Two years ago, my close friend Marcus’s restaurant was on the verge of bankruptcy. I put my neck on the line and gave him the entire corporate catering contract for my company. A million dollars in annual food service fees. I thought he’d be grateful. Until someone sent me a recording. Marcus’s wife Vanessa said: “He has no idea how much she’s skimming off the top in kickbacks. Acting like such a saint.” I listened to it and laughed. But I didn’t confront him. Instead, I gave the contract directly to his competitor. Two years ago, Marcus’s restaurant was hemorrhaging money. He couldn’t make payroll for months and was about to shut down. He came to me with red-rimmed eyes. A man pushing thirty, crying in front of me. “Nora, please help me. This restaurant is my father’s life’s work. I can’t let it die like this.” We grew up together. I couldn’t watch his restaurant go under. During that period, I fought against everyone’s resistance at the company. I literally pounded my fist on the conference table in front of several senior board members. I put my position as Operations Director and my personal reputation on the line, guaranteeing his restaurant could provide the highest quality food service. In the end, I secured the exclusive catering contract for the company cafeteria. A steady million dollars a year in revenue. Enough to bring him back from the dead. The day we signed the contract, Marcus grabbed my hand. He cried even harder than before. He said: “Nora, I’ll remember this favor for the rest of my life.” “From now on, my life belongs to you.” Vanessa, standing beside him, completely changed from her usual cold distance. She was all bows and smiles, her face plastered with flattery. She poured me water, massaged my shoulders, calling me “hon” with every other breath, closer than an actual sister. “Hon, you’re our family’s savior. We’ll do anything for you from now on.” The more sincere those remembered smiles were, the more vicious the voices in that recording sounded. Two years. Just two years. The friendship I’d protected with everything I had was nothing more than a transaction they could brag about and trash-talk in their eyes. What I thought was a lifeline had become their story about my “greedy kickbacks.” A wave of physical nausea rolled up from my stomach. I didn’t do what they probably imagined—call them in a rage to demand answers, to argue my case. There was no point. Arguing with backstabbers who’d never appreciate you would only dirty my mouth. I saved that recording along with the email, carefully filing it away in an encrypted folder. Then I closed my email like nothing had happened. I opened the company’s supplier database and typed in: Flavors Haven. Marcus’s competitor’s restaurant. I calmly finished my work, then left the office.
The next day was Saturday. I didn’t have to go into the office. But my internal clock still woke me up at seven sharp. Outside the window, the sky was gray and overcast, like it might rain. I didn’t stay in bed. I got up, washed up, and made myself a simple breakfast. My phone buzzed. A small company group chat was lighting up. A few colleagues from different departments I was on decent terms with were chatting. “Oh my God, did you guys eat yesterday afternoon’s food? I almost threw up that steak.” “I seriously think their kitchen knocked over the salt shaker. It was so salty it tasted bitter.” “It’s been two months now, right? The cafeteria food keeps getting worse. Either too salty or too greasy, and there were bugs in the vegetables.” “Shh, keep it down. After all, they’re Nora’s relatives. We shouldn’t say too much.” “What relatives? I heard they’re friends. Really close ones.” “Still, they should at least be worth what we’re paying, right? The quality—even fast food takeout is better than this.” That one phrase, “Nora’s relatives,” was like a tiny thorn stabbing into my eye. I put down my sandwich. Instantly lost my appetite. Because of Marcus, my professionalism had already been discounted in my colleagues’ eyes. I’d become the person who played favorites, who sacrificed employee benefits to take care of her “connections.” I opened Ins and scrolled down out of habit. Vanessa’s profile picture popped up in the latest posts. A carefully edited selfie with a brand-new red sports car steering wheel in the background. The logo in the center of the wheel gleamed. On her hand was a just-purchased luxury brand bag, latest collection. The caption read: “My husband works so hard. All our effort deserves the best rewards!” Every word dripped with undisguised pride and showing off. I clicked on the image and zoomed in. Blinding. I laughed coldly. So this “effort” meant talking behind my back, painting me as a greedy bloodsucker? Meant cutting corners on employee meal standards over and over, skimming costs to fund your luxury lifestyle? Under the post, Marcus’s comment was pinned at the top. A heart emoji followed by: “As long as you’re happy, babe.” So loving. So harmonious. My finger unconsciously scrolled up, flipping through their Ins from the past two years. From cautious at first to completely shameless later. New car today, new house tomorrow, European vacation the day after. Vanessa’s Ins was basically a nouveau riche flexing documentary. And me? I looked down at my phone that I’d been using for nearly three years. The screen edges already had some scratches. These past two years, to help balance their restaurant’s books, to get them back on track as quickly as possible, I’d even proactively suggested shortening their payment terms from quarterly to monthly. That meant how much extra communication and reporting I had to do. How many times I had to go back and forth with the finance department. Had they forgotten all that? No. They hadn’t forgotten. They just thought it was all perfectly natural. That it was what I should do. The suppressed fire in my chest finally found an outlet and blazed up. I wasn’t running a charity. My kindness and loyalty weren’t cheap goods they could squander and trample on however they wanted. I exited Ins and found a number in my contacts I’d barely ever called. The name read: Rachel. I dialed her number. “Hello?” A crisp, capable woman’s voice came through. “Hi, this is Nora.” My voice was so calm it didn’t ripple at all. “I’d like to meet with you to discuss our company cafeteria catering contract. Do you have time tomorrow?”
