Independence Workplace Short Stories & Novels

I got pregnant at the same time as a doctor from another department. But right after my nuchal translucency scan, the charge nurse came to see me. "The hospital is short-staffed. Leadership says only one female employee can be pregnant at a time." "This time, the slot goes to Dr. Valerie Stone. You need to terminate yours." I froze. "Dr. Stone and I aren't even in the same department. Our work doesn't overlap. "And I'm a nurse. She's a doctor. Our schedules are completely different." But the charge nurse only tapped stubbornly on my desk. "This is hospital policy. No one gets to be the exception. "Either you terminate the pregnancy, or you transfer to logistics. Your choice." A transfer to logistics meant my career would be over. No promotions. No clinical path. Just a rock-bottom base salary, barely above minimum wage. My fingers slowly tightened. I had worked at that hospital for eight years. I was one of the hardest-working nurses on the front line, and I won performance awards every year. Yet I was not even allowed to be pregnant. I took a breath and looked calmly at the charge nurse. "I agree to transfer to logistics." Less than a week after I left, the whole department fell apart.

The Nebula Algorithm I spent countless sleepless nights building single-handedly saved the company’s flagship project. Yet, when the annual promotion list came out, my name was nowhere to be found. Instead, a man named Julian Monroe, who had joined the company less than a month earlier, skipped several ranks to become my direct supervisor. When I marched into my boss Sebastian Carter’s office to ask why, he lashed out at me without hesitation. “You really think a community college graduate like you can compete with a master’s graduate from an elite overseas university?” I clenched my fists, raising my voice to fight back. “The employee handbook clearly states that engineering promotions are strictly performance-based, regardless of your degree!” He pointed a finger right at my nose, his eyes filled with unyielding disdain. “Rules are rigid, but people aren’t. “A community college graduate like you should be down on your knees thanking God for the base salary this company throws your way! “Know your place. This company will keep spinning just fine without you!” I turned around and handed in my resignation letter on the spot, taking my core algorithm with me. I couldn’t wait to see just how long his company would last without me, the “community college graduate.”

I was the A-list celebrity in the country, the youngest actor ever to win all three major acting awards, and the man Monroe family's heiress treasured above everyone else. Zara Monroe had not only founded a talent agency dedicated to promoting me alone, but had even set aside her status as the heiress of the Monroe family to work as my personal assistant for love. Everyone in the industry knew that crossing me meant crossing the Monroe family. Yet no one could have imagined that in the latest S-tier film production, the male lead I had been all but guaranteed to play would be snatched away by an obscure actor barely known beyond the industry's bottom tier. People across the industry all placing bets on how long it would take before Zara had this newcomer, Kyson Bentley, blacklisted across the entire industry. But instead of a public takedown, they got an official announcement from Monroe Media. [Welcome to our company's second signed artist, @Kyson Bentley! Mr. Bentley will be partnering with Monroe Media from here on out. His future is full of promise.] The entire industry was shaken. Everyone mocked me for having fallen out of favor. The award-winning actor himself was now expected to play second fiddle to a newcomer. On set, I watched Kyson deliver a painfully amateurish performance. My face cold, I followed the and slapped him using a camera angle that made it look as though I had hit him. But Kyson clutched his cheek and fell to the ground, accusing me of using the scene to get revenge on him. Zara ordered her people to pin me down and made the production team add a hundred more slapping scenes to my schedule. By the time they were done, I had been slapped until I lost my hearing in my right ear. My face was so swollen that I was barely recognizable.

The Fullerton family, which has dominated the business world for a century, abides by the rule that the strong prevail and the weak are eliminated. Thus, as the adopted son, I've spent 26 years clawing my way to the top. But during the succession ceremony, Dad takes Simon Fullerton, his biological son, by the hand. He declares, "Simon will become the rightful heir of the Fullerton family!" In that instant, every high-society guest in the banquet hall turns to look at me. After all, it is no secret that I gave my all to prove I could inherit the family business. I adhere to a brutal, cutthroat education regime from the very beginning. Simon gets suspended for getting into fights and acting out, while I skip grades and breeze straight through a bachelor's, master's, and doctorate at a top university. Having been given 50,000 dollars to start a business, Simon gambles his way into one million dollars of debt, while I exceed my business targets. He ends up going bankrupt and liquidating his company, while I expand mine into overseas markets, driving its market value well past ten million dollars. I believe I have earned the title of being the strongest between the two and become the one to inherit the family business. I even look at Simon—a hopeless piece of work—and shake my head. Dad, however, stands firm in picking Simon over me. I bite my tongue lightly as I look at Simon's taunting grin, the metallic taste of blood snapping me right out of it. I suddenly realize that I have spent 26 years proving myself for nothing. Dad will still choose Simon to inherit the family business, no matter how impressive my achievement is. I sneer inwardly, thinking that since they want to play dirty, they'd better not blame me for not showing them any mercy.

