The Chipmaker's Revenge

I froze in my tracks.

Over the past ten years, Zachary had patted his chest countless times and promised me, "Josh, the current director is my uncle. He invested early on, so I can't move him. Once he retires, the director spot is yours—salary doubled, no question!"

I had waited—ten years—thinking the next name he'd call would be mine.

But the next second, he didn't hesitate at all. He announced the name of my intern.

"Brian Leeman! Personally handpicked from Kings University. Strong abilities, has carried major projects multiple times—absolutely no problem.

"More importantly, he's the younger brother-in-law of the chairman of Genting Group. Him joining us is already a huge concession—we cannot afford to slight him!"

It was like a thunderbolt had split my skull.

On the other end of the line, the HR manager's hesitant voice came through, "But Sir, Josh has ten years at the company. His experience and skill far exceed Brian's. Couldn't you reconsider?"

"No need to consider anything," Zachary interrupted sharply, with contempt in his tone. "Josh can work, yes—but he's too introverted. Keeps his head down doing tech, can't manage people at all."

"But… what if Josh is unhappy?" the HR manager asked.

"And what if he is?" Zachary sneered, his voice cold and cutting.

"He's from out of town, no connections, no roots. Just bought a tiny, run-down apartment last year, drained his savings, and carries a 300-thousand-dollar mortgage. His wife and kids depend entirely on him. People like that? They're stable as a rock. Hit him with a stick and he wouldn't even dare walk away!"

He slammed the steering wheel, punctuating his words like a judge hammering a gavel.

"It's settled! Programmers live off their youth. Josh is thirty-seven—other companies would have optimized him years ago. I can give him a meal; that's as generous as it gets!"

The streets on New Year's Day were cold and empty.

Each of his words hammered into my chest like poisoned nails, striking the softest, most vulnerable parts of my heart. Ten years of blood and sweat, poured out completely. I had thought we were at least friends, that he would acknowledge my effort and loyalty.

I never imagined that, in his eyes, I had always been nothing more than a convenient tool—a cheap, obedient long-term laborer he could exploit at will.

I had given my life to him, and it had become his charity.

The Land Rover roared off, kicking up dust. Its exhaust stung my face, making me cough violently, my eyes watering and burning.

The takeout bag slipped from my hand, hitting the ground with a soft thud, rolling into the dirt, never to be retrieved.

That night, after coaxing my child to sleep, I hesitated, then told my wife everything.

I had expected her gentle nature to urge patience, to compromise for the sake of the family.

Instead, her eyes were red, and she smashed a cup across the counter.

"This is outrageous! Honey, you're resigning after the New Year—we're done with this!"

I tried to calm her softly. "Maybe… even if I'm not made a director, he might at least give me a raise…"

"Do you really think so?" she choked back tears, clutching my hand tightly.

"If he respected you, the raise would have already happened. Why else would he make you work all day on New Year's Eve for only ten dollars?

"We're not taking this humiliation! Even if we can't find another job immediately, I'll support you!"

Looking into her determined, unwavering eyes, the weight I had carried for ten years finally found an anchor.

That night, I opened a job app for the first time in a decade and clumsily began filling out a resume.

Ten years ago, fresh out of my PhD, I hadn't even sent a single resume. Zachary had called me home with one word: "Bro."

I never imagined that ten years later, I would have to start over from scratch.

I assumed that, given my age and the timing over the holiday, I wouldn't get much response.

But the next morning, my phone exploded with notifications.