Rachel and I met at a café in the city center. She arrived before me. When I walked in, she was sitting by the window with a laptop in front of her, fingers flying across the keyboard. She wore a well-fitted beige suit, hair pulled back in a neat bun. Her whole presence radiated professionalism and competence. Seeing me, she immediately closed her laptop, stood up, and extended her hand. “Nora, pleasure to finally meet you.” Her hand was warm and firm, her gaze open and bright. “Rachel, likewise.” We sat across from each other. No unnecessary small talk. Rachel pulled out a thick stack of documents from her briefcase and pushed them toward me. “Nora, this is the preliminary catering proposal and quote we’ve prepared specifically for your company.” I picked it up and flipped through. The proposal was incredibly detailed. From nutritionally balanced menu combinations to a full week of non-repeating daily menus. Even customized meals for special occasions—everything was thoroughly considered. Every ingredient’s source and inspection report was attached. Most importantly, her quote—while guaranteeing higher quality—was actually ten percent cheaper than Marcus’s restaurant. I looked up at her. Rachel met my gaze squarely. “Nora, I won’t hide this from you. Vanessa and I have history.” She wasn’t lying, just calmly stating facts. “My previous head chef got poached by her with triple the salary. He also took several of our signature recipe formulas with him.” “After that, she spread rumors everywhere that our ingredients weren’t fresh and our hygiene didn’t meet standards.” I listened quietly without interrupting. I’d heard whispers about these restaurant industry feuds, but hearing it from someone directly involved hit differently. Rachel’s face showed no resentment, only a businessperson’s cool composure and honesty. “So if your company is willing to give me this opportunity—” She paused, her tone absolutely certain, “I’m willing to cut another two percent from this base, and personally, I’ll sign an unlimited joint liability food safety guarantee with the company.” “I need this contract. Not just for profit, but to prove my restaurant is better than theirs.” In her eyes flickered an unyielding, vibrant ambition. This contrasted so sharply with Marcus’s pathetic weakness and Vanessa’s petty vanity. I appreciated her. A reliable adult, a trustworthy business partner—this was exactly what that should look like. “Rachel.” I closed the proposal, leaned forward slightly, and looked into her eyes. “Your professionalism and honesty have impressed me.” “No need for the additional discount. Let’s go with this quote.” “I only have one requirement. From day one of our partnership, I want my colleagues eating the best work meals in the entire city.” Rachel’s eyes lit up instantly. She nodded emphatically: “Nora, you have my word. I stake my reputation on it.” We drafted a letter of intent on the spot. As we shook hands goodbye, Rachel said: “Nora, thank you.” I smiled. “You should thank your own professionalism.” Back at the empty office, I sat at my desk and opened my computer. First, I drafted a formal report on terminating the catering service partnership with Marcus’s restaurant. The report contained zero personal emotion. Just facts. I attached screenshots from the past three months from the company’s internal forum and anonymous feedback channels—all the complaints about poor cafeteria food quality and questionable hygiene, along with negative satisfaction statistics. Employee satisfaction had dropped from ninety percent two years ago to barely thirty percent now. Shocking. Next, I drafted a second report proposing an open bidding process to bring in a new cafeteria vendor. In the proposal, I created a clear comparison chart between Rachel’s proposal and pricing versus Marcus’s restaurant’s current service and costs. Which was superior was obvious at a glance. All documents ready. I saved them on my desktop, naming the folder “Final Solution.” Outside the window, the sky gradually darkened. I stared at the cold text on my computer screen, feeling completely calm inside. Everything was in place. Tomorrow would be a very interesting day. Monday morning, nine o’clock. The company’s internal bulletin board and every employee’s inbox simultaneously received a notice from the Operations Department. “Announcement Regarding Change of Cafeteria Catering Service Provider.” Black and white text, official wording—but like a depth charge dropped into a calm lake. The entire company exploded. Break rooms and office areas instantly flooded with cheers. One colleague even posted on Ins: “Best thing that happened today—finally don’t have to eat slop anymore!” Ten-thirty AM. Marcus’s restaurant delivery truck rolled up to the company building as usual. Then got stopped by security. “Sorry, starting today our company’s switching catering providers. Your truck can’t enter the garage anymore.” The driver was Marcus’s cousin. He was completely stunned. He immediately called Marcus. When Marcus got the call, he probably thought it was a mistake too. He hung up and started frantically calling me.
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