I was blasted online by the new intern, Chloe Reed, who claimed AscendCorp was forcing employees to use their vacation days for mandatory team-building events. No one wanted to travel all the way to a tropical island to put on a show with coworkers. But what the internet didn’t know was AscendCorp’s team-building tradition: Every year, we booked an entire five-star resort, all expenses paid, and employees could bring their families. We even gave an additional three days of paid leave, with a lavish per-person budget that ensured a truly luxury experience. The entire internet was calling me a cold-blooded capitalist, so I decided to fulfill their wishes and issued a direct announcement: “In response to employee feedback and to respect individual time, this year’s company retreat will be canceled. Instead, a $500 free-travel stipend will be issued to all employees.” The moment the announcement went out, the company erupted. Senior employees swarmed my office door, begging me to bring back the Caribbean sun and sand. Brenda Patterson, our Administrative Director, and I had just finalized this year’s retreat plans. “Alex, this is the one, right? A six-star island in the Maldives, all-inclusive.” Brenda’s voice was buzzing with excitement. I nodded, satisfied. Years ago, in a cramped, dingy startup office, I had promised my team: “One day, I’m going to take all of us to the most breathtaking places on Earth to celebrate our successes!” It was a promise I had kept for many years. I told Brenda, “The per-person budget is generous—don’t skimp on a single cent. And make sure every employee attending gets three extra days of *paid* annual leave!” Brenda smiled, closing her tablet. “If we send this out, the company-wide WhatsApp group is going to explode.” Sure enough, after the notice went into our 400-plus person company WhatsApp group, it was instantly flooded with celebratory emojis. David Miller from the tech department posted a family photo: “Amazing! Last year I promised to take my daughter to the beach to see sea turtles, and now it’s finally happening!” A newlywed couple from the marketing department was already discussing whether to turn it into a spontaneous honeymoon. The entire company was immersed in a festive joy. I watched the endless stream of thank-you messages scrolling across my phone screen, a deep sense of satisfaction filling me. However, a discordant message abruptly popped up. It was from the new intern, Chloe Reed. She posted a link to a viral TikTok video where an influencer was ranting about pointless corporate retreats, then casually added: “Seriously? Are they for real? A company still doing mandatory trips in this day and age? I’d totally rather just stay home and do nothing.” The lively group chat instantly froze. Mike Peterson, a department head, immediately tried to defuse the tension: “Chloe just joined, she doesn’t know the ropes yet. Our company retreat is a top-tier perk—you’d be crazy to miss it!” Another coworker sarcastically chimed in, “Exactly. Some people would kill to get an invite like that.” Chloe immediately replied with an eye-roll emoji: “No thanks, not interested. Don’t want to waste my life putting on a show with coworkers I barely know.” “If the boss really has that kind of cash, why not just give us the money directly? That’d be way more useful.” Her comments silenced the group completely. A few senior employees who had been enthusiastically chatting just moments before quietly deleted their messages. I even noticed a few anonymous profiles discreetly ‘liked’ Chloe’s comment, only to quickly unlike it seconds later. That afternoon, there was a knock on my office door. It was Chloe Reed. She wore trendy slides and carried a bubble tea, showing no hint of nervousness in front of the CEO. “Alex, can we talk?” With a slight tilt of her chin, she casually flopped onto the sofa across from me. “I think this whole company retreat thing is totally outdated. For young people like us, we value work-life separation. You spend a fortune to gather us all, and we have to fake smiles? How exhausting.” She looked at me defiantly. “It’s an emotional drain, you know? Why not just give us the money directly? Everyone wins.” I looked at her, that ‘let me show you how it’s done’ look on her face, finding it both absurd and amusing. “The company retreat is a mark of honor for our outstanding employees, a form of collective recognition, not some bargain-bin perk you can haggle over.” Chloe scoffed. “Fine, whatever. My bad for even saying anything.” She stood up to leave, mumbling under her breath, “So preachy. Lame.” Towards the end of the workday, I saw Gary Thompson, an office veteran, along with a few younger employees, gather around Chloe’s desk. Gary beamed, “Chloe, what you said? That’s exactly how we feel! You nailed it! Don’t worry, we’ve got your back!” Chloe smugly raised an eyebrow, lowering her voice. “Don’t worry, Gary, watch this.” Immediately after, I saw Chloe pull out her phone and snap a pic of her computer screen. Then, she flipped the camera to herself, her face instantly shifting to a put-upon expression, complete with a somber gray filter. Her lips moved, forming a silent “Help me!” My stomach dropped.
