Chapter 4

It had been exactly four days since the letter of intent for the Dallas project was signed.

Under the company's sales incentive policy, the first commission payment should have hit my account soon after the LOI took effect.

I sat at my desk and pulled up my online banking.

The commission that was supposed to be there wasn't.

There was only one laughable deposit: [Special Project Bonus: $1,000.00].

I got up and headed for the finance office.

Director Linda was touching up her bright red lipstick in a compact mirror. When she saw me walk in, she didn't even bother to look up.

"Where's my commission?" I didn't waste words.

"Ethan, what's your rush?" Linda slowly capped the lipstick. "The company's been busy with cash flow settlements lately, and the system needs time to process. It'll be paid later. That thousand dollars was a special reimbursement credit the boss approved for you. You should learn to be grateful."

"How much later? I want a specific date." I looked at her.

"I told you, we're busy! If you've got a problem with it, go talk to the boss yourself!" she snapped, slamming a few files down on the desk.

I didn't spare her another glance. I turned and walked straight to the CEO's office at the end of the hall.

I pushed open the frosted glass door to Richard's office without knocking.

Richard was leaning back in his oversized executive chair, smoking a cigar.

And sitting on the sofa across from him was Mason, glowing with smug satisfaction, his hair slicked down with enough product to shine.

The moment I walked in, both of them stopped talking.

I tossed the $1,000 transfer record onto Richard's desk.

"Richard, explain this. The contract is already in effect, but my commission's being withheld. And what exactly is this thousand dollars supposed to be—charity?"

Richard leaned back slightly, thrown by the force of it, but quickly straightened up and darkened his expression.

"Watch your tone, Ethan!" Richard slammed his cigar into the ashtray. "I was just about to call you in. And you've got the nerve to come in here asking about commission?"

I almost laughed. "Why wouldn't I? I earned it."

"The rules apply to people who bring equal value to the company!" Richard shot to his feet, his greedy face twisted with contempt. "You flew to Dallas, had a few dinners, signed a letter of intent, and now you think you can walk away with millions? Does that sound reasonable to you? If Mason hadn't followed the whole thing in Dallas and reported back the real story, I still wouldn't know you'd been bluffing me this whole time!"

"Bluffing?" I turned my head and cut my eyes toward Mason on the sofa.

Mason stood up and adjusted his bright blue suit, that disgusting fake smile spreading across his face again.

"Ethan, don't blame the boss for being upset. I saw it myself in Dallas—the suppliers cared about our company's platform and credentials, not your personal sales pitch." Mason spread his hands shamelessly. "All you did was throw your weight around at the dinner table using the company's name. After that, I was the one doing the legwork and organizing the backup documents. We're one team, so why should you take the whole commission for yourself?"

He walked over to Richard's side and put on an expression of wounded sincerity. "Ethan, as a senior manager, you shouldn't be this selfish. We're supposed to put the work first and think about the company's long-term growth. How can you focus only on the money right in front of you? That kind of profit-first attitude is really disappointing."

What a convenient accusation.

The two of them were playing off each other perfectly. Not only were they taking the million-dollar deal I'd fought for and handing it over to themselves, they were also trying to dump the label of greedy and dishonest on me.

Richard, thinking he'd hit a nerve, smugly blew out a ring of smoke. "You hear that? Mason may be new, but he's got a much bigger-picture mindset than you do. Keep the thousand for now. As for the rest of whatever portion belongs to you, I'll reevaluate it after the project's final payment clears and after I see Mason's follow-up reports. For now, get out."

They wanted to kick me aside now that the hard part was done and hand my resources straight to Mason, their obedient lapdog.

Anyone else would have lost it.

But inside, I felt nothing at all, because neither of them understood that the real foundation of that project was never the letter of intent. It was the network and leverage I had built with my own background.

"Of course, we're supposed to put the work first, not only on the money right in front of us."

Slowly, I tore the $1,000 receipt on the desk in half and dropped the pieces into the trash.

I looked straight at Richard and Mason, both of them visibly caught off guard, my face expressionless.

"Am I right? Good. Then let's do exactly that. Work comes first."

Without another word, I turned and walked out of the office.

Once I left the main office area, I went straight into the stairwell, took out my phone, and dialed the number.

The call was picked up quickly.

"Ethan? Isn't the sunshine in Los Angeles good enough for you? What made you think to call me?" On the other end came my mother Eleanor's sharp, controlled voice, edged with a trace of warmth, from an executive office high above Wall Street in New York.

"Mom, it's me." I looked out through the glass at the stream of traffic below, my eyes turning completely cold. "That Dallas supply chain project... put the upstream source partnership on hold. Immediately."

