Chapter 1

I got dragged online by one of my lead devs.

He claimed my "Incubation Project" was a gilded cage—a trap to exploit the team and steal their personal IPs.

The truth?

I funded it out of my own pocket.

Selected candidates would get a $50,000 no-strings-attached seed fund, plus full Top-tier tuition reimbursement. It was 100% voluntary, with zero penalties for opting out.

Since the internet decided I was a toxic capitalist monopolizing their creativity, I gave him exactly what he wanted. I fired off a company-wide memo:

[To protect your creative freedom from capitalist exploitation, the $50,000 Incubation Fund is permanently abolished, effective immediately.]

[As an alternative, the monthly education allowance for all employees is now a $15 reimbursement for basic coding courses.]

The moment the memo dropped, the employees who were counting on that $50k to pay off student loans or change their lives completely lost it.

Now, they're swarming right outside my glass office door, eyes red, begging me to reinstate the program.

...

"$50,000. A no-strings-attached seed fund. Plus full tuition reimbursement for advanced courses at the Top-tier."

I stood at the front of the conference room and clicked my presentation remote. The screen froze on these unprecedented benefits.

Dead silence.

And then, the room exploded.

"Holy crap, a legit fifty grand?"

"Free tuition at the Top-tier? I was literally stressing over the tuition bill last week!"

Chloe, our Lead UI Designer, excitedly exchanged frantic glances with her colleagues.

I raised a hand to quiet them down.

Instantly, every eye in the room pinned onto me.

"But all investments have boundaries." I clicked the pointer, and the slide switched to a wall of black-and-white clauses.

"These are the 'IP Guardrails,' and they're simple. First, the underlying code for any project developed using these funds will be bound by an NDA. Second, if your project goes commercial, Pulse holds the right of first refusal for publishing and the option for a first-round investment."

"This is to prevent future copyright disasters, especially when dealing with the due diligence required by major streaming platforms. It protects the company, and it protects your hard work. Any questions?"

The initial ecstasy in the front rows visibly cooled. People started murmuring in low voices, doing the mental math. It was normal. The adult world, after all, is built on transactions.

Right then, a deliberate chuckle cut through the whispers.

"Victoria, no offense, but aren't you just playing word games here?"

It was Jaxson. Our core backend developer, and a part-time tech YouTuber with three hundred thousand subscribers.

"How so?" I looked right at him.

Jaxson stood up. "It sounds like you're sponsoring our dreams, but look closely at these lines. Right of first refusal? That means if we take your fifty grand, our independent IPs—which could be worth ten million someday—get completely locked in by the company. An NDA? That means you can slap us with a cease-and-desist at any time and claim our code infringes on your property."

He threw his hands open, his tone highly inflammatory. "This isn't an incubation fund. This is spending pocket change to legally rob us of our intellectual property. Am I right, guys?"

Gasps echoed from the corners of the room.

The light died out in Chloe's eyes. A few younger engineers visibly hesitated, then started nodding along. Jaxson had brilliantly struck their most sensitive nerve: the innocent working-class coder versus the vampiric corporation draining their creativity.

"Legal robbery?" I laughed softly.

"Jaxson, do you not understand the concept of 'opt-in'?"

My voice turned cold. "I'm not forcing anyone to buy anything. If you think it's a shackle, don't sign. If you don't take this fifty grand, no one is docking your base pay. No one is gatekeeping your promotions."

"But just because you don't want to play by the rules doesn't mean you get to smear a genuine opportunity for others to change their lives as 'exploitation.' Keep your freedom if you want it, but don't use it as a weapon to sabotage everyone else's future."

The smugness on Jaxson's face froze for a second. He clearly hadn't expected me to refuse to take the bait and defend myself against the "exploitation" charge.

But his reflexes were fast. He instantly pivoted to a higher moral ground.

"I'm just fighting for fairness for the team. If the people who sign the NDA get fifty grand and Top-tier resources, wouldn't those of us who choose not to participate essentially become victims who are missing out on benefits? How is anyone supposed to work in peace while watching their coworkers get handed massive payouts?"

I was almost amused by the sheer audacity of this narcissistic, entitled logic.

He refused to accept any restrictions or shared risk, but the moment he wasn't pocketing the cash, he acted as if his rightful property was being stolen.

"You want peace of mind? It's simple. Apply for the project, get selected, and you can walk away with the fifty grand too."

Without giving him another chance to argue, I grabbed my folders and turned to leave.

"The application portal closes firmly at 6:00 PM today. Once it's closed, it's locked. Meeting adjourned."

I walked straight back to my office.

Generosity without boundaries doesn't buy the spirit of the contract; it only breeds insatiable, ungrateful parasites.

I thought the matter was settled.

Half an hour later, there was a knock on my door.

Jaxson pushed the door open and walked in. His eyes were red, wearing the look of someone burdened with immense pressure and grievance.

"Victoria." He let out a sigh, his tone coated in deliberate vulnerability. "I spoke a little too harshly in the meeting just now. My bad. Please don't hold it against me."