Canceled by My Own Company:The Billionaire’s Live-Stream Revenge

"You're the one with dirty hands—don't try to drag Sparkline through the mud with you. I'm warning you, keep spreading these lies and we'll see you in court. You'll be drowning in lawsuits!"

I pulled up a search for Witter Biotech on my phone, scrolling rapidly until I found what I was looking for—photos posted by their employees showing off their New Year couplets.

Identical. The exact same couplets I was holding.

But here was the strange part: the posts were flooded with nothing but warm wishes and grateful comments. So satisfied with our holiday gifts! Not a single complaint.

What the hell was going on? The same image, two completely opposite reactions.

A suspicion began to crystallize in my mind.

Someone set me up.

I cleared my throat and softened my tone, smoothing things over with a few conciliatory words before getting to the point.

"You've seen the fallout. My company's taken a massive hit, and we need serious damage control—fast."

"But this situation is complicated. Odds are, someone engineered this trap specifically for me. The investigation will take time, and I can't afford to miss the window for crisis management." I paused, letting that sink in. "I need you to find someone in your procurement department willing to take the fall temporarily—say it was a clerical error that caused the whole mess. I'll compensate them generously. Once I've uncovered the truth, I'll clear their name completely."

"Could you ask around? See if anyone's willing to help?"

The man on the other end swore under his breath, ready to refuse.

Then I named the figure.

Silence.

"...I'll need to run this by my superiors. I'll get back to you."

The moment Sparkline confirmed they were on board, I ordered the PR department to draft a statement and buy trending placement. Holiday couplets resulted from procurement error at vendor level.

Finally—finally—the bleeding started to slow.

I stuffed the couplet and gift card into my pocket and headed straight for the nearest police station.

Along the way, I stopped a few friendly-looking pedestrians.

Pulled out the couplet. Asked them what was wrong with it.

Every single one of them took one look and their pupils contracted, faces twisting with shock—then rage.

A few recognized me. The cursing that followed could have peeled paint.

"It's the New Year—get that cursed thing away from me! Disgusting!"

"Grant Delgado, working for you must be eight lifetimes of bad luck..."

"I've seen heartless bosses before, but sending this as a holiday gift? You're not even trying to hide it!"

By the time I reached the station entrance, my hair looked like a bird's nest and my down jacket was leaking feathers from where it had been torn.

Then a voice exploded behind me.

"Grant Delgado! You have the nerve to send those cursed gifts and then waltz in here to file a report?!"

I turned.

The employees who'd been holding banners downstairs. Every single one of them. Faces bruised, eyes blazing.

The one in front grabbed my collar and drew back his fist.

"Delgado, you're giving us answers today!"

I squeezed my eyes shut—

"HANDS OFF!" An officer's roar split the air. "This is a police station! You want to start a brawl here? Looking for another night in holding?"

I exhaled, heart still hammering.

Fumbling in my pocket, I shoved everything into the officer's hands—the couplet, the gift card, all of it.

"Officers, please—someone's trying to destroy me. You have to help."

The words poured out: the inexplicable online attacks over simple couplets, the stock price in freefall, every suspicion I'd been piecing together.

The officers examined the couplet and gift card, turning them over slowly.

Their expressions hardened. Grew cold.

Ice slid down my spine.

I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong with the couplet—

One of them looked up sharply.

And finally spoke the truth that had turned my employees against me—that had made the entire internet want my head: