Pull the Plug

The First Crack

Only when the last breath of air vanished would they truly grasp what it meant to suffocate.

I raised a hand and hailed a taxi. "Home, please."

A moment later, my phone buzzed.

A bank alert flashed. I had gotten my paycheck, but it was stripped down to the bare minimum. I didn't get my year-end bonus, and they had even clawed back pay for my final days.

Then, I got another message.

It was from Vivienne.

"Caleb, don't think for a second that walking out means you're off the hook. I'll sue you for defamation if you dare run your mouth about the company."

I stared at the screen, a bitter laugh threatening to escape.

'They really believe Grant got that lease because he's a brilliant negotiator. That's fine. I'm done with them now. They can forget about Arthur's favor. That's mine. From now on, I'll show them what business is really like.'

...

The holiday break finally arrived.

The first thing I did when I returned to my hometown was put my phone on silent.

Then, I blocked Grant, Vivienne, and every ex-coworker whose only messages were, "The water cooler is empty," "The light's out," "There's a package at the front desk," or "The printer's jammed again."

When I woke up the next morning, sunlight was already streaming through the windowsill.

I didn't wake up to any early-morning calls about travel plans, texts regarding urgent repairs, and heard no notifications of people tagging me in the group chat before I had even brushed my teeth.

The quiet was so peaceful that it nearly brought me to my knees.

Now that I had nothing else to do, I started scrolling through my Instagram feed.

Sometimes the algorithm hit its mark; other times, it felt downright cruel.

It pushed me to a local post.

It showed me a cover picture, specifically a glossy nine-photo carousel from the holiday gala.

The account belonged to Vivienne.

There she was, standing on the stage with a champagne in hand, beaming as she had just been crowned queen.

The caption stated, 'Out with the old, in with the new. Clearing negative energy from the team and guiding the new admin team toward a more global and elevated future next year.'

I opened the comments.

Naturally, the comments were pure theater.

A few familiar accounts were already kissing asses. Based on the profile pictures, I recognized them as the office's self-appointed "it girls."

Madison Byrd, the receptionist, commented, "Finally, we don't have to put up with that old man's attitude anymore. He's always acting like someone's dad. He's so controlling that it grates on my nerves. He lectured me for hours just because I was a bit slow in grabbing a package."

A cold laugh slipped from my lips.

That so-called lecture was just me reminding her that the package held fresh food that would spoil if left out.

Another girl from finance commented, "Exactly. He's always dressed like he's working at a junkyard. He ruins the company's image whenever he stands near the front desk. Ms. Cross, you did the right thing. We should've cleaned house ages ago."

Then, someone posted a photo of the dog bowl in the comments.

The caption was worse.

"Some people need to know their place. The holiday gala is for contributors, not for janitors. Everyone should know their place."

I stared at the post.

The expected anger never came. Instead, I chuckled in amusement and pity.

They had no clue that what they dismissed as "no real skill" was actually a system crafted from hundreds of tiny, invisible details.

An iceberg always appeared smooth and simple above the surface.

They never glimpsed the vast structure hidden below, holding everything aloft.

Just then, a new message came in.

It was from Mia Carter, the only intern in the admin team.

"Happy New Year, Caleb."

A crying emoji followed.

"I don't think I can do this anymore. Ms. Cross doesn't teach me anything. She just yells at me. You were the one who walked me through the spreadsheets and approval processes. Now that you're gone, I'm completely lost."

Another message came in right after.

"She even tried to make me come into the office over break to feed Grant's fish. She said she'd dock my pay if his precious tank died on my watch. I told her I was already out of town; only then did she back off."

Mia had joined the company a month ago.

No one in the admin team had bothered to train her, so I had taken pity on her. Even though I was officially on the operations team, I had quietly taught her the admin workflow step by step.

Now, she was likely the only one left who realized the ceiling was about to cave in.

I replied, "Don't quit just yet. You should wait until after the break. The real show hasn't started."

Then, I added, "That reef tank in Grant's office is delicate. Those fish are done once the power cuts out and the oxygen pump stops for more than two hours. I'm certain Vivienne doesn't know where the backup switch is."

That custom saltwater tank, filled with flame angelfish, was Grant's pride and joy. Naturally, it was worth a fortune.

During the holiday break, the building was always scheduled for electrical maintenance, which meant the power would be shut off for half a day.

I was the one who went into the network room and switched on the backup supply to keep oxygen running through the tank every single damn year.

This year, no one would be there to do it.