Plot Twists の短編小説 & Male POV Workplace 小説

The company booked a lodge at Osprey Lake for the Labor Day weekend retreat. All 35 other people in the company were invited, and I was not one of them. My team lead even posted a group photo from their kayaking trip in the chat, captioned with "One less person and the boat rides lighter." I did not reply. I turned off my phone, bought some tamales and a beer, went back to my apartment, and slept for 15 hours. When I woke up, I had 203 missed calls. The latest voicemail was my team lead, practically in tears. "Please, man, I'm sorry! Just pick up the phone!" I grabbed another slice and took a bite. I took one weekend off. How was the company already falling apart?

I post a WhatsApp Status with the caption, "Vacation's coming soon. Countdown starts now." I make sure to hide it from everyone at work. But the very next second, my boss, Thomas Burton, shoves a screenshot of my Status in my face. "So you've got plenty of free time, huh?" he bellows. "Go scrub the toilets! And you're getting a 30% pay cut!" I freeze, a chill running down my spine. I had blocked everyone at work from seeing my Status. So how the hell did Mr. Burton get a screenshot of it? When I return to my desk, my colleague, Caleb Knowles, comes over with a cup of coffee. "Don't worry about it, man," he says, comforting me. "I'll put in a good word for you." I thank him, but my eyes remain fixed on his phone. He's looking at the exact Status I posted earlier.

An overpass in Winfeld that's still under construction ends up collapsing, leading to the deaths of many. Family members of the victims are up in arms, demanding that the person in charge pay the price for the incident. As the quality assurance inspector, I'm brought to court. However, I am just an intern. The real perpetrators are out clinking glasses, celebrating a clean getaway and the fact that they have a new scapegoat. Out of nowhere, the court introduces a new trial system that involves the extraction of memories directly from one's mind. In the middle of this major incident, a terrifying truth emerges. Everything goes all the way back to my university days…

I had special luck that would cause others to lose their money. If anyone tried to scam my money from me, they would suffer financial loss. When I was in elementary school, a female classmate stole five dollars from me to buy a snack. The next day, her father suffered a fifty-thousand-dollar loss in his business deal. When I was in high school, my homeroom teacher withheld my prize money. The next day, his wife got into a pyramid scheme, and he lost his house because of it. After I started working, I encountered my extremely snobbish boss, Fiona Anderson. I submitted a claim for five thousand dollars, which I had paid in advance for a company event. However, she refused to approve the claim for three months. As for the rich intern who drove a luxury car, she would immediately approve his claims with a huge smile on her face, even though he would submit fake receipts. I urgently needed to pay my credit card bill, so I went to talk to her. Fiona pointed at me and snorted. “Poor men like you always try to covet the company’s money! “How dare you ask me for money? You must be out of your mind!”

I rode overnight in the cheapest coach seat I could get to negotiate a deal for the company. Sticking strictly to the company's meal allowance, I treated the client, Caelum Worthington, to a 10-dollar takeout meal. I never expected us to hit it off so well that he started calling me "Bro" on the spot. He took me straight to the most exclusive club in the city and dropped 50,000 dollars on the full VIP treatment. When I returned to the office, I only submitted a few takeout-meal receipts for reimbursement. Then, out of nowhere, my boss, Oscar Richmond, threw the 50,000-dollar bill from the club right in my face. "You went to negotiate with a client, and you let him pay to entertain you? You're openly taking kickbacks, aren't you?" he demanded. Before I could even pull out the 200,000,000-dollar contract I'd just signed, the reprimand notice had already gone out to the entire company. They withheld my entire salary and bonus, then demanded that I repay the 50,000 dollars myself. Otherwise, they said I'd rot in prison for the rest of my life. "That 50,000 dollars was spent because the client was showing the company respect. That makes it a company asset! You embezzled it, so you have to pay back every last cent! Pay up or go to prison. Take your pick." I looked at the greedy, twisted expression on my boss' face and smiled. Right in front of him, I dialed Caelum's number. "Hey, Cael. You got a minute?" "Tonight, the usual spot. Full VIP treatment. It's on me," Caelum replied.

