My Best Friend's Wife Fired Me, So I Retaliated

Geoffrey paused for a moment, then added meaningfully, "And what does this tell us? It tells us that a truly outstanding salesperson doesn't just expand the market—they also know how to control costs."

"Unlike certain people who constantly exceed their budgets and always have an excuse ready."

My fists tightened under the table.

Those so-called high-profit projects of Yvette's, they were all clients I had developed myself—long-term, stable accounts that I'd handed to her to maintain. Of course, the costs were low.

Meanwhile, the new clients that required heavy investment and endless follow-ups—the tough ones that built the company's foundation—those were all mine.

Yvette accepted the oversized bonus check from Geoffrey and leaned toward the microphone, her voice soft and sweet.

"Thank you to the company for this recognition, and to the leadership for their trust."

"But most of all, I want to thank my mentor, Manager Romero. Without his patient guidance, I wouldn't be standing here today..."

She turned toward me, eyes shimmering with perfectly timed tears. "So I'll keep working hard—and live up to everyone's expectations."

She ended her speech gracefully, bowing slightly amid a smattering of applause.

Geoffrey took the microphone again.

"In light of Yvette's outstanding performance, the management team has decided to appoint her as General Manager of the Sales Department, effective immediately."

The entire meeting room fell silent.

Everyone knew that position was supposed to be mine.

Yvette nodded politely, but the pride on her face was impossible to hide.

And in that instant, everything fell into place.

Why she had been so eager lately to take on "promising" projects. Why she had been reporting directly to Geoffrey behind my back. Why she complained about the company's strict rules to me—yet submitted flawless reimbursement reports.

Even the new policy, even that cup of milk tea from Thirstea shop that started all this—it was all too coincidental.

That day, when I was sorting receipts, she had insisted I include that tiny expense in my report—but she hadn't reminded me that it would put me over the limit.

After the meeting, I stood up first and walked straight out.

Yvette hurried after me, catching up in the hallway and grabbing my arm at the corner.

"Sir August, please let me explain..." Her voice trembled. "I didn't know Mr. Peyton would make that decision! I was completely shocked on stage—that position should have been yours!"

I stared at her coldly, saying nothing, watching her act play out.

My silence seemed to rattle her. She spoke faster, her tone desperate. "I swear, I only found out today!"

"I even wanted to refuse, but Mr. Peyton said if you took that position, you'd probably lead the whole team to resign together..."

I finally spoke. "And why would I do that?"

She froze for a second, then lowered her voice. "Because... you've already written your resignation letter. I saw it."

Of course. She'd seen my letter and told Geoffrey right away.

That explained everything: this entire performance had been planned.

A perfect trap—stripping me of authority and leaving me no leverage to negotiate.

"Sir, please believe me," she pleaded again, eyes glistening. "I never wanted things to turn out like this. If you leave... what will happen to me?"

I gently pulled my arm free and smiled faintly. "You'll figure it out, won't you... Manager Smith?"

Her face stiffened with embarrassment, words catching in her throat.

Just before clocking out, I pushed open the heavy wooden door to Geoffrey's office.

He was reviewing reports behind his desk while his wife, Marina lounged on the sofa, idly flipping through a magazine.

I placed the printed resignation letter on the table and intoned coldly, "I'm here to resign."