Cancel and Regret

Overnight, my company transformed from a company that everyone else envied into a heartless factory that was subject to full-scale criticism.

The company's name and my photo were plastered all over. Insulting messages and harassing calls bombarded my phone, making it buzz like crazy on my desk.

[Cold-hearted capitalist, may your company go under tomorrow!]

[The company that exploits its workers has been reported to the labor authorities!]

The public relations manager, sporting dark circles under his eyes, handed me an urgent PR plan.

His voice strained, he urged, "Mr. Sander, we need to address this now! Write up an official statement immediately and lay out all the facts!"

Rubbing my throbbing temples, I gazed at him. "If we release a statement now, it won't be a calm explanation but a defensive excuse, flaunting wealth to the public, which will only stoke more outrage."

The manager froze. He opened his mouth but could not utter a word.

When emotions overwhelmed reason, no facts could stir even a ripple.

I was wrong. I thought someone would choose to believe me as long as I treated people with sincerity.

Yet, as I scrolled through that viral video, a new anonymous comment rose to the top, boosted by countless likes.

The familiar tone made me almost certain it was from another employee of the company.

[Stop trying to cover it up. I work here. This so-called paid leave is just a trade-off for our hard-earned annual leave! If we object, our boss makes things tough, and we're all too scared to speak up!]

I stared at that comment, my mind reeling. It was not anger; it was a profound weariness and revulsion.

I could almost picture who typed those words. Maybe it was that same old employee who had thanked me just last week.

This comment crushed my last glimmer of hope like a boulder. With a more vicious lie, it twisted the company's only goodwill into a conspiracy.

Below, countless people claiming to be "employees" agreed with this sentiment.

A memory flashed through my mind—the celebration at the farmhouse when the company had just made a profit. Everyone's smiles were genuine then.

I pondered, realizing I had not skimped on perks for any of my colleagues. Yet, all I received was betrayal from everyone. They took my kindness for granted and did not think twice about stabbing me in the back for that paltry "cash bonus."

It turned out that the facade of respectability I had painstakingly maintained was just a self-deluding joke.

The public relations manager was still anxiously urging me, "Mr. Sander, if we don't speak up soon, our partners and investors won't stop calling us!"

I wearily waved my hand, pushing the contingency plan aside. "No need. Prepare a new announcement." My voice was frighteningly calm.

I stood up and walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window.

Several media vans were already parked downstairs.

I chuckled self-deprecatingly. I did not lose to Cynthia; I lost to my own foolish trust.

From that day on, I, Samuel Sander, vowed to be just a businessperson. A businessperson focused solely on profit, not on relationships.

I picked up my phone and dialed my assistant's internal line. "Notify all employees to gather in the main conference room tomorrow at 9 AM sharp to discuss the final optimized plan for this year's team-building activities."

On the other end of the line, my assistant's voice hesitated. "Mr. Sander, are we... compromising with them?"

"No." I looked out the window at the media waiting for their chance and uttered, "It's time to make them pay for their greed."