The boss' daughter, Pamela Thompson, returns from overseas to take over the family business. The moment she sees me growing vegetables in an empty lot on the factory grounds, she covers her nose in disgust and sneers. "Our factory is a flagship company in this industrial hub!" she barks. "What kind of riffraff grows vegetables here? Do you think this is your personal farmer's market? Fire him, scrape that patch clean, and pave it over with concrete!" "And you!" she snaps, pointing to another worker. "Aren't you getting a little too old? You don't exactly fit our corporate image. You're fired too!" I take off my work uniform, load up my bicycle with my homegrown harvest, and pedal away. Behind me, the workers are all dumbfounded. One after another, they strip off their uniforms as well and fall in line behind me. "Where Drew goes, we go!" This time, it's the spoiled heiress who's left staring in utter disbelief.

After I shared my five-million-dollar commission with my department colleagues, they drag me to a hotel and celebrate with me for three days straight. But when I walk past the bathroom, I overhear a conversation between two of my colleagues that stops me cold. "Have the results of the vote come out yet?" What vote? Confused, I check my phone and find that I've been removed from the Project Department's group chat. "Who else could it be? Our hero, Zane Carter, received eleven votes. It was unanimous, and the motion was passed." "Serves him right. I've never liked him anyway." I freeze. I can't believe that my colleagues would betray me after what I've done for them. After taking a moment to calm down, I immediately decide to resign. The next thing I know, I receive a call from the company chairman, Wilson Smith. "Have you made up your mind? Quitting now would breach your contract. As a result, your five-million-dollar commission would be revoked. "You're also a key technical staff member. If you leave, your entire department would most likely be dismissed. Once that happens, your colleagues will end up unemployed. Are you sure about this?" I lower my gaze and let out a cold laugh. "Absolutely."

After a grueling year of training abroad on the company's dime, I came home holding an OEM certification for our high-end production line. Only three people in the country had it. I couldn't wait to cash in my stock options and finally give my girlfriend, Nora, a home of our own. But when I got back to the office, there was no celebration waiting. Just three notices. [Finance: $50,000 travel reimbursement rejected. $20,000 in salary frozen as a performance hold, to be released after your review is passed.] [HR: Your sponsored training carries a mentoring obligation. You must train three qualified technicians within one month of returning, as your assessment. Fail, and your travel costs will not be reimbursed and your frozen salary will be forfeited.] [Direct Manager, Kevin: Turn over all core technical documentation. Effective tomorrow, you're reassigned to the factory floor for mentoring.] I gripped the three notices and headed for the manager's office to demand an explanation. I pushed the door open and froze. Nora, my girlfriend of three years, was sitting on Kevin's lap, her clothes half undone. Our eyes met. All she gave me was one cold line. "Ethan, since you've already seen it, let's just break up." I backed out of the office without a word. I walked past all the eager faces waiting for a show, went back to my desk, and finally answered the email that had been sitting in my inbox for a week. [I've decided to accept your offer. I can start in a month.] One month. Everything this company owed me, I was going to take back myself.

I see a post on the university forum asking for help with an entrepreneurship class project, so I join the group using my student account. Then my professor instincts kick in. I fix a few financial models, clean up their market strategies, and suddenly everyone in the group is losing their minds. Every day, they call me a genius, begging me to look over one more detail, one more revision, one more set of numbers. Two months later, the project is nearly flawless. And the group chat suddenly goes dead. Curious, I do a little digging and discover they've secretly made another one without me. "He's not even officially on the team. Why should we give him any of the prize money?" "Exactly. Only our names are on the roster. The finals are tomorrow. He'd better not show up and try to take credit." "That's tens of thousands more for each of us if we cut him out." I stare at the screen and laugh. So this was never a class project at all. Funny. Because tomorrow, when they walk into that final, I'll be the one sitting in the center of the judges' panel.