It had been exactly four days since the letter of intent for the Dallas project was signed.

Under the company's sales incentive policy, the first commission payment should have hit my account soon after the LOI took effect.

I sat at my desk and pulled up my online banking.

The commission that was supposed to be there wasn't.

There was only one laughable deposit: [Special Project Bonus: $1,000.00].

I got up and headed for the finance office.

Director Linda was touching up her bright red lipstick in a compact mirror. When she saw me walk in, she didn't even bother to look up.

"Where's my commission?" I didn't waste words.

"Ethan, what's your rush?" Linda slowly capped the lipstick. "The company's been busy with cash flow settlements lately, and the system needs time to process. It'll be paid later. That thousand dollars was a special reimbursement credit the boss approved for you. You should learn to be grateful."

"How much later? I want a specific date." I looked at her.

"I told you, we're busy! If you've got a problem with it, go talk to the boss yourself!" she snapped, slamming a few files down on the desk.

I didn't spare her another glance. I turned and walked straight to the CEO's office at the end of the hall.

I pushed open the frosted glass door to Richard's office without knocking.

Richard was leaning back in his oversized executive chair, smoking a cigar.

And sitting on the sofa across from him was Mason, glowing with smug satisfaction, his hair slicked down with enough product to shine.

The moment I walked in, both of them stopped talking.

I tossed the $1,000 transfer record onto Richard's desk.

"Richard, explain this. The contract is already in effect, but my commission's being withheld. And what exactly is this thousand dollars supposed to be—charity?"

Richard leaned back slightly, thrown by the force of it, but quickly straightened up and darkened his expression.

"Watch your tone, Ethan!" Richard slammed his cigar into the ashtray. "I was just about to call you in. And you've got the nerve to come in here asking about commission?"

I almost laughed. "Why wouldn't I? I earned it."

"The rules apply to people who bring equal value to the company!" Richard shot to his feet, his greedy face twisted with contempt. "You flew to Dallas, had a few dinners, signed a letter of intent, and now you think you can walk away with millions? Does that sound reasonable to you? If Mason hadn't followed the whole thing in Dallas and reported back the real story, I still wouldn't know you'd been bluffing me this whole time!"

"Bluffing?" I turned my head and cut my eyes toward Mason on the sofa.

Mason stood up and adjusted his bright blue suit, that disgusting fake smile spreading across his face again.

"Ethan, don't blame the boss for being upset. I saw it myself in Dallas—the suppliers cared about our company's platform and credentials, not your personal sales pitch." Mason spread his hands shamelessly. "All you did was throw your weight around at the dinner table using the company's name. After that, I was the one doing the legwork and organizing the backup documents. We're one team, so why should you take the whole commission for yourself?"

He walked over to Richard's side and put on an expression of wounded sincerity. "Ethan, as a senior manager, you shouldn't be this selfish. We're supposed to put the work first and think about the company's long-term growth. How can you focus only on the money right in front of you? That kind of profit-first attitude is really disappointing."

What a convenient accusation.

The two of them were playing off each other perfectly. Not only were they taking the million-dollar deal I'd fought for and handing it over to themselves, they were also trying to dump the label of greedy and dishonest on me.

Richard, thinking he'd hit a nerve, smugly blew out a ring of smoke. "You hear that? Mason may be new, but he's got a much bigger-picture mindset than you do. Keep the thousand for now. As for the rest of whatever portion belongs to you, I'll reevaluate it after the project's final payment clears and after I see Mason's follow-up reports. For now, get out."

They wanted to kick me aside now that the hard part was done and hand my resources straight to Mason, their obedient lapdog.

Anyone else would have lost it.

But inside, I felt nothing at all, because neither of them understood that the real foundation of that project was never the letter of intent. It was the network and leverage I had built with my own background.

"Of course, we're supposed to put the work first, not only on the money right in front of us."

Slowly, I tore the $1,000 receipt on the desk in half and dropped the pieces into the trash.

I looked straight at Richard and Mason, both of them visibly caught off guard, my face expressionless.

"Am I right? Good. Then let's do exactly that. Work comes first."

Without another word, I turned and walked out of the office.

Once I left the main office area, I went straight into the stairwell, took out my phone, and dialed the number.

The call was picked up quickly.

"Ethan? Isn't the sunshine in Los Angeles good enough for you? What made you think to call me?" On the other end came my mother Eleanor's sharp, controlled voice, edged with a trace of warmth, from an executive office high above Wall Street in New York.

"Mom, it's me." I looked out through the glass at the stream of traffic below, my eyes turning completely cold. "That Dallas supply chain project... put the upstream source partnership on hold. Immediately."