Outside the police tape surrounding a fancy hotel, a police officer can be seen blocking my way. "There seems to be a bomb hidden in the hotel! Unauthorized personnel are not allowed to get any closer!" I'm just about to dig out my work badge when the intern next to me, Christine Wyatt, covers her mouth in a pretentiously shocked manner. "Officer, there's a detonator and a timer in his bag! Those things look so scary!" The entire scene goes eerily silent. Almost immediately, I see a few guns getting aimed at my forehead. Anxiety begins overwhelming me. "I'm a bomb disposal expert from the Headquarters Explosive Ordnance Disposal Unit! My bag contains all the tools necessary to dispose of a bomb!" "Throw your bag over to me and keep your hands where I can see them!" Captain Scott Hunter roars at me. My bag is opened afterward. Things like an insulated cutter, a bomb suppression blanket, and a liquid nitrogen cooling tank are scattered across the ground. Before I can explain myself, Christine suddenly points at me while screaming, "Why are you still playing dumb? You just told me that you wanted to set off an explosion in that hotel! "What, now that the police are here, you dare not admit what you just said, huh? You're a terrorist through and through!" Scott reacts quickly by pinning me on the hood of the police cruiser with my hands folded behind my back. "We're taking you back for a thorough interrogation!" My heart almost stops at those words. The bomb that's packed with enough firepower to take out half a street has already gone on a countdown in the hotel lobby. But I, the only bomb disposal expert who can get rid of the bomb, have handcuffs put on me because of Christine's nonsensical accusations. Right now, there are only 29 minutes left before the bomb goes off.

A fire broke out in a high-rise apartment building, and as a firefighter, I was among the first on the scene. I was about to set up the rescue air cushion when the captain stopped me. "Don't lay it out yet. Wait." I was frantic. "Captain, if we wait any longer, it'll be too late!" He pointed at a balcony on the building next door, where an influencer had her phone set up and was livestreaming. "Don't you see her? That's Director Colter Prescott's niece shooting a video. The smoke's too thick. If we charge in now, we'll ruin her shot." I thought I'd misheard him, but what he said next turned my blood to ice. "Besides, the people trapped in there are your ex-girlfriend and her family, right? The one who dumped you for money?" He patted my shoulder. "This fire can burn away your past. How perfect is that?" With that, he actually gave the order to shut off the main water valve. What he didn't know was that the woman trapped inside wasn't just anybody. She was Director Prescott's daughter.

Two months after I joined the company, I sold off every stalled real estate project it had been sitting on for three years and pulled the failing business back from the edge of bankruptcy. To keep me, the chairman sold me a thirty-million-dollar sky penthouse for one dollar. On handover day, the new colleague, Ryan Wells, snatched my contract and sneered, "Connor, buying a sky penthouse for one dollar? Keep dreaming." I told him to look at the company seal on the contract, but he burned it on the spot. "Connor, don't think a few sales achievements mean you can use the back door to buy property. "Even if the company really had a benefit like this, Lydia should be the first person to enjoy it!" My girlfriend, who was also the sales manager, looked at me coldly. "Connor, have some principles. The company is struggling, and you're still trying to take advantage?" "Since reporting misconduct deserves a reward, I've decided to give your sales commission to Ryan. "If you have a problem with that, don't come to work tomorrow!" Furious enough to laugh, I took out my phone and called my sister directly. "Victoria, cancel every purchase contract for the Eastbank project. I'm done here."

