The Price of Greed

During a weekly meeting, a new intern suddenly swapped the projection.

The screen lit up with my attendance records, and all my colleagues’ eyes turned to me.

The girl lifted her chin, a mix of arrogance and ignorance in her gaze, then slammed a stack of photos onto the conference table.

“Mr. Anderson, I’d like to report her! She’s been using the company car to shuttle her family around, treating company resources like her personal vehicle. This must be dealt with immediately!”

The room fell into an eerie silence.

I looked at the eager intern, feeling a trace of sympathy.

The “company car” she was complaining about was my luxury car.

Three years ago, I had lent it to the company for appearances in business settings. Yet, I never charged a cent.

The room felt heavy, like frost had settled over it.

It wasn’t cold inside, but a chill still crept over me.

On the screen, a photo of a white car gleamed under the light. It was parked right outside International Elementary.

The angle caught the exact moment I bent down to pick up a child, even the last digits of the license plate crystal clear.

The intern, Winnie Taylor, leaned forward with both hands braced against the table.

Her young face was practically glowing with the thrill of “standing up for justice” on behalf of the company. She stared at me as if she’d just caught a rat stealing cheese.

“According to the company vehicle policy, cars are for business use only. But Ms. Clark has been treating the company car like her personal vehicle, driving it to pick up her kid, going grocery shopping, even taking it home on weekends.”

Her voice was sharp and loud.

The next slide flipped to a spreadsheet.

“I did a quick calculation. For her daily commute and weekend use, that’s about 60 miles a day. With the fuel costs and depreciation, that’s at least a few thousand dollars a month.”

She turned to the man at the head of the table.

“Mr. Anderson, the company is in a transition phase right now. We need to control costs, but management is treating company assets like their own property. How is anyone supposed to accept that? This has to be dealt with.”

The boss, Noah Anderson, was my old classmate and the founder of this company.

Back when the business was struggling, he couldn’t even make payroll. I emptied my bank account and maxed out my credit cards to cover it.

Later, when he needed to keep up appearances in front of clients, I simply brought over my new car.

All I said back then was, “Use it. The company comes first.”

He used it for three years, while I paid for all the gas, insurance, and maintenance myself. When the driver was off, I was the one driving to the airport to pick up clients.

Everyone in the company knew that the car was mine.

Yet now, Noah sat there, frowning. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the table, his usual habit when weighing a situation.

“Ava.” His tone was so cold, it was like he didn’t know me at all.

“Is what Winnie said true?”

I looked at him, and something in my chest suddenly hollowed out.

True?

Three years ago, when he asked to borrow the car, he said, “Once the company makes money, I’ll get you a new one.”

A year ago, when the company ran out of cash, I even mortgaged the car to pay employee salaries. He’d patted my shoulder and said, “This car saved the company. It’s all thanks to you.”

Yet, he was asking me this?

I lifted my gaze and swept it across the room.

Just a few days ago, Trevor from Marketing drove this very car to pick up his father from the hospital, even bragging about “the company car” on social media.

Now, he sat there with his head down, typing, pretending not to see anything.

Macy at the front desk borrowed the car every month to go for drives. At that moment, she looked at me with pure disgust, like I was some unforgivable criminal.