No Overtime Pay? Enjoy Your Missing Database

"Mickey, you need to learn to see the bigger picture," Hank Zucker said in a solemn, fatherly tone.

His hand came down hard on my shoulder, making it ache.

In front of the entire department, he crumpled the meticulously calculated and printed overtime claim form I'd prepared and casually tossed it into the trash can behind him.

"Are you seriously going to quibble with the company over a mere three thousand dollars? What would people think if word got out? Most people would kill for the opportunity to lead this AI project! The company is basically showing how much it trusts you. It's a blessing, understand?"

Some of my coworkers lowered their heads and pretended to be busy. Others stole glances at me from the corners of their eyes. Their expressions were a mixture of sympathy, schadenfreude, and barely concealed anticipation for the drama.

I could feel my cheeks burning.

One month. One entire month.

For one whole month, I'd practically lived at the office with my team. I had a folding bed set up right beside my desk. I went to sleep at 4:00 am every morning and woke up at 7:00 am to the alarm for the project's daily touch-base meeting.

Caffeine and nicotine had been the only things keeping me alive. My girlfriend had broken up with me after I'd gone practically missing for an entire month. Whenever my parents called, all I could manage was a hurried, "I'm busy" before hanging up.

On the day the project finally launched, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Only I knew my body had reached its breaking point.

And what did I get for it?

The project had been a success. It had secured the company's biggest client of the year and generated over a hundred million dollars in potential business value.

Yet, even the overtime pay I'd rightfully earned was now being dismissed as petty greed and a lack of vision.

I stared at Hank's oily face and listened to him preach about what a "blessing" this was. My stomach churned with disgust.

I took a deep breath and suppressed every emotion. "You're right, Mr. Zucker. I was being narrow-minded."

Hank nodded in satisfaction, looking like a benevolent king granting mercy to a foolish subject. "Now that's more like it. Keep working hard, young man. The company won't let you down."

He turned toward the rest of the department and announced loudly, "The project was a success, so we're doubling everyone's bonus this month! Dinner's on me tonight, and let's hit the bar afterward!"

A chorus of insincere cheers sounded in the office.

"Thanks, Mr. Zucker!"

"You're the best, Mr. Zucker!"

I was the only one standing there like an outsider, listening to all that nauseating flattery.

A coworker who usually got along pretty well with me quietly approached me. It was Jake Walsh, one of the senior guys on the team.

Jake advised, "Don't take it personally, Mickey. That's just how Mr. Zucker is. He's always making promises he has no intention of keeping. Just put up with it. It's not worth getting on his bad side over three thousand dollars."

I said nothing and returned to my desk.

When I turned on my computer, the script I'd written to calculate my overtime hours was still open on the screen. Every line of code documented another sleepless night I'd endured.

I stared at the crumpled claim form lying silently in the trash can. It was no longer just a piece of paper. It represented my dignity that had been trampled underfoot without a second thought.

I opened my browser and typed in two words—"Labor Act".

…

The next morning, the company issued an internal email that caused a massive stir.

An official company-wide email, complete with the company letterhead, had been sent to everyone.

Its subject line read, "Commendation for Outstanding Contributors to the AI Project."

My heart skipped a beat. Had the higher-ups finally grown a conscience?