After getting home from work, a video notification suddenly popped up. The sensational headline screamed: “My Salary vs. Their ‘Mandatory’ Luxury Retreat: Is This a Blessing or a Curse?” On the thumbnail, it was Chloe’s face, a picture of pure, forced misery. My stomach lurched, and I clicked on the video. It opened with a promotional video for a six-star Maldives hotel, but it was desaturated to a gloomy black and white, set to somber music. Text overlay appeared: “The boss’s sugar-coated promises sure *look* good.” The scene switched to Chloe’s desk, with a close-up of a regular spreadsheet. New text: “But I’m just a regular employee, all I want is to clock out and go home.” Then a close-up of her looking tearfully wronged, with the text: “Being told my precious personal weekend would be eaten up by some huge, forced group performance? Yeah, no thanks.” She slyly twisted “extra paid time off” into “eating up our precious weekends.” Finally, she addressed the camera, accusingly: “Forget the Maldives. All I want is to sleep in on my days off. If this is a ‘blessing,’ you can have it.” The comments section, predictably, blew up. “Gen Z knows how to live! Name and shame! We’ll help you cancel them!” “Hate bosses like this, just patting themselves on the back! Get it straight, my job is to work, not to perform for some ‘team-building’ charade.” “Introverts hate team building! Give us back our peace and quiet!” My blood ran cold with fury. Three days of paid leave, spun as “eating up our precious weekends.” A several-thousand-dollar luxury benefit, framed as “blackmail.” The next morning, the company atmosphere felt off. Several employees clustered around Chloe, verbally chastising her for being “too bold” while their faces gleamed with excited curiosity. Gary Thompson, the office veteran, even walked directly into my office with her. Gary began with a phony sigh. “Alex, don’t be mad. While Chloe’s approach was a bit extreme, she did speak for a lot of young people. Maybe… you should just go with the flow?” Chloe stood beside him, arms crossed, a smug, defiant expression on her face. She wiggled her phone. “Alex, see? This is what everyone wants. It’s the current trend.” I said coldly, “The company’s traditions and rules will not change because of anyone’s childish antics.” Chloe let out a dismissive scoff. “Traditions? Traditions are meant to be broken. If you don’t find a way to make people happy, I can’t guarantee this won’t go viral nationwide tomorrow.” Just as she finished, my assistant burst through the door, pale as a ghost. “Alex, it’s bad! Chloe Reed’s video is already trending!” I refreshed my phone, and it was true. What chilled me even more were a few anonymous comments below the video, the IP addresses traced back to *this very building*. “Ugh, tell me about it. They call it a luxury trip, but last year’s hotel room was smaller than my bathroom.” “Benefits? Just empty promises. They say ‘thousands per person,’ but that dump barely cost a few hundred.” These lies made my head swim. They wanted the company’s lavish benefits, yet they wanted to push all the risk onto an intern. They fantasized that if things blew up, the trip would be directly converted into cash. This sophisticated yet greedy self-interest shattered years of my goodwill. I looked at the two triumphant figures before me and suddenly felt utterly hollow.
Overnight, AscendCorp, once an “ideal workplace” that everyone envied, had transformed into a “sweatshop” condemned by the entire internet. The company’s name, my photos—everything was doxxed. Abusive DMs and incessant harassment calls flooded my phone, making it vibrate furiously on my desk. “Cold-blooded capitalist, hope your company goes bankrupt tomorrow!” “Exploitative trash company, already reported you to the labor department!” My PR manager, with heavy bags under his eyes, handed me an emergency PR plan. His voice was hoarse. “Alex, we have to speak out immediately! Draft an official statement, clarify all the facts!” I pinched my throbbing temples, looking at him. “If we issue a statement now, to the public, it won’t be a calm explanation. It’ll be seen as defensive and tone-deaf showing off of wealth, which will only provoke greater outrage.” The manager froze, his mouth agape, unable to speak. When emotion overwhelms reason, facts simply fall on deaf ears. I was wrong. I thought that if I treated people with sincerity, someone would eventually choose to believe me. But as I refreshed that trending video, a new anonymous comment, boosted to the top by countless likes, caught my eye. The familiar tone made me almost certain it came from within the company. “Don’t bother trying to explain. I’m an insider at this company. That ‘paid leave’? It’s just them forcing us to use our own precious annual leave! Refuse, and your manager will make your life hell. We’re all angry but too scared to speak up!” I stared hard at that comment, my head swimming. It wasn’t anger. It was a bone-deep weariness and disgust. I could even picture who typed those words – perhaps the same senior employee who had thanked me just last week. This comment, like a giant boulder, crushed the last shred of hope in my heart. With even more malicious lies, it tainted the company’s sole act of goodwill, turning it into a conspiracy. Below it, countless others claiming to be “internal employees” chimed in. My mind flashed back to the days when the company first turned a profit, everyone celebrating at a local diner. Back then, everyone’s smiles were genuine. I questioned myself: in terms of benefits and treatment, I had never short-changed any of the team who had struggled alongside me. Yet, in the end, all I got was betrayal from everyone. They comfortably enjoyed my generosity, yet for the sake of some vague “cash bonus,” they didn’t hesitate to stab me in the back. Turns out, my carefully cultivated image of decency was nothing but a self-indulgent joke. The PR manager was still anxiously urging me. “Alex, if we don’t speak out now, our partners and investors will be flooded with calls!” I wearily waved him off, pushing the proposal aside. “No need.” My voice was chillingly calm. “Prepare a new notice.” I stood up and walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window. Downstairs, several media interview vans were already parked. I let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. I hadn’t lost to Chloe Reed; I had lost to my own ridiculous trust. From today on, I, Alex Sterling, would only be a businessman. A businessman deals in profit, not sentiment. I picked up my phone and dialed my assistant’s internal line. “Notify all employees: tomorrow morning at 9 AM, everyone is to be in the main conference room for a meeting to discuss the final optimized plan for this year’s team building.” On the other end, my assistant’s voice was hesitant. “Alex, are you… are you going to compromise with them?” “No.” I looked out at the vultures of the media outside the window, enunciating each word. “It’s time for them to pay for their greed themselves.”
