Chapter 3: Scars and Ultimatums

I held tissues to my bleeding forehead, feeling everyone’s eyes on me—fear, guilt, and something like awe. The room smelled of sanitizer and printer toner. I forced myself to look calm, even as adrenaline thudded in my veins. I had to be the adult, even with blood dripping down my cheek.

Swallowing my fury, I gave a reassuring nod, signaling for everyone to settle. "I’m fine. Just a scratch. Let’s not make this bigger than it is, okay?" I tried to meet Cathy’s gaze, but she was staring at the floor, pale and shaking.

"Everyone, head back for now. I’ll handle this as head of sales and make sure you get answers."

I turned on my best manager voice, the one for angry clients and low morale. "Go on, guys. I’ll talk to Mark Chen."

What a disaster. The bonus mess wasn’t fixed, and now my face was bleeding.

I dabbed the wound, trying to look unfazed. Brian hovered, Cathy hugged herself, trembling. I swallowed all the words I wanted to yell. Not now.

"Boss, get that looked at. We’ll back you up," Tara said, fussing over me. She handed me my jacket, and Sam tossed me his keys. "I’m driving. No arguments." Someone snapped another photo, "Just in case!" The elevator ride was awkward—silent except for the ding at every floor. In the chrome doors, I saw my reflection: blood, sweat, and a whole lot of anger.

In the car, I checked the mirror. The cut was nasty—red and swollen above my brow, like I’d lost a bar fight. I cranked the heat and rolled down the window, letting Chicago’s cold air clear my head. I tried not to think about the scar it might leave, but my mind kept circling back to the bonus, Cathy’s wild eyes, and the rot spreading through the company.

Still fuming, my phone rang. Mark Chen.

For a second, I almost let it go to voicemail, but I knew that would only make it worse. I answered, bracing myself.

"So what’s your real problem, Alex? Is it the finance team, or is it me?"

His voice was cold and smug, like he already knew the answer. I pictured him in his glass office, feet up, sure I’d back down.

After all these years building this company with him, I thought I mattered. Turns out, I was just another pawn.

The realization stung. I stared at the traffic, feeling invisible.

I forced my voice steady: "Mark, the sales team just wanted to ask about our year-end bonus. That’s it. It’s almost Christmas—people just want a good holiday. About the bonus..."

He cut me off. "A misunderstanding? Year-end bonus? Your whole department blocked finance! My sister got roughed up and you still want a bonus?"

He was shouting now. I imagined him pacing, face red, certain he was right.

"You’ve got two options: resign, or give up the year-end bonus. Your bonus alone is more than a year’s rent. Since your team won’t listen, you’ll take the hit."

He treated me like a bug to squash. My hands clenched on the steering wheel, knuckles white. The idea that my bonus was a burden—after all I’d delivered—was an insult. I nearly laughed, bitter and broken.

I remembered the nights of drinking with clients, the stomach ulcers, the sacrifices. None of it mattered now.

"Mark, we’ll apologize to Cathy. But please, give my team and me what we earned. I can’t face them otherwise."

My voice cracked. I didn’t care about pride—just fairness.

"Alex, two choices: resign, or forfeit your bonus. That’s it."

He hung up. The silence in my car was suffocating. I gripped the wheel, thinking about calling my wife, or a friend, but stopped. My hands shook, but I kept driving. Maybe it was time for something new.

Some people only protect their own. Right or wrong never mattered.

I took a shaky breath, wiped the blood away, and promised myself I wouldn’t let him win. Not yet.