Chapter 3

"Attention everyone, all-hands meeting at 3:00 PM. I’ve got a massive surprise for you guys."

This was the message Kevin posted in the company group chat, which I saw half an hour after leaving the building.

I sat at the bus stop across the street. I didn’t leave.

Not because I didn't want to, but because I knew their 3:00 PM "surprise" had everything to do with my $300,000.

At 3:05 PM, Zach sent me a text: "Ethan, you really should see this. It’s wild."

He attached a photo.

On the conference room projector, a slide read:

“AI Translation System 2.0 Launch Celebration & Q2 Performance Bonus Scheme.”

Beneath it, in smaller font:

Special Performance Bonus Pool: $300,000.

(Source: Unclaimed commission of a former employee redirected to team performance funds.)

My $300,000 had become their bonuses.

Right after, Zach sent a short video. The camera shook, but Kevin's voice was loud and clear:

"Team! Ethan's commission has been officially forfeited by legal and transferred directly to our AI optimization team's bonus pool! You all earned this for pulling those late nights to fix the system!"

"Tonight, seafood buffet at the InterContinental! My treat!"

The video showed the team cheering.

Someone gave a thumbs-up to the camera, and others shouted, "Long live AI!"

Zach’s next text was: "Sorry, Ethan. Free food is free food."

Followed by a licking-lips emoji.

At 4:00 PM, I made one last attempt.

I drafted an email and sent it to Victoria, Kevin, the head of legal, and the CEO’s public inbox.

It was short:

"Regarding the technical failure of the phase two negotiations: The AI system cannot recognize the unique honorific system of the Bedouin tribes.”

“This system does not exist in any public database. It is an oral culture that can only be learned through years of immersion in Middle Eastern business. “

“If you continue using AI to reply to Mr. Fahad’s official letters, you risk a severe cultural insult. The consequences will be irreversible. I highly recommend keeping a human interpreter on standby. — Ethan Cole"

Half an hour later, Kevin tagged me in the WhatsApp group—even though I was technically no longer an employee.

"@Ethan Cole, I saw your email. Are you seriously claiming that only you can understand what the AI can’t? “

“Have you ever thought that the AI failed because you purposely kept the data to yourself? Sending this email is just a pathetic attempt to dodge liability and threaten the company. “

“Screenshot saved. Sending this straight to legal."

The group chat cheered him on.

Victoria followed up: "Ethan, stop trying to play smart. You’re gone, so stay gone. No one wants your 'I'm indispensable' sob story."

From start to finish, not a single person asked if my technical warning was actually correct.

At 5:00 PM, I walked back into the lobby.

I wasn’t there for Victoria. I just wanted to retrieve a personal flash drive I left at my old desk.

It had photos of my daughter’s birth on it.

The receptionist didn’t stop me, probably because she was too busy on her phone.

I could hear laughter coming from the breakroom.

As I walked down the hall, I ran into Zach.

He was holding a cup of tea. When he saw me, he froze, then quickly put on a smug smirk.

"Ethan? You're back again?"

"Just grabbing my stuff."

"Right." He blocked the hallway, not letting me pass. "Let me give you some honest advice, man. Times have changed.”

“ Your old-school skills are great, but the AI can learn in three days what took you ten years. That's not my opinion—that's just data. Instead of crying over that $300,000, you should—"

"Move."

He didn't budge.

"Victoria said you're banned from the office floor. If you try to force your way in, I’ll have to call security. It’s going to get embarrassing for you."

I looked at him. Two years ago, this kid couldn’t even pass his basic translation exams.

On his resume, he wrote "fluent in Arabic," but he couldn't even pronounce "hello" correctly.

I spent three months teaching him basic business vocabulary just so he could take meeting minutes.

He held his tea, his fingers trembling slightly.

Then, he tilted his hand and poured the cold tea right onto my shoes.

"Oops. Sorry, Ethan. Slipped."

His face was a mix of fake apology and pathetic pride. He glanced quickly toward the end of the hallway, where Victoria was standing with her iced coffee, watching us.

The people in the breakroom stuck their heads out to watch.

Zach got braver:

"Ethan, stop trying to scare us with your outdated garbage. You're trying to take away our bonuses. Do you even have a conscience?"

The security guards were walking down the hall.

As they grabbed my arms and pushed me out of the revolving doors, my wet shoes left a dirty trail on the polished marble floor.

Behind me, I heard Kevin's booming voice:

"Alright team, let’s go! The shuttle is here! InterContinental seafood buffet, here we come!"

The revolving door spun one last time, cutting off the cheers behind the glass.

I looked down at my ruined shoes.

Then, I pulled out my phone and called the hospital.

"Is this the pediatric ward? My daughter, Lily Cole, in bed 12. Has her fever gone down?"

"It’s at 102°F, but it keeps fluctuating. You need to get here as soon as possible. Her doctor wants to discuss the transfer and surgery details."

"I’m on my way."