Fired Over a Gift Card, Then They Learned I Held $200 Million

My probation ended. I got fired.

The bank had no open positions this year, so an intern who'd just been told to leave stormed straight into President Fox's office.

She claimed I'd been sitting on my position to line my own pockets, skimming fifty thousand in gift cards every month—the ones purchasing set aside for clients.

I didn't even bother looking up at her. "I have deposits here. That makes me a client too. Those gifts were mine to begin with."

She sized me up, lip curling. "You, a client? You've got what, a few thousand to your name? And you think that entitles you to fifty grand a month in gift cards? You think this bank is your personal ATM?"

I looked at her—swaggering, shameless—and at Nelson, sitting there in silence. I smiled, stood up, and packed my things.

She wanted this job so badly? Fine. She could have it.

Only she got one thing wrong. The bank wasn't my ATM.

Of the bank's two hundred and thirty million in annual deposits, two hundred million were mine.

*I* was the bank's ATM.

……

I clocked out right on time, tucking this month's fifty-thousand-dollar batch of gift cards into my pocket.

That's when the president's office erupted.

Every colleague who loved a good show crowded toward the door.

I had zero interest in the drama. I grabbed my best friend and headed for the restaurant—figured we'd blow through the fifty grand over dinner.

I'd barely stood up when I heard my name ripping through Virginia Austin's shouting.

"From what I know, Tracey Butler didn't even take the entrance exam before they let her in! She sits at her desk every single day doing absolutely nothing. Fine, she collects a paycheck for free!"

"But in just the three months I've been interning here, I've watched her go to purchasing every single month and walk out with gift cards. Why should someone like her take up a spot at this bank?!"

I pushed through the crowd of colleagues, walked into the office, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

Watched her go off.

Virginia's face was flushed crimson. She lunged at me, hands clawing wildly across my clothes, desperate to dig out proof.

It didn't take long. Her fingers found the stiff edges of the cards.

She grinned, yanked them out, and slapped them down on the desk.

"President Fox, didn't I tell you? Right here. Evidence!"

"Ten thousand a month she makes, late every morning, out the door every afternoon, never on the counter, never drumming up business—just hiding away in her own private office drinking coffee and playing on her phone."

"And she's still not satisfied! Gift cards, client gifts, she stuffs them into her pockets one by one!"

I'd heard enough. I reached over and pinched the gift cards off the desk between two fingers.

"These were given to me by the bank. I have deposits here. I'm a client. These are mine."

Virginia burst out laughing like I'd just told the funniest joke she'd ever heard, looking me over head to toe.

"You? A *client*? Look at yourself—you've got a couple thousand sitting in there and now you're some premium client?"

"Oh please. You're screwing the purchasing manager, and the two of you are treating this bank like a cash machine!"

I'd always kept a low profile at the bank.

Hair pinned up, standard-issue uniform, same as everyone else.

Apart from Nelson Fox and Greg Lambert, the purchasing manager who handled client relations, nobody knew how much I actually had on deposit.

Whispers rustled at the doorway. It wasn't hard to notice the way my colleagues were looking at me now.

"No wonder Manager Lambert's always so attentive to her, running to her office every other day. Turns out he's been spending the bank's money to keep his little girlfriend happy."

"And the bank gave her a private office. Turned into their little hookup spot, didn't it."

"Ten thousand a month plus the year-end bonus isn't enough for her? I'd be thanking my lucky stars. She even has the nerve to take gifts meant for top clients. Over a year, that's got to be close to a million, easy!"