Last Christmas—in my past life—I was on vacation when the call came. It was Lucy, the family’s new pet capo, and she was in a panic. She’d blown the deal with the Colombians, she said, and now they were threatening to make us pay. I had to rush back and clean up the mess. I saved the deal, but it still cost us a shipment of hardware. And then Lucy, the one who caused the whole mess, pointed the finger straight at me. “It was Madeline! She gave me bad intel! She must’ve set me up!” The truth? The deal went south because she mouthed off to the Colombians and pissed them off. But Henry, the Godfather I’d served loyally for years, didn't want to hear my side. He just branded me a traitor. He kicked me out of the family and put the word out to every outfit that I was a rat. I had a price on my head. I died in some gutter, my body left for the dogs. When I opened my eyes again, it was just before that Christmas. This time, I walked straight into Henry's study and handed over my family signet. "I want out." This time, I can’t wait to see who’s left holding the bag with the pissed-off Colombians.

A gorgeous new lawyer named Charlotte Lowell joins our law firm and claims she has been reborn. One day, a publicly listed company offers us a massive ten-million-dollar case. Charlotte warns our boss, Levi Howard, that the company has major issues. If we accept the case, we'll lose in court and be hit with a huge payout. Levi isn't sure if she's bluffing, but in the end, he listens and passes. The next day, that very company collapses. And the rival firm that took the case is hit with a compensation claim worth tens of millions of dollars. To celebrate dodging the bullet, Levi asks me to book a restaurant. But Charlotte immediately tells him not to go to that restaurant because that place is about to have a gas explosion. Hours later, the restaurant blows up just as she mentioned. News of it hits the trending list. After those two incidents, Levi is all-in on believing Charlotte's claim of having been reborn. In order to keep Charlotte, he gives her the executive position that was initially promised to me. When I hand in my resignation, Charlotte urges Levi to stop me. "If Yelena jumps to another firm, she'll use the resources she gained here to crush us. A year from now, we won't even have a firm left." Upon hearing Charlotte's words, my boyfriend and colleague, Finley Smith, steps forward to back her up. "Charlotte's right. I saw a job offer from Vera Legal in Yelena's email. She's really petty. If she joins Vera Legal, we'll surely face her revenge." Levi believes them and rejects my resignation. I file for labor arbitration, but it's no use. In the end, I'm demoted to a janitor at the firm. Driven by resentment, I fall into depression and end up hanging myself at the entrance of the firm. When I open my eyes again, I've gone back to the day Charlotte claims she has been reborn.

When the kiss cam swept across the stands at the baseball stadium Warren Doyle, a married investor in the league, had his arms around his PR director and was kissing her. The two of them went up on the jumbotron, and the crowd erupted in hoots and cheers. Warren stormed into the camera bay and demanded I hand over my camera. I told him the camera pointed wherever the control room told it to. He stared at me for a few seconds, then suddenly let go and let me leave. I thought that was the end of it. The next day, audio from the crew channel shot to the top of the news feeds, with nothing left in it but two ambiguous lines from me. "Camera locked on row seven. Keep rolling. Don't cut." Overnight I became the shameless camera operator who'd filmed them on purpose. I was suspended from my job, my father's food cart was trashed, and Warren sued me for a million dollars. But he didn't know that the recording he was using to convict me could only ever convict him.

My executive boyfriend, Marcus Winters, had always wanted the regional president seat. Then his favorite protégée, Sophie Moresby, complained that I always got the spotlight, and he deliberately sabotaged my car. The crash broke both my hands, leaving me unable to compete in the design contest that could decide the board vote. He handed my entry slot to Sophie and expected me to accept it quietly. When I confronted him, he said it was only one competition and that, as design director, I should give younger employees a chance. To prove his "fairness," he stripped me of my director title and docked six months of my pay to compensate the team. Everyone waited for me to fight back. Instead, I nodded, calm and silent. Marcus was pleased. He promised that once his promotion came through, he would restore my position and publicly announce our relationship. I smiled coldly and told him we were done. I had already submitted my resignation. What Marcus did not know was that the board and I had made a private agreement: if I won the championship and secured the decisive vote, the person I named would become regional president. I had been preparing to name him. Now he had not only replaced me with Sophie, but also encouraged her to submit a fraudulent design. Once the contest ended, the only thing waiting for him was termination, a ruined career, and a bill he could never afford.

