Chapter 2

I went to the break room for some water.

As soon as I turned the corner, I heard Ariel's voice from inside. "Kevin, don't you think our boss is fake as hell? All that talk about caring about us, but the second money comes up, the mask comes off."

The other voice belonged to Kevin Slater from Admin, who immediately jumped in to agree. "Tell me about it! Ariel, you've got sharp eyes. You saw right through him. We need more people like you who actually speak the truth.

"I'm behind you all the way! We can't just let this get swept under the rug. People outside need to see what this whole 'dream company' is really like on the inside!"

I carried my cup back to my office without a trace of emotion on my face.

Kevin had an easy job. His favorite pastimes were petting the office cats and slacking off. He took full advantage of the company's flexible hours, then complained about everything behind our backs.

…

Near the end of the day, my gaze happened to fall on Ariel's desk.

Ariel held up her phone and carefully adjusted the lighting and angle to capture a sleeping orange cat curled up beside a coworker's feet.

Then she switched on a beauty filter and leaned toward the camera.

On the screen, her eyes looked heavy with sorrow and her face drawn with exhaustion, yet she forced the corners of her mouth into a faint smile.

She began recording in a voice pitched for maximum drama and played the part of someone struggling to put on a brave face.

…

That night, a post exploded across every major workplace forum and racked up countless shares.

[How My "Dream Company" Boiled Me Alive for Three Years]

Ariel had written the post. She filled it with warm, cozy photos of daily life at the company: coworkers petting the cats, birthday parties, and everyone decorating the Christmas tree together. Alongside them, she listed every benefit I had announced that afternoon.

Then, in a tone that sounded objective but dripped with insinuation, she described how the company's "family atmosphere" had lulled her into forgetting that her salary had not changed in years.

In the post, she cast herself as a victim who had finally awakened to the truth.

[Every afternoon there are gorgeous little desserts. My cat lives better at this office than I do. The boss always tells us happiness matters most. I almost believed it. Then I saw a colleague's paycheck and realized how cheap my happiness really was.]

The post did far more damage than I had imagined possible.

The comment section quickly flooded with people who claimed they knew exactly how she felt.

[Oh my God. Isn't this just a new kind of workplace manipulation? Using little perks to make you forget about a raise!]

[OP, wake up! Companies like this are the worst. The second you get older, they toss you out!]

[Boycott hypocritical male bosses like this! Treat us like pets so you can pay us peanuts with a clean conscience!]

[Shared. Letting my friends know to watch out for this kind of kindness trap!]

…

Within hours, someone leaked my personal phone number and social media accounts, and I was inundated with accusations and abuse.

The next morning, I arrived at the office exhausted and found several news outlets and influencers already camped outside the building.

I had barely sat down at my desk when Ariel sauntered in with Kevin in tow.

Kevin put on an elaborate show of concern. "Mr. Spencer, look at the mess this has become. Ariel is just young. She spoke a little too bluntly, that's all.

"But since it's already gone this far, and the whole internet is calling us masters of empty promises, why not just go with the flow? Give everyone a raise and put this whole thing to rest."

Ariel smugly waved her phone at me. Her post's view count had already climbed into the millions.

"Mr. Spencer, everyone is on my side now. I suggest you announce an across-the-board raise immediately and issue a public apology to me personally." She leaned forward, her voice thick with menace. "Otherwise, I'm afraid the industry association's inquiry letter is already on its way."

Before she could finish, my assistant, Jimmy Carlson, rushed in. His face was drained of color. "Mr. Spencer! Something's happened! The Design Industry Association sent us an official letter.

"They said they've received a large number of complaints and are demanding that we submit three years of salary data and turnover reports for an internal investigation!

"If we don't comply, they'll put us on the industry blacklist!"