The Boss Billed Me For My Own Building

On the first day back to work after the holidays, Wayne Richmond went around handing out cash gifts—100 dollars here, 200 dollars there—just to spread some festive cheer.

When it was my turn, he clicked his tongue twice and said in a raised voice, "Meredith, you're a veteran here, so I saved the biggest gift for you."

All eyes in the office swiveled toward me.

Wayne pulled out a folded sheet of A4 paper and slapped it grandly onto my desk.

My face flushed with excitement. I unfolded the paper, only to feel my heart sink slowly.

This was no gift—it was clearly a bill! Rent was 60 thousand dollars, shared utilities were five thousand dollars, and the management fee was two thousand dollars, making the total 70 thousand dollars.

Below it, Wayne had attached his payment details.

The room instantly fell silent.

I clutched the paper, my knuckles turning white.

"Wayne, are you sure there isn't some kind of mistake?"

Wayne, with a cigar dangling from his lips, replied with righteous indignation, "Meredith, last year you voluntarily worked over a thousand hours of overtime. Not only did you occupy the office the longest, but you were also the one who used up most of the lights, water, and air conditioning on the entire floor.

"Yet, your performance has always been mediocre. You haven't exactly brought in much revenue for the company, so shouldn't you be the one paying for all these?"

I let out an exasperated laugh.

Since when was voluntarily working overtime a bad thing?

I'd been the top performer every single year in my five years at this company. So, where was all this "mediocre" talk coming from?

I started to explain, "Wayne, you can't really calculate it like that—"

Wayne raised a hand to cut me off, his tone sharp and cutting.

"Stop right there! You worked overtime of your own free will. Nobody forced you to do it, so of course you're footing the bill yourself."

As soon as his words fell, the murmurs around me grew louder and louder.

Everyone was clearly enjoying the show, eager for things to blow up even more.

A few colleagues chimed in sarcastically from the sidelines.

"Yeah, Meredith, working overtime means nothing if you don't produce results. In fact, you're just burning through resources."

"I've been sick of her try-hard act for ages. Who's she putting on a show for anyway?"

I clocked a thousand hours of overtime in one year. Over five years, that added up to five thousand hours.

In those five thousand hours, I had tackled countless difficult projects and generated over 100 million dollars in revenue for the company. And rather than holding onto the project bonuses, I handed every penny out to my team.

Every time someone took leave, I covered their workload. On holidays and special occasions, I'd pay out of my own pocket to give my colleagues little gifts.

I even chauffeured Tammy Landry from finance to and from work for three months last year when she was pregnant and struggling to get around.

I gave them everything I had, only to have them kick me when I was down. My help was nothing but showing off and grinding in their eyes. They reaped the benefits I brought, and the next minute, they hung me out to dry.

One snide remark after another flew at me.

I held back my anger and didn't argue any further. Raising my eyes to Wayne, I just said, "Fine. But let me double-check the bill first."

Wayne scoffed and retorted, "What's there to check? Isn't it all written out clear as day? You think I'm trying to swindle you? Just pay up, and don't hold up everyone's first day back."

My colleagues immediately piled on.

"Wayne makes tens of millions of dollars a year—you think he'd cheat a lowly employee like you?"

"Yeah, it's our first day back, and we've got tons of work. Stop making a fuss here!"

Everyone had me pegged as weak and easy to push around.

After all, for over five years, my reputation as a pushover had long been cemented in everyone's minds.

"I can't wire you the money today. My bank card has hit its transfer limit."

Wayne didn't press further. Instead, he waved his hand dismissively and said, "Make sure it's paid within two days, Meredith."

I turned and walked away. Behind me, my colleagues' mocking voices followed.

"Transfer limit? More like her credit cards are maxed out."

"Even now, she's still trying to act all high and mighty. It's a good thing Wayne is kind enough to give her an extra day."

Whatever shred of goodwill I had left just went up in flames.

No one knew that I owned this office building.

Wayne was the son of one of my father's army buddies, Mark Richmond.

When my father, Hubert Burch, saw that Wayne was struggling to get his business off the ground, he told me to help out however I could. Thus, I rented the space to him at one-third below market price, and for five whole years, I never raised the rent.

Every time he was behind on payments, I was the one holding back the property management from shutting off his water and power, evicting him, or chasing him for the money.

In fact, I covered every cost myself.

And what did that get me? A sky-high bill was slapped on me in public while my dignity was trampled into the ground.

I stared at the bill and let out a cold laugh.

From this day forward, all old ties were wiped clean.

I was going to reclaim every favor I'd ever given over the years—with interest.