Dredd Julie Cash

At the company holiday party raffle, I'd barely stepped on stage when my superior, Victor Grant, shoved a crumpled slip into my hand. "Special prize for our top sales guy. Go on, open it. Let's show everyone." All eyes were on me as I unfolded it. Scrawled across the paper: [VIP janitor status unlocked—every toilet in the company, three days.] The room lost it—laughter everywhere. Victor crossed his arms, grinning. "Fair, right? Everyone knows you climbed the ranks hooking up with rich cougars. Gotta avoid hard feelings for the others, yeah? While the rest of us take a break, you can get busy. You're not gonna back out, are you?" The crowd cracked up. My girlfriend—and CEO—Rachel Sullivan stood off to the side, watching. Didn't say a word. Everyone waited for me to explode. Instead, I just nodded. Next day, over 300 refund requests hit. Cash flow flatlined. Victor and Rachel begged me to talk the buyers down. I shrugged. "Nah. Don't wanna save the company and make my performance too good. That'd just cause more ' hard feelings,' right?"

Three months since my husband, Julian Moretti, disappeared. I walked into his favorite den, the grief so deep it stole the air from my lungs. I just wanted to breathe him in, to find any trace of him that was left. Then I heard it. A familiar laugh. And the soft moan of a woman. Through a crack in the door, I saw him. My husband, the man "missing" for three months, had his hand tangled in another woman's hair. "Baby, just a little longer," he said. "Soon as I siphon enough cash from the family's books, we're gone. You and me." In his arms was Bianca, from the Rosso family. "What about your wife?" she purred. "Let her play the grieving widow. She's nothing without me anyway." My fists clenched. The world went quiet, my blood turning to ice. The next day, I put the word out to the entire Family. "I'm holding a memorial mass for my husband." At the service, he stormed in, a ghost returned from the grave, roaring that he was alive and there to take back what was his. But I was standing next to his uncle, Dante Moretti, and all I did was stare him down. "Then explain," I said, my voice cutting through the silence. "Explain the woman. Explain the money. Explain your betrayal... to the Family. And to me."

The new colleague at my company is a stingy mother. On her first day, she shows up with a huge pile of expired snacks that her son refused to eat and hands them out to everyone. Once we're done, she pulls out her PayPal and says, "These are all imported snacks for my son. I'll need 50 dollars from each of you." During a company team-building event, she refuses to participate, saying she has to go home to take care of her child. The day after, she comes over holding her phone and asks me for money. "I didn't eat with everyone yesterday. Since the company is footing the bill, just hand me the cash equivalent for my meal." Furious, I rejected her request immediately. What I fail to realize is that she would bear a grudge against me over it. One night, her son comes down with a high fever, so she calls me and requests a ride to the hospital using the company car. Once again, I refuse without a second thought. Because of the delay, her son suffers severe cognitive damage. She blames me for everything that happened. In a fit of rage, she ends up running me over with her car. As I open my eyes again, I find myself transported to her first day on the job.

After I succeed in helping my wife, Claire Gibson, establish her company, I decide to become a full-time stay-at-home dad without a worry in the world. Since my daughter, Nancy Davidson's 10th birthday is coming soon, I want to make the event fancy. So, I decide to place an order on Hill Hotel's birthday banquet services, where one full table of food costs 18 thousand dollars. When I'm swiping my card, the hotel employee shoots me a look. "Mr. Davidson, your card can barely foot for a 500-dollar bill." Embarrassed, I go home and question Claire about the family's finances. She looks at me apologetically instead. "My company has been participating in a bidding process lately. The newly-appointed governmental senior official is a greedy one, you see. I've spent quite a lot of money in bribing him just to get things done. "Once my cash flow is back, I'll definitely throw Nancy a fancy birthday banquet!" In a considerate manner, I tell Claire that I completely understand her situation. But soon, I start calculating the assets I still have. After all, my dad is the newly-appointed official. There aren't any bidding processes going on in the government at all. I'd like to see where on earth Claire has spent all of her money.

It was almost New Year. I had just withdrawn money from the bank when I noticed that the amount on my passbook didn't match the cash in my hand. I counted carefully—my passbook showed a different figure than the five thousand dollars I was holding. Frustrated, I turned and went back to the counter to find the teller who had handled my transaction. Clutching the receipt, I tried to be polite. "Excuse me, I think there might be a mistake with this transaction." Instantly, she snapped, pointing her finger at my nose. "Don't you know that once you leave the counter, we are not responsible for any discrepancies?" I waved my hands, trying to explain. "No, wait, look again. I clearly withdrew five thousand dollars, but on my passbook, it shows…" She cut me off impatiently. "When you filled out the form, it was all right there. Once you leave the counter, it's not our problem. You signed the form yourself, confirming everything. Are we supposed to correct it every time someone claims a mistake after leaving the bank?" I froze. No wonder she kept repeating that the bank isn't responsible after leaving the counter. She thought I had come back to ask for more money. What I was really trying to explain was simple: I withdrew five thousand, yet my passbook showed that I deposited five thousand.

