Chapter 2

I shifted my gaze from the screen to the person standing at my desk.

"Get to the point."

Jaxson pulled out a chair and sat down. As our lead developer, he had deliberately worn a T-shirt that read Stay Indie today.

"Victoria, about that $50,000 indie game incubation fund," Jaxson began, testing the waters. "People are talking about it privately."

"Talking about what?"

"Since the company claims to support creator culture, shouldn't we be more inclusive? Why not turn this budget into a 'Creator Stipend' and split it evenly among everyone? If everyone gets the money to create freely, team morale would be much better."

I stared at him. The greed was written all over his face, yet he insisted on draping it in the guise of 'defending team morale'.

"Jaxson, you're asking me to break down a hard-earned fund into a free handout for the rest of you?"

"You can't phrase it like that!" Jaxson snapped, getting agitated. "Some of the colleagues who didn't get the money are going to feel marginalized—"

"Are you afraid your colleagues will feel marginalized, or are you afraid this 50K won't end up in your own pocket?" I cut him off.

Jaxson shot up from his chair, his face flushed red.

"Get out."

"Ms. Sterling, you're going to regret treating your core team like this." He glared at me for a few seconds, turned, and slammed the door shut behind him.

Jaxson stomped back to the core dev area, grabbed his phone, and started typing furiously, occasionally looking up to exchange glances with the UI designer, Chloe, across from him.

I knew it right then. The incitement wasn't over; it had just gone underground.

7:00 PM.

My phone buzzed frantically.

My assistant, Mike, yelled through the receiver, his voice cracking, "Ms. Sterling! Twitter is exploding! There's a YouTube video trending right now!"

"What video?"

"I just sent you the link!"

I opened YouTube. The bold, black title stung my eyes:

Female CEO Buys Creators' Freedom for $50K: Exposing Pulse Media's Modern Intellectual Exploitation

An anonymous figure using an AI voice changer masterfully dissected the contract clauses in the video: "The so-called priority right means locking down your future. Registration means constant surveillance. The NDA is a gag order. You think you're getting $50,000, but you're actually selling your next ten years for pennies to a capitalist maniac!"

The video cut to blurred internal slides and screenshots of our core group chat. Even through the heavy pixels, I recognized the leak for what it was—an inside job.

The comment section had devolved into a bloodthirsty meat grinder:

"Doxx her now! Expose this bloodsucking vampire's home address! Let's see how many people's sweat and blood went into paying for her mansion!"

"Classic Toxic Capitalism! Boycott Pulse Media! Cancel this trash company!"

Only three people in the core group knew that specific code snippet. And only one person had thrown a tantrum in my office this afternoon.

"It's Jaxson." I stared at the screen.

Our company's main Slack channel, with over two hundred people, was boiling over.

Jaxson dropped a highly manipulative message:

"Social media is terrifying... Ms. Sterling must be under so much pressure right now. Guys, please don't go on Twitter and add fuel to the fire. Let's try to understand our boss's decisions."

He was blatantly hinting to everyone: The exploitation is real, my cyberbullying is well-deserved, and all of you are the victims.

The tide turned instantly. Employees who usually greeted me with beaming smiles scrambled to build their moral high grounds, desperate to save their own skins in the flood of public outrage.

Chloe replied in the thread: "Those clauses are honestly terrifying... I don't want to be marginalized just because I refuse to sign."

Jack, the Lead Planner, echoed: "My wife watched the video and picked a huge fight with me. Said I'm nothing but a tool for capitalists. I'm so tired of this."

I watched the jumping text on the screen, a chill running down my spine.

Two years ago, when Jack was drowning in debt and on the verge of bankruptcy, I used my personal lawyers to bail him out. When Chloe's daughter ended up in the ICU and her insurance lapsed, I wired $30,000 directly from my personal account without ever asking for an IOU.

And now, faced with a fabricated class trial, they chose to step on my neck to clear their own names.

I let out a short, cold laugh.

I clicked back to the Twitter trending page and hit refresh.

The timeline jumped, and a few new, heavily upvoted comments popped up, glaringly obvious:

"I'm a current employee at Pulse Media. I can testify that the predatory clauses exposed in this video are 100% real! The internal culture is suffocating!"

"Agreed! That female CEO is an absolute dictator. If anyone dares say 'no' to her contracts, their bonuses get stripped immediately!"

My gaze turned to ice.

Right beneath those righteous, sworn testimonies, the unhidden location tags told another story. They clearly displayed the Pulse Media Headquarters.

They didn't even bother to hide it. They were sitting right in my office, using my company's Wi-Fi, hand-delivering me to the gallows.