Three days before Thanksgiving, our admin manager, Simon Brant, handed me an envelope containing 100 dollars in cash. On the front, he'd written, "Thanksgiving Employee Gift Budget." A few minutes later, he posted a message in the company-wide group chat. "I've given Leo Timbrell from Admin the Thanksgiving gift budget. If anyone has any special requests, please direct them to him." In my previous life, I took that 100 dollars and spent days hunting for deals to make Thanksgiving gift baskets for over 200 employees. When I went over budget, I even chipped in another 600 dollars from my own savings to make sure everyone got something good. Unfortunately, none of that mattered after the gifts were given out because everyone started complaining instead of thanking me. "Seriously? This is all we get?" "Wow, the company's really cheaping out this year." "I bet someone in Admin pocketed the rest of the money." I tried to explain that Simon had only given me 100 dollars. However, he stepped forward before anyone could listen, exclaiming in disbelief, "What? I gave you 10 grand!" And just like that, everyone believed I'd stolen the money. I'd spent thousands of my own money trying to do something kind for my coworkers, only to be called a thief. The company sued me. Nobody believed a word I said, no matter how hard I tried to prove my innocence. I ended up in prison, where I was bullied and eventually beaten to death. And the worst part? Simon and his wife laughed about it behind my back. "That 10 grand covered a nice chunk of our mortgage," his wife tittered. Simon laughed. "It's not my fault the idiot was dumb enough to accept the cash." Now that I was given a second chance, I wasn't going to make the same mistake again. As soon as Simon gave me the envelope, I took photos of the cash, the envelope, and his handwriting. Then, I posted the pictures in the company-wide group chat and tagged everyone before he could slander me. "Mr. Brant, I just want to let you know that I've received the Thanksgiving employee gift budget. The total amount is 100 dollars in cash." Then, I sent one more message right after that. "We've got 235 employees this year. Does anyone have any special requests for their Thanksgiving gifts this year?"

I'm scheduled to work overtime for all five days of the long Thanksgiving holiday weekend. However, I decide to just put up with it because I remember that I have a 200,000-dollar year-end bonus at stake. On the first day of overtime, the HR manager, Karen Beech, deducts 200 dollars from my pay, citing "lack of attention to personal image and affecting the company's overall reputation" as the reason. I look at my neatly pressed dress shirt and slacks and frown. "I've strictly followed the company's rules regarding my appearance. What's the problem?" Without saying another word, Karen grabs a cup of hot coffee and splashes it all over me. "Well, you've got a problem now." That day, an official message is pinned on the company's Slack channel. "Alex Sutherland violated our company's policy, affecting the company's overall reputation. Thus, he's fined 200 dollars." Nobody speaks up for me in the channel. That's because the newly appointed General Manager, Remy Lincoln, says that he wants to reduce costs and increase the company's efficiency, which would mean random layoffs. As a result, the entire office has been thrown into a state of panic, and everyone is looking out for themselves. As for me, I am the highest-paid employee in the company with a monthly salary of 10,000 dollars. On the second day of overtime, someone locks my front door from the outside, making me almost a minute late for work. When I reach the company, Karen writes me up for being tardy and fires me on the spot. I look at another sales associate behind her, Sandra Leach, who is pretending to be busy with work to avoid my gaze. She is the only person in the entire company who has ever been invited to my home. I refuse to leave without a fight and request to see the company chairman, Mr. Richard Lincoln. However, Karen scoffs disdainfully at me and says, "Don't think that you have any influence on the company's decisions just because you're a sales manager. "Mr. Remy Lincoln is Mr. Lincoln Senior's only son, which means his will is also the chairman's." She then glances at my chest and adds, "Did you seriously think that a woman with zero assets like you could even attempt to seduce the chairman into changing his mind? In your dreams!" I'm at a complete loss for words. For starters, I am a man, and Karen has to be completely blind not to notice that. And secondly, if Remy really were my dad's only son, then who am I supposed to be?

A Code Blue in the emergency department means a patient's heart has stopped and every pair of hands in the building is wanted. The president cut his own report off mid-sentence and sent me down to the resuscitation. The charge nurse was already prepping my gown at a run, saving every second she could find. And a first-year resident, three months on the job, was standing in front of the procedure-room doors with a printout from the pharmacy in his hand. He put it to me in front of everyone. "Dr. Hale, sixty ampoules of anesthetic went out of your department in March. Did you take them out and sell them? "The head of cardiothoracic surgery, doing something that filthy? Sixteen years in this hospital. Tell all of us how much you've taken in kickbacks." He said it with real conviction. And the eyes coming at me from up and down the corridor were full of doubt. But I didn't have the time to fight with him. The window on a heart attack like that one is ninety minutes. Fifteen of them were already gone.

