From Outcast Contract Worker to Chairman

"Alexia, don't take any of the company's holiday bonus boxes. You're not one of us—there's nothing for you."

My manager, Kevin Davis, delivered the notice coldly, as if he were commenting on the weather—routine, impersonal.

My hand stilled on the mouse.

"The rest of you, come with me. We're heading to the company gala to collect your million-dollar bonuses!"

My colleagues filed out in high spirits.

I watched their retreating backs and answered with a bitter, "Okay."

I was a contract worker. For seven years, I had always been the odd one out in the department.

Our ID badges said it all—blue for full-time employees, gray for me.

Time off was no different. Full-time employees had weekends; I got one day off a month.

As for pay and benefits, they enjoyed meal allowances, housing subsidies, team outings, afternoon snacks, holiday gifts, year-end bonuses… I received a fixed salary of three thousand dollars a month.

I sat down, opened my computer, and returned to the candlestick charts of my stocks.

They didn't know that I was the company's largest anonymous individual shareholder.

And they certainly didn't know that tonight, at the company gala, I would step onto the stage as the new Chairman—and my very first proposal would be to lay off their entire department.

As they chatted about the evening's annual gala, they tidied up their desks, each lifting a heavy New Year gift box.

A female colleague named Bianca Shelton passed by my workstation. On purpose, she dropped her box onto my desk with a loud thud.

"Oh, Alexia, I'm so sorry."

The apology came out of her mouth, but the sneer on her face gave her away.

"These boxes are just so heavy. Not like you—empty-handed. Must be nice."

I ignored her, my gaze fixed on my computer screen.

On it, the candlestick chart crept steadily upward.

"I'm talking to you. Cat got your tongue?"

Annoyance crept into Bianca's voice when I didn't respond.

My manager, Kevin Davis, walked over and patted her on the shoulder.

"That's enough. Why bother arguing with a contract worker?"

He turned to me, that smug face of his wearing a look of condescending charity.

"Alexia, even though you're not invited to the gala and don't get any holiday gifts, the work still has to be done."

He picked up a thick stack of documents from his desk and dropped it onto my keyboard.

"The quarterly market review report. I need it first thing tomorrow morning. Stay late tonight and get it done."

I looked at the file.

I knew it was his responsibility. He just wanted to dump all the trouble on me before heading off to enjoy the gala.

"Mr. Davis," I said at last, "it's New Year's Eve."

"And what about it?"

Kevin let out a laugh, as if I'd said something ridiculous.

"Contract workers get one day off a month. You already used yours two days ago—it's in your contract. Besides, asking you to work overtime is giving you an opportunity. Understand?"

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice, his tone laced with threat.

"Don't push your luck. If you don't want the job, there are plenty of people waiting to take it."

The surrounding colleagues stopped what they were doing, watching me with undisguised schadenfreude.

They enjoyed moments like this.

Watching me—the outsider—be excluded, squeezed, and humiliated gave their meager sense of superiority a satisfying boost.

I stayed silent for a few seconds, then gave a small nod.

"Okay."

Kevin was pleased with my compliance. With a broad wave of his hand, he called out, "Let's go!"

The group gathered around him and filed out of the office in a noisy procession.

Bianca lingered at the back. Before leaving, she turned and mouthed a single word at me.

"Idiot."

One by one, the office lights went out.

The last person to leave—the admin assistant—didn't even spare me a glance before pulling the main switch.

Only the glow of my monitor remained, showing the time: 4:00 p.m.

For the past seven years, every company event had been the same.