Chapter 1: Docked Pay and Red Flags

The new supervisor, fresh in from corporate, started throwing his weight around by blocking my expense reports and wouldn’t sign off on my reimbursements.

He wasn’t shy about it, either. Every time I sent in a report, it came back—flagged, highlighted in red, with some snide comment tacked on. It was like he got a kick out of throwing up roadblocks for anything that made my job possible.

Fuming, I stormed into his office, ready for a showdown.

My heart was pounding as I pushed open his door. The guy barely looked up from his computer, just flicked his eyes at me over the rim of his glasses. I could smell that stale, too-strong coffee he always drank. I didn’t bother sitting. This wasn’t going to be a friendly chat.

He just rolled his eyes and started spinning things:

"The company's struggling. Any travel expenses over a hundred bucks won’t be reimbursed."

He said it like it was common sense, like I was the one out of touch. His tone was flat. But there was a smugness in the way he leaned back, arms crossed, like he was daring me to argue.

"Who told you to fly? Couldn’t you just take the Greyhound or a local bus? I mean, feels like you’re using company money to treat yourself."

He shrugged, as if just catching a bus halfway across the country was the obvious choice for a business trip. I could almost hear him thinking, 'Back in my day...'

"And all these other expenses—this isn’t the kind of place where schmoozing wins deals anymore. Don’t go handing out gifts in the company’s name."

He waved his hand dismissively, like building relationships was ancient history. I wondered if he’d ever closed a deal in his life.

"You're our top salesperson. You should be setting an example, not always looking for ways to squeeze the company."

The words stung, but I kept my face blank. If he thought I was going to fold, he had another thing coming.

"This time, you're docked $500, and your base pay is down by $1,500. Think of it as a slap on the wrist."

I actually laughed, more out of disbelief than anything. Me, taking advantage of the company?

The sound came out harsher than I meant. I shook my head, biting back a retort. I’d been through rough quarters, market crashes, client blowups—but never had I been accused of fleecing the company I’d busted my ass for.

Funny, when that big Florida client threatened to walk unless I flew down within three days, nobody said a word about buses or skipping gifts.

The memory flashed in my mind—panicked calls, the boss practically begging me to get on a plane, the client’s ultimatum hanging over us. Not a word about expenses then. Funny how fast loyalty gets forgotten when it’s convenient.

In my head, I quit on the spot, launched my own business, poached the entire sales team, and took off with all their major clients—worth millions. I remember standing there, heart pounding, and thinking: Am I really doing this? But the answer was already clear.

But I didn’t walk out. It wasn’t an impulsive move—I’d been laying the groundwork for months, just in case.

Now you want to kick me to the curb after squeezing everything you could out of me? Not a chance.

I’d given them everything—late nights, weekends, all-nighters before big pitches. But loyalty’s a two-way street, and they’d shut it down at both ends. I wasn’t about to let them paint me as the villain in their little morality play.

I'll take your clients and your people, and show you what it really means to beat a company at its own game.

It wasn’t about revenge. It was about showing them what happens when you push your best people too far. I figured, if they wanted to see what a real loss looked like, I’d let them watch up close.

"I'm not making this hard for you—you’re the one who crossed the line, not me!"

My voice was steady, but my hands were shaking. I looked him dead in the eye, making sure he knew I meant every word. Finally, he had nothing to say.

The company rejected my reimbursement form again. I went to argue with the supervisor, and he jabbed a finger in my face, snapping, "If you'd just shown a little restraint, I could've approved your expenses. But look at you—insisting on flying, handing out gifts worth thousands. Is that really what you think a salesperson should do?"

He got right in my face, finger practically touching my chest. I could feel the heat rising in my face, but I forced myself to stay cool. No way I’d give him the satisfaction of seeing me lose it.

I wanted to yell, but I swallowed my anger and explained as calmly as I could.

I took a slow breath, steadying my voice. "Look, flying for business is standard now. Everyone's hustling to meet clients before the competition does."

I could see he wasn’t buying it, but I pressed on. "And about the gifts—our clients are all execs or business owners. If the gifts are too cheap, it comes off as insincere, maybe even disrespectful. It's just the cost of doing business."

I emphasized the last part, hoping it’d finally sink in. But he just sneered.

"Needs to be spent?" He glared. "This isn't about connections anymore. The only reason you close deals is because our product is good. Don’t think you can pull a fast one on me just because I’m new!"

His voice was getting louder, drawing glances from the hallway. I could feel my coworkers’ eyes on us, the tension in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife.

He kept jabbing his finger, lecturing me the whole time. We left on bad terms.

I walked out of his office, fists clenched, trying to keep my cool. My pulse was racing, and I had to stop by the break room just to get my breathing under control. This was getting out of hand.

Back at my desk, I tried to cool off. Honestly, it was just too much.

I stared at my screen, pretending to work, but all I could see was red. The injustice of it gnawed at me. I wanted to punch something—or at least vent to someone who’d understand.

If only the boss hadn’t been out that day...

I actually checked his calendar twice, hoping he’d walk in any minute so I could let him have it. But he was out at a conference, unreachable. Figures.

When I got back, I noticed everyone in the sales department was shooting me weird looks.

It was the kind of awkward silence you get when you walk into a room where everyone’s been talking about you. I could feel their eyes flicking away when I looked up.

"Hey, what’s going on, guys?" I asked.

I tried to keep my tone light, but my gut told me something was off. The air was heavy, like right before a storm breaks.