“Hudson, lend me your car for today,” my driver asked over a call as I was busy working in the office. I sat stunned for a few seconds, then said, "Uncle Wagner, have I said yes before you started using my car? Also, the client I’m meeting today is very important. Go to the airport right now to pick him up.” “I have something urgent to attend to and need the car. I’ve just transferred 20 dollars to your client. Isn’t it the same getting him to take a taxi to the hotel?” When I read my driver’s text, anger rose in my chest. He had been working for me for three months. He was great at the start, and I respectfully addressed him as Uncle Wagner on account of him being similar in age as my dad. Did he really think that made him my uncle?

For all four years of college, my girlfriend Vanessa Moore never once let anyone know we were together. "Dating someone in your own class is asking for trouble. If we break up, it'll be humiliating." To keep our distance, I never dared say a single word to her in front of other people. But Marcus Hale, the guy she grew up with, got to be glued to her side. On the way to the graduation party, a white sedan swerved out of nowhere and slammed into my car. Glass sliced open my face and my arm. When the dizziness cleared, I saw Marcus in the other car, smiling like he had just pulled something off. Blood kept dripping from the cuts. I was pinned, and I couldn't move an inch. Then Vanessa's car came down the road toward us. I called out for help until my voice went raw. She walked straight past me to Marcus. "Are you okay? Where are you hurt?" Leaning on my girlfriend's arm, Marcus limped over to her car and got in. She didn't come for me first. Ten minutes later Vanessa finally walked back, but she stopped three feet away. "It's the graduation party today. Everyone will be there. We have to keep our distance even more carefully. "I heard someone already called an ambulance, so just hang on. I'm taking him to the hospital first." Then she drove off without looking back. She had never intended to save me. My white shirt was soaked through red, and the pain shooting through my body cleared my head completely. A love that never answers back is a love you should put down.

When an electrical fire broke out in the shopping mall, the manager, Robert Hoffman, saw my electrician's uniform and begged me to help. I rushed inside, put out the fire, and repaired the electrical system. In the end, more than a thousand people evacuated safely. When the fire department arrived, the captain clapped me on the shoulder. "Thank God you acted quickly. If you'd been two minutes later, all six floors would've burned to the ground!" But the very next day, dozens of merchants showed up at my door. "This is all your fault! You cut the power for four hours, and all our frozen goods thawed! We lost over a million dollars!" I hurried to explain, "If I hadn't cut the power, the entire building would've gone up in flames! People could've died!" But no one would listen. I begged Robert to explain what had happened. He shot me a cold look and called security. "You're not the mall's electrician. You had no business repairing anything in the first place. Pay for the losses yourself!" Several security guards grabbed me and threw me out the door like a piece of trash. I lost my job and sold my house. After borrowing from every relative I could, I finally scraped together the million dollars they demanded. On the day I came to repay them, the mall caught fire again. Robert grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the electrical room. "You fixed it once before! Hurry up! If the fire spreads, we'll lose over a hundred million dollars' worth of merchandise!" I looked at the bag of compensation money in my hand and laughed. "You said it yourself. I'm not the mall's electrician, so I'm not allowed to make repairs. I can't fix it."

I'm a man of principle who doesn't curse someone else without good reason. Even if I do curse them, the curse is only active for three days. In elementary school, my seatmate steals my eraser. When I flippantly tell him that he'll slip and fall in the next three days, he falls into a cesspool on the third day. The class representative accuses me of cheating during an exam during middle school. When I say that the entire school will learn something humiliating about him in the next three days, his love letter to another female student is pasted on the notice board. A bully kicks my desk during high school. When I tell him that his family will fall to ruins in the next three days, his father is arrested for embezzlement on the third day. When my boss, Frank Gordon, refuses to pay me after forcing me to work overtime, I calmly say, "You'll become bankrupt in the next three days." Frank scoffs indignantly before he grabs my resignation letter and tears it to pieces. "Get out of my sight! Either you continue working, or you can kiss your salary for this month goodbye!" He scatters the shredded paper over my head and continues, "I'm curious to see what will happen in the next three days. Will my company fall? Or will you starve to death first?" I lick my lips and say, "You must pay me within the next three days, Mr. Gordon—" However, Frank kicks me out of his office before I can finish my sentence.

