Chapter 4: Signing Away the Past

I sighed, picked up the pen, and looked at the IOU. For a second, the weight of it all settled on my shoulders. The pen felt heavy in my hand, but my decision was clear.

I said, "Fine, I’ll sign. But remember, from now on, there’s nothing between us."

My words were flat, final. I wanted there to be no doubt: we were done.

He laughed. "Relationships? Even brothers square up."

His tone was breezy, as if he hadn’t just torched any last shred of goodwill. Some people really do see every relationship as a ledger to be balanced.

I said nothing more and signed my name. I pressed down hard, each letter carving a boundary. If only cutting people off were as easy as signing your name.

He was thrilled, but he didn’t realize that, at that moment, I’d already won. He tucked the IOU away, humming like he’d just closed the deal of the century. But I had an ace he didn’t know about.

Our boss is notoriously stingy. He hates paying severance. Company policy is N+1 compensation—based on my coworker’s years of service, that’s about a hundred and fifty grand.

If there’s a dollar to be saved, our boss will find it. He’d rather cut his own birthday cake than hand out a bonus.

So the boss made a private deal with me: if I could find a way to fire employees for cause, he’d give me thirty percent as a reward.

It felt dirty, but it’s the game the company plays. Layoffs for cause—no severance, just a handshake and security escort. My cut would be more than I’d ever seen in a single check.

It’s not exactly aboveboard, but plenty of companies do this kind of thing to save money. HR calls it "risk management." The rest of us call it what it is: corporate bloodletting, dressed up in legalese.

Thirty percent of a hundred and fifty grand is fifty thousand. That money could clear my mom’s bills twice over, put a dent in my debt, maybe let me breathe for the first time in months.

In fact, I already had evidence to legally get him fired. It was almost too easy. The universe had handed me an out.

Yesterday, while he was getting dessert at the fondue place, he left his phone on the table. I saw a notification pop up: a file had been sent to his email. His phone buzzed right next to my plate, the screen lighting up with a familiar filename. My gut twisted.

I recognized the file name—it was company confidential, strictly forbidden to leak. Anyone in IT would spot it: quarterly financials, marked "Internal Use Only." My heart thudded—this wasn’t just careless, it was criminal.

But I didn’t know the sender’s number. He hadn’t even saved it. It was just a string of digits, no name attached. That was suspicious enough on its own.

I jotted down the number, tracked it down, and discovered it belonged to a college student. A quick search on LinkedIn and Facebook turned up a freshman at the local state school. My stomach dropped further.

For two years, my coworker had been sending confidential company files to a student to do his work for two thousand a month. He’d been farming out his projects, paying a kid to carry his workload while he coasted. If that came out, severance would be the least of his worries.

Forget severance—he’d have to pay damages to the company. It’d be a miracle if he wasn’t facing charges. At best, he’d leave broke. At worst, he’d leave in cuffs.

Some things seem light until you put them on the scale; then you realize just how heavy they are. It’s easy to look the other way—until you see how deep the hole really goes. Then you realize: you’re not just risking your own neck.

Of course, I didn’t hide this from the boss. I know the difference between personal and company matters. I’d sent everything to the boss—screenshots, email threads, even the student’s contact info. I’d made sure the trail was clear, legal, and indisputable.

I suggested we talk to my coworker directly, have him sign an agreement waiving his bonuses for the next few years, and avoid compensation by firing him for cause. I’d tried to soften the blow—offer him an out, keep things civil. It wasn’t much, but it was more than he deserved.

I really tried my best for him. In the end, I was just a soft-hearted clown. It’s true what they say: No good deed goes unpunished. I’d bent over backward for him, and he’d pushed me off the edge.