My name is Samantha Lane. I've forgotten to pay the taxes, and the company's accounts are now frozen. I'm not panicking, but my husband's foster sister, Zoey Quinn, is losing her mind. In my previous life, Zoey was the one who suggested using her summer bonus to take the entire company on a trip to Slarqia. What I didn't expect was that her supposed generosity would drain every cent from the company's account. As a result, the company's cash flow collapsed, and I was left buried under hundreds of millions in debt. When I went to her to ask for the money back, she leaned smugly against my husband's chest and said, "Samantha, I only spent a few tens of millions. How could that bankrupt the company? Don't be so dramatic!" My husband, Harry Jennings, glared at me with his face twisted in anger. "Samantha, the company's money is marital property. I agreed to let Zoey spend it. Back off, alright?" I wanted to report it to the police, but they abducted me and smuggled me out of the country. I ended up being tortured to death. When my coworkers heard the news, they actually cheered. They said I had it coming, like some heartless capitalist had finally gotten her karma. When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the day Zoey is inviting everyone on a trip to Slarqia.

Every Thanksgiving, my husband, Salvatore, brings home a showgirl from one of his clubs. He makes me kneel and serve them drinks. A lesson, he calls it, in how to please a man. This was the eighth Thanksgiving, and this time, he brought back a girl poured into a tight leather dress. "She doesn't have any decent jewelry," Salvatore announced. "Give her your heirloom diamond ring. Your grandmother's pearl earrings, too. And take off that silk choker for her." He smirked. "And listen, she's young, doesn't know the rules. You'll have to show her the ropes. Especially how to handle a man in bed." Every member of the Genovese family was watching, waiting for my humiliation. I didn't disappoint. I opened my mouth and asked Salvatore for a divorce. Salvatore let out a sharp, ugly laugh, his eyes full of contempt. "Francesca, you pull this same shit every time," he jeered. "Your act is pathetic. Even more dramatic than your performance in bed." He leaned in. "You really want to divorce me? Fine. I'll give you five million in cash if you actually walk out that door." The living room erupted in laughter. They all said I was playing hard to get, that I didn't know my place. But they didn't know. This was the 88th time I had asked for a divorce, and it was the first time I truly meant it.

Claire, seorang mahasiswi seni rupa, melakukan kesalahan terbesar dalam hidupnya. Awalnya, ia hanya ingin merasakan satu malam kebebasan setelah dipaksa menikah dengan pria tua demi melunasi hutang adiknya — semua karena desakan orang tuanya. Pria yang tidur dengannya di malam itu ternyata Devon Atmawidjaya, seorang pematung yang jadi dosen tamu selama dua semester di fakultas seni rupa tempat Claire berkuliah. Mati-matian, Claire menampik pesona Devon, tetapi semuanya sia-sia. Dia jatuh juga ke pelukan dosennya sendiri, padahal Claire sudah bertunangan dengan pria pilihan orangtuanya! Mereka lantas terperosok ke dalam hubungan rahasia yang berbahaya. Ketika Claire sudah mempercayai Devon sepenuh hati, sebuah rahasia di masa lalu pria itu terkuak. Rahasia yang mampu menghancurkan hubungan mereka. “Seumur hidup, aku belum pernah tidur dengan sembarang wanita." Pria itu mengedipkan satu matanya. “Dan ini,” pria itu lalu mengeluarkan lembaran uang dari dompetnya, menaruhnya di atas selimut yang membungkus tubuh Claire. “Hanya segitu uang cash yang kupunya. Kalau ternyata kurang, tulis saja nomor rekeningmu, nanti aku transfer. Thanks for last night. Servismu memuaskan,” Kedua bola mata Claire langsung melebar. “Hei! Aku bukan pelacur!”

The explosion wiped out my parents—and their company. All I had left was some insurance cash and a pile of patents nobody cared about. I begged their old partners to back me. Crickets. Then Alex Ross strolled in, played the hero no one asked for, and proposed. Five years deep into our marriage, after my 99th FDA rejection, I finally cracked. I was in the garage when I heard his phone on speaker. Mark's voice came through: "Dude, you're still handing Lily Emma's blueprints before she even files? How many times has she flopped now? Girl's relentless, huh?" Alex? Straight-up ice. "Ninety-nine. She'll quit soon." "You're really tanking your wife to boost Lily's brand? Worth it?" "Lily's launching her new product tomorrow at the Boston Medical Summit. Patent number 100. Watching her blow up from nothing... makes me proud." "But it's all Emma's stuff. Your dad made you marry her for her brain, didn't he?" "Don't bring up my father." His voice turned sharp. "He forced me to dump Lily. I just played along." I sank into the driver's seat, frozen. I wasn't a partner. Just a pawn—revenge bait for his dad and backup fuel for his ex.

Right after finishing a meeting, I opened a forum and saw a warning post. The location tag was our company. The title read: “Red flag! What a cheap company. Anyone who joins is a total sucker. They can’t even afford a decent coffee break.” The photo attached showed the expensive coffee and five-star desserts I had just asked my assistant to distribute to everyone. I frowned and tagged the entire group chat, asking if anyone had suggestions about the afternoon tea. A Gen-Z intern who had just joined, Julian Hayes, instantly replied with a voice message: “Boss, no offense, but these assembly-line desserts are full of trans fats. Nobody would eat them.” “A truly humane company hires a Michelin chef to cook and slice everything fresh on site. That’s what real respect for employees looks like.” I laughed in disbelief. Our company’s daily coffee break budget was thirty dollars per person—already considered top-tier in the industry. So I replied, “Since it’s impossible to satisfy everyone’s taste, we’ll cancel afternoon tea from now on and convert the budget into cash for everyone instead.” Less than five minutes later, that post was updated: “Guys, can you believe this? I made a perfectly reasonable suggestion and the lame boss immediately canceled the whole coffee break perk! This is the true face of corporate greed—can’t handle even a little bit of honesty!”