It's my 12th year working in construction, and I have over 600 workers working for me. Every day, we head to Peter Muhl's cafeteria on-site for lunch. One day, one of my employees asks for an extra ladle of soup. Peter's wife, Veronica Grant, slams the ladle down. "You construction workers sure have big appetites, huh? I charge you 18 bucks for a meal, and now you want all of my soup too?" All my construction workers in the cafeteria stop eating. Peter steps out of the kitchen, a cigarette dangling from his lips. "There are construction projects all over town these days, Mr. Walker. We've got more than enough customers now. "Your people are always coming in here caked in mud and getting the floors filthy. And you never settle the bill until the end of the month." I stare at Peter, and memories of three years ago come flooding back. Back then, the site was still in its early stages. He could barely sell ten meals a day. I'm the one who vouches for him so he can keep his cafeteria running. I even ask all my workers to order their lunch from him. These days, he sells over 1,000 boxed lunches a day, yet he looks down on my construction workers who keep his business running. I push my untouched lunch aside. "Fine. We'll settle the entire bill today." Veronica scoffs. "You think that's going to scare me? This site is huge. Without us, your men are going to go hungry every day." I pull out my phone and make an announcement in the project managers' group chat. "Starting tomorrow morning, I want all six project crews to stop ordering from Peter's cafeteria. All meal allowances will be redirected to the No. 2 residential complex."

“Sign this agreement. It extends your probation by three months and cuts your pay by forty percent.” Adeline Lancaster, the HR manager, casually filed her nails. She didn’t bother looking up as she rolled her eyes. “Don’t think this company can’t run without you just because you wrote the core architecture. “Tristan Rothwell has taken over all your code. You can pack your things and get out whenever you want.” I stared at her arrogant face and let out a cold chuckle. I had been with the company for three months and written every single line of the core codebase. Yet she had stalled my permanent position approval for over twenty days. She wanted to steal my hard work, cut my hard-earned pay, and use it to feed a connected slacker who couldn’t even parse basic scripts. Fine by me. Rip! I tore the agreement to shreds and slammed the pieces right into her face. Before she could scream, I pulled out my phone and tapped the screen once. I revoked every internal network authorization linked to my encrypted core scripts. “No need to wait,” I said. “I’m leaving right now.”

Dad has a stroke and needs money to save his life. I'm left with no choice but to borrow money from my secret CEO boyfriend of five years. Before I can even say anything, he frowns and tells me he's busy. Then, he hurries off to attend his childhood sweetheart's birthday celebration. He only remembers me the following day. "What did you need?" I hold Dad's death certificate and smile wanly at him. "Nothing. I just wanted to tell you that we're over."

At the company’s quarterly awards ceremony, the CFO suddenly announced a new performance criterion. He produced a raffle drum decorated with lucky symbols. “Any employee who draws the grand-prize ticket will receive a quarterly bonus of $150,000.” After a few seconds of stunned silence, all my colleagues rushed forward, and somehow, every one of them drew a winning ticket. Yet I, the company’s top salesperson with a $60-million contract in hand, drew the only losing ticket. The CFO tossed a good-luck charm onto my desk. “Alex, you may be our top salesperson, but your luck is terrible. You’re going to drag the whole company down. “The company prepared this charm especially for you. Take it and get rid of your bad luck. Work harder next quarter, and maybe you’ll earn the bonus.” In an instant, all the colleagues who had once showered me with flattery backed away with mocking looks, as if I were some piece of trash that brought misfortune to everyone around me. I swallowed my humiliation and confronted my boss. He didn’t even bother looking up. “Mr. Lee is doing this for the company’s growth. As a veteran employee, you should understand. “Besides, it’s your own fault for having such terrible luck. Instead of wasting my time, why don’t you hurry to a church and pray?” I argued my case, but the security guards threw me out. Furious, I suddenly felt a strange sense of relief. I turned around and called our rival company. “I have the contract your company has been fighting us for. Would you be interested in making a deal?”

