded, slamming the table and pointing at me. “Shut your mouth! Who do you think you are, questioning my daughter!”

I nodded. “You’re right. The little monster wasn’t raised right—it’s the old monster’s fault. I should be questioning you.”

I watched his face turn red, veins bulging at his temples.

The boss sneered, “So you really don’t want to work here anymore.”

“That’s right. From the moment you told me to withhold the dead worker’s compensation, I didn’t want to work here another second.”

“Then get out.”

“Then settle my wages. Your wife just said the company has over $1.5 million in liquid funds. You owe me nearly half a year’s overtime—$1,800. Settle it now.”

The boss sneered, “To be blunt, even if I don’t pay, what can you do?”

He paused, then his eyes lit up. “I get it. You’re the accountant, you want to pay yourself first, right? Without my permission, that’s embezzlement. If you dare touch that $1,800, I’ll have you thrown in jail.”

I was a bit disappointed.

The boss still underestimated me.

I didn’t touch that $1,800—I touched his $2.1 million.

They saw me silent, thought I was scared.

The boss sneered, “Now that you’re scared, bow and apologize to my daughter, and maybe I’ll let you stay.”

The little princess lifted her chin, arrogant as ever.

The boss’s wife shot me a mocking look.

The little princess said coldly, “My dad is kind. If I were your boss, it wouldn’t be as simple as sending you to jail. I know some ruthless people.”

She stood, leaned close to my ear, and whispered, “You know, for just $15,000, someone would chop off your hand. The gap between us is huge. You’d lose a hand for $15,000, but $15,000 is just my monthly allowance.”

I rolled my eyes.

She actually thought she’d still have $15,000 allowance?

She’d be lucky to get a minimum wage job at some run-down strip mall, her trust fund long gone.

That image, as twisted as it was, almost made me laugh.

The boss snapped, “Bow and apologize to my daughter!”

The little princess, impulsive as ever, jabbed her finger at my chest. “I don’t want you to bow. I want you to kneel.”

I hesitated for a few seconds, then knelt down.

It wasn’t surrender—I was provoking them on purpose.

Because there was a surveillance camera in the conference room, recording everything.

When this goes to court, a heartless boss harming workers and forcing employees to kneel—even the court will sympathize with me, never mind the public.

Withholding death compensation, stealing wages, forcing staff to kneel—all caught on camera.

I could already picture the news segment on Channel 7: “Local Boss Forces Employee to Kneel, Withholds Pay.” There’d be a protest out front by noon.

The little princess saw me kneel and grinned smugly.

She shook her head. “Thank you. You’ve let me see the most pathetic side of an adult. When I graduate, I’ll make sure not to become an adult like you. Now apologize, and mean it.”

I said sincerely, “I’m sorry.”

Her lips curled in satisfaction, but I cut her off.

“So, can you go to the shop floor to intern now?”

The little princess’s face changed instantly.

She raised her hand and slapped me hard across the face.

The slap was loud. My face stung.

I never imagined she’d actually hit me.

So eager to send herself to hell?

Covering my face, I stared at her, stunned. She jabbed a finger at my nose, cursing, “I’m not like you! My life is valuable!”

My colleagues looked sick.

I said in mock surprise, “Valuable? Your only achievement is being born! Is being born a skill now?”

“I’ll rip your mouth apart!”

The little princess lost it. She yanked something from her backpack and lunged at me, grabbing my hair. Before I could react, she shoved something into my mouth.

I tried to clamp my mouth shut, but my lips hurt too much.

Soon, cold, stabbing objects filled my mouth. I realized what it was: thumbtacks.

She stuffed my mouth full of thumbtacks.

The little princess clamped her hand over my mouth, slapped me again and again. Someone gasped—Janice from HR half-stood, then froze when the boss shot her a look that said "sit down or you’re next." She kept hitting me, cursing, “Who do you think you are? A nobody dares to lecture me!”

The thumbtacks pierced my lips and tongue. Every slap drove them deeper. Blood gushed from my mouth—I spat it out, staring at the crimson pool on the floor.

Just then, the boss’s wife rushed over.

Not to stop her, but to help. She and her daughter pinned me down, grabbed a stapler from the desk, and viciously stapled my mouth shut.

My mouth was half stapled closed. The boss’s wife gritted her teeth and spat, “That’s for your filthy mouth! Did you eat garbage with that mouth? If it’s so foul, just don’t talk!”

Even as pain flashed hot through my jaw, I locked eyes with the security camera. The truth would come out, and when it did, the whole country would see the monsters behind this conference table. All I had left was the hope that, for once, justice might actually land on my side. Outside, sirens wailed in the distance. Maybe, just maybe, they were coming for him.