Chapter 2

It had taken me six years and seven requests to finally get that raise.

Yet, I was still earning less than an intern.

After the server left, I claimed that my phone had died and asked to borrow Jason’s.

He was so drunk that he readily gave me his passcode. It was one-three-four-five-six.

I entered the numbers and unlocked his phone.

A private WhatsApp group chat opened up on the screen.

Judging by the profile pictures, the members were all my subordinates in the marketing department.

They were in the middle of a conversation.

[Do you think Kristen would lose it if she found out every one of us makes more than she does?]

[Who would be stupid enough to tell her?]

[True. Even Mr. Koenig’s been keeping it from her.]

[By the way, how much did you get paid this month?]

[Not much. $12,000. What about you?]

[Same as always. $13,000.]

[Does anyone know what Kristen is making after her raise?]

[Payroll said $8,200.]

The group went silent.

Then, a row of snickering emojis flooded the screen.

I stared at the conversation for a long time.

It was not because I was too angry to speak.

I was wondering just how long they had all been keeping me in the dark.

I remembered when I first joined the company after graduating from college.

Bill had looked over my resume with a delighted grin.

“Kristen, a top graduate from a prestigious university like you is choosing our company? We’re lucky to have you. I’ll start you at $6,000 a month. Work hard, and I promise you’ll be well taken care of here.”

I believed him.

I worked for him for six years without my $6,000 salary ever changing.

That was until my mother fell ill this year. My salary was no longer enough to cover our expenses. So, I made my seventh request to Bill.

I told him, “Mr. Koenig, I’ve been with this company for six years, and I’m the one keeping all our client accounts afloat. Could you please give me a raise?”

Bill, with his big belly and a cigar in his hand, looked troubled.

“Kristen, it’s not that I don’t want to. The company has expanded so much over the past few years that our cash flow is extremely tight. My hands are tied too. Just stick it out a little longer.

“Once we get through this rough patch, you’ll get your raise.”

He turned me down six times.

Every time, he gave me the same excuse.

On my seventh attempt, I brought a resignation letter with me.

“Mr. Koenig, my mom is sick, and my rent has gone up. I really can’t afford to keep living like this.”

Bill smoked an entire cigar before letting out a sigh. Then, in a tone dripping with pity, he said, “Fine. I’ll make an exception this one time. You should be grateful to the company.”

That was how I got $8,200 this month.

I had even taken the entire department out to dinner to celebrate.

At that thought, I suddenly laughed.

It was the kind of laugh that came when rage had nowhere else to go, after realizing everyone had been playing me for a fool.

Another message appeared in the group chat.

It was from Anthony Rimmer, who was sitting across from me.

[Why is Kristen grinning like that? Did the raise move her to tears?]

Jennie Smith, who was sitting beside him, sent a text.

[LOL. Stop, I’m dying.]

I looked up and caught her sneaking a glance at me.

The smile vanished from her face the instant our eyes met.

A second later, she put down her phone as if nothing had happened.

I was the first person to leave the dinner.

I did not care how the others reacted.

So, I returned to the office and found someone from accounting still working late.

The first thing I said was, “I want to see the payroll records for my department.”

Irene Weitz looked uneasy.

“Why do you want to see them? They’re confidential. Mr. Koenig doesn’t allow anyone else to access them.”

I pulled up a screenshot of our old messages.

“When your son had pneumonia last year and every hospital was at capacity, I called in a favor to get him admitted. You said you owed me one.”

A conflicted look crossed Irene’s face.

I continued, “I just want to know how long I’ve been lied to.”

Irene stayed silent for a moment. She turned to her computer and opened a file.

She said, “I can’t show you the actual records.”

My fingers curled into a fist.

Then, she sighed. “But I can answer your questions. What do you want to know?”