My coworker, Tyra Robb, stood beside my desk with one hand on her belly, her voice low. "Stella, there are some boxes in storage. Come help me move them." Last time, I gave in and went with her. Half an hour later, she collapsed in the fire stairwell, blood all over the floor. When she woke up, she pointed at me through tears. "Stella made me move those boxes. She even pushed me." I got fired, sued, and lost everything. My dad died. My mom lost her mind. And I ended up on the roof of the office building. Only after I died did I learn she'd been stringing along eight guys at once. Given Tyra's history of multiple miscarriages, the baby never stood a chance anyway. This time, I didn't move. "You're pregnant. You shouldn't be lifting anything heavy." I pulled out my phone and opened our department group chat. "I'll get someone to help." I typed: [Tyra's pregnant and needs documents from storage. A male coworker should go with her, and they should take the elevator both ways.] I hit send. The office went dead quiet. Tyra's face froze. Our admin supervisor replied: [Got it.] HR followed: [I'll confirm the workplace safety procedures for pregnant employees.] Tyra opened her mouth. "You don't need to involve this many people..." I looked at her. "You're pregnant. It's not safe to go alone." Last time, she'd lured me into that camera-free stairwell. This time, she'd be surrounded by witnesses.

My colleague Rachel Stone always loved having her delivery packages sent to my desk and signed under my name. Today, the delivery man arrived lugging an exceptionally large cardboard box. "Nicole Sullivan? Your camera. That's four thousand nine hundred. Please sign here." Someone in the office instantly blew a whistle. "Not bad, Nicole! Upgrading your gear right after receiving your bonus?" "What kind of fancy camera costs that much?" I froze for a bit, catching sight of the brand logo on the side of the package. It was a recently released full-frame camera. Suddenly, several translucent lines of text floated before my eyes. "Don't sign it!" "Whatever you do, don't touch the package!" "This is the beginning of Rachel dragging you down into the abyss!" My hand holding the pen jerked to a sudden halt. I assumed I was suffering from hallucinations caused by staying up late too often recently. Yet the lines of text sprouted up even more rapidly. "She's already requested refunds on six of the orders for phones, tablets, and headphones you signed for earlier!" "Her reasons are empty boxes, incorrect items, or damaged goods." "The delivery records list you as the person who signed for every one of them!" "A week from now, the brand representatives will come here during work hours." "Rachel will burst into tears, claiming she only asked for your help and knew nothing about any refunds." "You'll be framed as the mastermind behind the refund scam. To protect its reputation, the company will suspend you that very day." "Even though the police clear your name later, your job is gone, and the scandal spreads through a bunch of company group chats." A loud buzz resonated through my head. The delivery guy looked at me in confusion. "What's wrong?" I slowly set the pen back down. "This isn't my package."

The company is short-staffed for one of our new projects. Despite everyone's objections, I, James Connor, fight to bring in three sidelined, former colleagues onto the project. And so, the four of us become the project's core members. The project's workload is fairly light and comes with a generous bonus. So, they praise and flatter me, calling me their lucky star. Three months later, the project is about to be submitted to the higher-ups. I happen to pass by the smoking lounge and overhear them plotting, wisps of smoke escaping from their lips. "The three of us contributed the most to this project. Why should James get an equal share of the bonus just because he recommended us for the job? He barely pulled his weight." "That's right. We should bring this up with the director. Tell him that we're the ones who laid all the groundwork and that James doesn't have the technical skills to be on this team. We'll ask to have him removed from the contributors list." "Just the thought of not having to split those hundreds of thousands of dollars with him is making me feel like I'm on cloud nine. Hey, let's go celebrate tonight!" I push the door open and am promptly greeted with their shocked faces. I merely smile at them as I think to myself, "You want to cut me out? Sadly for you, I'm the director who was sent here to evaluate all of you."

At the annual company raffle, I had barely stepped onto the stage when my supervisor, Lily Smith, pressed a crumpled slip of paper into my palm. "A special reward for our top salesperson," she chirped. "Go ahead, open it. Let everyone see." Under the eager gaze of the crowd, I unfolded the note. Written in messy handwriting were the words: Clean the company toilets for three days. The room erupted in laughter. Lily folded her arms, cocked her head, and smirked at me. "Nice, right?" she said. "Everyone knows those sales of yours came from sleeping with old men. Dirty money. To keep things fair, the others get a break, and you pick up a little extra work. You don't have a problem with that, do you?" The laughter surged again, nearly lifting the roof. From the side of the room, my boyfriend, Seth Hoffman, the company's CEO, watched everything unfold. As usual, he said nothing in my defense. They all thought I would fall apart, cry, or make a scene. Instead, I simply gave a calm nod. The very next day, the company was hit with over three hundred property cancellations. Its cash flow collapsed overnight. That was when Lily and Seth rushed to me, demanding I go plead with the buyers. I smiled and said, "No thanks. I wouldn't want to help the company recover and end up with strong numbers again. That might make everyone even more uncomfortable."