The next morning, the company’s main conference room was packed. The air hummed with barely suppressed excitement and anticipation. It didn’t feel like a crisis management meeting; it felt more like a victory celebration. Chloe Reed and Gary Thompson sat in the front row, surrounded by a cluster of younger colleagues. Gary boasted, spitting enthusiasm, “I told you, Alex can be swayed by persuasion, but not by force. As long as we stick together and make enough noise, he’ll definitely cave!” Chloe looked even more smug, even secretly starting a live stream on her phone. The live stream’s title was particularly jarring: “Fam, witness Gen Z cleaning up the workplace! This is how we snatched our benefits back from the corporate overlords!” At precisely nine o’clock, I walked into the conference room. All eyes immediately fixated on me—some with schadenfreude, others with anticipation. I walked to the front and bowed deeply. “I apologize.” A ripple went through the room, followed by a burst of enthusiastic applause. In Chloe’s live stream, the comments were instantly flooded with “Boss apologized!” and “Go, Gen Z!” I straightened up, scanning the smug, triumphant faces below. “Due to my personal stubbornness and outdated thinking, I overlooked the importance you place on personal time and caused significant distress. For that, I sincerely apologize.” The applause grew even louder. Gary Thompson even stood up and shouted, “It’s a good thing Alex can admit his mistakes and correct them!” Chloe, even more delighted, aimed her live stream at me, as if showing off her trophy. I waited for the applause to subside, then shifted my tone. “To fully restore freedom and choice to everyone, after an entire night of careful consideration, I have decided to implement a radical overhaul of this year’s team-building plan.” Everyone held their breath, eyes gleaming with greedy anticipation. I looked at them, and one by one, I announced my decisions. “First, effective immediately, AscendCorp will completely cancel all collective travel traditions that have been in place since the company’s founding.” A cheer instantly erupted in the conference room. Ignoring their reaction, I continued with the second decision. “Second, to compensate everyone and support your freedom to travel, the company will instead issue a $500 free-travel stipend to each active employee.” “This is our way of expressing the highest respect for your freedom!” Silence fell over the room. Chloe Reed’s phone, which was still live streaming, clattered to the floor, its screen shattering. From a lavish, all-expenses-paid trip to the Maldives worth thousands per person, it had plummeted to a paltry five-hundred-dollar stipend. The massive disparity simply short-circuited their brains. I added, expressionless, “This is the precious freedom you fought so hard for, even at the cost of damaging the company’s reputation. Now, you are free.” I connected my phone to the projector. On the screen was the real-time stock market candlestick chart for AscendCorp’s parent company, a stark, downward green line that was alarming. Beside it were pop-up alerts from major financial news outlets. “AscendCorp’s corporate culture questioned amid forced team-building controversy, stock plummets 15% at open!” Everyone’s expressions rapidly shifted from bewilderment and shock to unconcealed panic and despair. Their jobs, they realized, were about to be shattered by their own hands. Chloe Reed was the first to jump up, her voice sharp and shrill. “The team-building budget was thousands per person! Why is the free-travel stipend only $500? You’re so greedy!” I looked at her coldly. “Your public shaming threatened the company’s survival, causing the stock to crash and company funds to tighten. This is the direct consequence of your reckless actions.” My gaze swept across every pale, anxious face in the room. “We lost three hundred million dollars in market value in half a day. The board of directors has demanded that I purge the toxic elements causing this crisis within 24 hours. Otherwise, to cut costs and stabilize the stock price, the company will immediately initiate a 30% layoff plan.”
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