Intern Marcus just pointed at his monitor.

"Tyler, you should probably see this."

He slid his chair over, looking pale. I braced for bad news.

I leaned over, heart pounding, to look at his screen.

There it was: an internal company memo.

The subject line was all-caps, bolded—never a good sign. I scanned the email, my stomach sinking with every line.

It spelled out strict new reimbursement policies: Travel expenses couldn't exceed $100. Hotel bookings had to be requested two weeks in advance. Giving gifts to clients on the company's behalf was strictly forbidden. Violators would be punished.

The language was harsh, almost accusatory. It felt like a public shaming, not a policy update. And then I saw it—my name, front and center.

"Sales Supervisor Tyler Jameson: extravagant business spending, taking expensive flights, giving gifts worth thousands to clients, using company funds for personal benefit, serious breach of company policy. Officially warned, docked $500, base salary cut by $1,500, as a warning to everyone else."

I could practically hear the collective gasp in the office as people read my name. It was like being dragged out in front of everyone.

Looking at the notice, I felt angry—and a little amused.

A bitter laugh bubbled up. After all those years, this was how they repaid me? It was almost funny—if it hadn’t been so insulting.

Right then and there, I pulled out my phone and canceled the flight to Chicago I had booked for that night.

I didn’t even bother double-checking. Screw them. If they wanted to play hardball, I’d show them what it meant to lose a deal.

"You know what? Screw it. I’m not going."

I said it out loud, loud enough for the whole sales team to hear. Heads turned, but nobody said a word. I made sure everyone heard me.

The next day at noon, my phone blew up with urgent calls and woke me up.

My phone vibrated off the nightstand, the boss’s name flashing on the screen. I let it ring twice before picking up, just to make a point.

The boss sounded annoyed, grilling me as soon as I picked up: "What happened? After all that work, Mr. Evans finally agreed to meet—why didn’t you show up?"

His voice was sharp, more panicked than angry. I could picture him pacing his office, tie loosened, hair mussed from running his hands through it.

"Nothing I can do. Cheapest train doesn't leave till three this afternoon. By the time I get to Chicago, it'll be the day after tomorrow. Let’s just hope Mr. Evans doesn’t sign with someone else before you get there."

I let the silence hang for a second, making sure he understood exactly what his new rules meant. The ball was in his court now.

"Tyler, are you messing with me? Why the hell are you taking the train instead of flying?"

His frustration was obvious. I almost felt bad. Almost.

"Boss, please don't make this harder. Last time I flew for business, I got called out in front of the whole company for abusing expenses. That memo’s still plastered all over the intranet!"

I could hear him sigh, the weight of his own decisions settling in. For once, he didn’t have a quick answer.

The boss was quiet for a second.

The pause stretched on, heavy with regret. I imagined him realizing he’d shot himself in the foot by letting the new guy call the shots.

Then he said, "Supervisor Grant hasn't done this job before—he's inexperienced. I'll talk to him. Book the next flight. Go see Mr. Evans."

His tone was softer now, almost pleading. He knew what was at stake.

"I can go, but I have one condition. When I get back, I want a real answer. I've busted my ass for this company, only to get my pay docked and my name dragged through the mud. That's not right."

I kept my voice even, but my hands were shaking. This was where I drew the line.

The boss agreed immediately: "Don't worry! I'll talk to him now, and when you get back, I'll make sure he apologizes to you!"

He sounded desperate, but I could tell he meant it. For once, he was on my side.

I got up, threw my stuff in a bag, booked a ticket, and headed straight to the airport.

I didn’t even stop to pack properly—just tossed a change of clothes in my bag, grabbed my laptop, and hit the road. The adrenaline carried me all the way to the gate.

After a few hours of back-and-forth, Mr. Evans finally agreed to the deal.

We spent hours hashing out the details, going back and forth over every clause. By the end, we were both exhausted, but the handshake felt solid. I knew I’d saved the account.

"We’re closing the books this month, so as usual we’re not signing new contracts right now. But don't worry—a handshake is as good as gold; as soon as next month starts, I'll call you to sign the official contract!"

He smiled warmly, the kind of smile you only get after a deal hard-won. I knew he meant it—his word was as good as any signature.

"I know you, Mr. Evans. If you say you'll sign, I believe you." I handed him the gift box I’d brought along. "The limited-edition Disney set I promised your daughter—please give it to her for me."

I watched his eyes light up as he took the box. For a moment, the tough negotiator was just a dad, excited to bring home a surprise.

The second I mentioned his daughter, Mr. Evans broke into a grin.

He laughed, shaking his head. "If it were for me, I'd have to refuse. But since it's for my kid, I’ll take it, no problem. She's been looking forward to this since last time!"

I could tell he was genuinely touched. Sometimes, it’s the small gestures that seal the biggest deals.

"Honestly, it worked out great. Someone gave me this set and it's just been collecting dust at my place. I know nothing about Disney, and was wondering what to do with it. Your daughter gave me a reason to put it to good use."

We both chuckled. I felt the tension of the past few days start to melt away. For once, it felt like things were working out.

We chatted for a while, and I walked him to his car.

He clapped me on the shoulder before getting in, promising to call as soon as the books reopened. The handshake lingered—a silent promise between professionals.

With the deal done, I felt a huge weight lift and booked my return flight.

I let out a long breath as I hit the purchase button on my phone. For the first time in weeks, I actually looked forward to coming back to the office—at least for a minute.