I walked into the Marxell Motors showroom with my girlfriend, Fleur Harper, and got straight to the point: I wanted to look at the SX. The salesman, Lenny Sloan, gave me a once-over, then acted like he hadn't heard a word. He pulled Fleur aside instead, all smiles. "You've got a great eye," he told her. "People are lining up just to put a deposit down on this one." I trailed along and cut in, frowning. "Can I take it for a test drive?" He didn't even look up. "This one's sixty-eight grand out the door. You sure you want to try it?" "I'm sure." He sighed like he was doing me a favor, then walked me around the car, dripping condescension the whole way. "A car to keep up appearances, sure, that's fine. Just don't get too full of yourself. It's seven hundred a month on the financing. You sure you can keep that up?" I kept my face flat and didn't answer. He leaned in and dropped his voice. "Real talk, man, what do you even do for work? Fresh out of school and already buying a luxury car?" I fired back with a question about the trim specs. He waved me off. "Not bad, you actually did your homework. But I already sent the details to your girl. Go hash it out with her." I swallowed my anger, finished negotiating the price, and put down the deposit. A week later, Fleur got a message: the dealership wanted her to come pick up the car. I called the dealership to ask what was going on. The man on the other end didn't bother hiding his contempt. "That deposit—who knows whose money that really was. You're wearing five-dollar canvas sneakers. No way you can afford an SX. Whoever's footing the bill gets the call to come pick it up. Problem?" No problem at all. After all, I was just a mystery shopper sent from corporate.

At the research institute, I was the odd one out. I came in late and left early every single day, and I slacked off and napped at my desk. Yet everyone at the institute had long since gotten used to it. That was because I was the only one who could crack the nightmare projects nobody else could. That is, until the new deputy director, Brad Michielsen, was parachuted in. He said my attitude was unacceptable and handed the $80,000 bonus I'd rightfully earned to Tessa Lynch instead. Tessa was the institute's perfect-attendance poster child. She clocked in on time every day, yet she couldn't even write decent code. In his office, Brad clapped me on the shoulder and said, "Young man, you need to keep your feet on the ground." When I refused to accept it, he only came down on me harder. He called me out by name in every meeting. In the end, he ordered me to read a 3,000-word self-reflection out loud in front of everyone. The moment he finished speaking, I pulled out the "self-reflection" I'd prepared long ago: a letter of resignation. What he didn't know was that three months earlier, a leading company had tried to poach me with a seven-figure salary and a lab of my own. Out of respect for Dean Perrin, the institute's longtime director, his friendship with my father, and the freedom he'd once promised me, I'd never responded to that offer. Now that my freedom was gone, it made sense for me to take up that seven-figure salary offer.

To save 15,000 dollars in year-end bonus, the company decided to lay me off before New Year's. The HR director held my attendance record, pointed at the record of leaving work on time, and called me a lazy and self-indulgent employee. The boss even made a statement at the year-end party. "We need to eliminate employees who lack competitiveness to make the company more efficient." I did not make a fuss, signing the document and leaving quickly. They had no idea that this office building had just been transferred to my name last week. Out of consideration for being colleagues, I originally wanted to offer the company a six-month rent waiver as a New Year gift. Now, weeding out those who were less ambitious seemed to be what they wanted. Fine, I didn't have to send this grand gift.

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."

After I left prison, my best friend and I opened an auto repair shop together. He provided the money, while I brought the skills. We agreed from the start to split the profits seventy-thirty. Thanks to my talent for performance tuning and custom car builds, our shop quickly became the talk of the local wealthy car‑enthusiast scene. In our first year alone, we cleared a net profit of eight million. When I went to collect my share at the end of the year, my so‑called brother handed me a check for only one hundred thousand. “The business is doing well because I became friends with those rich kids,” he said with a dismissive laugh. “Anyone can modify cars. Do not tell me you actually think you are someone special.” He looked at me with open contempt. “Most repair shops pay their mechanics six grand a month at best. I am giving you ten. You should be grateful.” I stood there in stunned silence, and anger rose in my chest. I had trusted him like family, only to discover that my loyalty had been repaid with lies and betrayal. I quit on the spot without another word. I rented the workshop across the street and opened a repair shop of my own. Six months later, he showed up at my door with all his arrogance gone. “If you come back,” he pleaded, “I will pay you five hundred thousand a year. That should be enough to keep you with me this time… right?”