The High Price Of Crossing Out My Name

I was the last man standing from the original crew. I’d shared one slice of pizza with Vivian Hale in the basement of our first office, slept on the folding cot for three years, and drank myself into the ER more times than I could count to land her big deals. But on the day the entire company flew out for the annual Miami retreat, she left me behind. My assignment: stay in the empty Chicago office and reformat the pitch deck for her new intern. I didn’t complain. I honestly thought it was a test—a sign of the ultimate trust she had in her co-founder, the one who kept the lights on. That thought lasted until I found the personnel confirmation list crumpled up in a trash can. My name was there, crossed out with a thick, angry swipe of red marker. Next to it, three words were scrawled in cheap ballpoint pen: Too much of a downer. In that moment, I didn’t rage. I didn’t call her. I just quietly finished pizza, packaged up the five years of meticulously kept, off-the-books ledgers, and then dialed the number of our main competitor. Vivian, can you handle a fifteen-million-dollar welcome gift?

1 I was the last man standing from the original crew. I’d shared one slice of pizza with Vivian Hale in the basement of our first office, slept on the folding cot for three years, and drank myself into the ER more times than I could count to land her big deals. But on the day the entire company flew out for the annual Miami retreat, she left me behind. My assignment: stay in the empty Chicago office and reformat the pitch deck for her new intern. I didn’t complain. I honestly thought it was a test—a sign of the ultimate trust she had in her co-founder, the one who kept the lights on. That thought lasted until I found the personnel confirmation list crumpled up in a trash can. My name was there, crossed out with a thick, angry swipe of red marker. Next to it, three words were scrawled in cheap ballpoint pen: Too much of a downer. In that moment, I didn’t rage. I didn’t call her. I just quietly finished pizza, packaged up the five years of meticulously kept, off-the-books ledgers, and then dialed the number of our main competitor. Vivian, can you handle a fifteen-million-dollar welcome gift?

Chicago in January is a bone-deep cold. The central HVAC unit in the high-rise office had long since cut off. I, Asher Reed, sat at my isolated desk, bundled into the same black winter coat I’d worn for three years. He was eating the cheapest pizza, which was already cold. My phone screen flickered to life. The company group chat, “Nova Creative Outreach,” was blowing up. A photo. Sunshine, beach, bikinis. Dead center was Vivian Hale, the CEO, stunning in a flowing bohemian maxi dress and oversized sunglasses. She held a flute of champagne, grinning wider than the Miami sun. Tucked right next to her was Zane, the intern who had only been with us for three months. Zane was shirtless, flashing a peace sign, his teeth unnervingly perfect and white. The caption: “So grateful to Vivian! And the company! The Nova family, nobody gets left behind! Love you all, xoxo!” My finger hovered over the screen. Nobody gets left behind? I lifted my gaze to the pitch-black office. Only the fluorescent light over my desk was on, humming like a forgotten ghost. Three days earlier, Admin had announced that since we hit our quarterly metrics, Vivian was footing the bill for a three-day, New Year’s Eve getaway to Miami. I had been reworking that goddamn pitch deck for Vivian until three in the morning. I was thrilled, thinking that after five years of working like a draft horse, I was finally getting a chance to breathe. On the morning of the departure, the charter bus was waiting downstairs. I walked toward it with my small backpack, only to be intercepted by Zane. Zane smiled, all false innocence, but his voice was loud enough for the whole bus to hear. “Oh, hey, Ash! What are you doing here?” I blinked. “Isn’t this the all-staff retreat?” Zane dramatically clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oops! Did Admin forget to tell you? Vivian said we can’t have the office completely empty. Someone reliable needs to hold down the fort. You’re the veteran, Asher—who else could handle this kind of responsibility?” The window of the bus rolled down. Vivian’s face—sharp, elegant, and chillingly indifferent—appeared. She didn’t even look up from her phone. Her voice was flat. “Asher, the client for the ‘Horizon Account’ is hassling us for the revised data. Go keep an eye on it. You can do Miami later. I’m not cheap; I’ll cut you a bonus for the airfare.” The bus door hissed shut, and exhaust fumes choked me as it pulled away. Now, looking at the celebratory emojis and the stream of comments like “Vivian’s a legend” and “Best boss ever,” my stomach turned. The noodles were completely cold. I pushed the food away and stood up to dump the congealed mess. As I walked past Zane’s pristine desk, my foot clipped a small, overturned trash bin. A crumpled sheet of A4 paper spilled out onto the floor. I hadn’t intended to stop, but my eyes caught the printed header: Nova Creative New Year’s Miami Trip Personnel Confirmation List. Driven by a morbid curiosity, I bent down and picked it up. I smoothed the paper flat. The list was long, from CEO Vivian Hale down to the front desk intern. Even Martha, the weekend cleaning lady, was on it. Right in the middle, a single line was viciously scored through with a red Sharpie. My name: Asher Reed. The mark was so heavy it had torn the paper slightly. Next to that blinding red slash was a sloppy, hurried note, written in ballpoint: Keep him back to work. Don’t bring. Too much of a downer. The handwriting was messy, but I recognized it. It was Zane’s. And below that note, there was a signature—a quick, confident flourish from the approving executive. Vivian Hale. She had placed a small, neat checkmark right next to the note “Too much of a downer.” My hands started to shake. It wasn’t just the cold. The tremor started in my fingertips, crawled up my arms into my chest, and made my teeth rattle. Five years. I had been there since the three-person startup phase. Back then, to save money, we’d split a single takeout container. I ended up in the emergency room with a bleeding ulcer from drinking with a client. Vivian had cried by my bedside, promising, “Asher, when I eat the pizza, I will never leave you with just the crust.” Now, she was eating the pizza. And I, Asher Reed, was not only left without the broth but was dismissed as “a downer.” The phone suddenly rang, the sound jarringly loud in the empty office, like an alarm. The screen displayed two words: Vivian Hale. I took a deep breath, fighting for control, and answered the call. “Hello, Vivian,” I said, my voice hoarse, betraying nothing. I could hear the sound of the ocean, loud music, and laughter on the other end. Vivian sounded slightly tipsy, and her tone carried an undeniable arrogance. “Asher, you’re at the office, right?” “I am.” “Zane just told me there are some data issues with the Horizon Account proposal. The client is flipping out; they said if they don’t see a revised final draft by midnight, they’re walking. I need you to drop everything and send it over, now.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. Ten-thirty at night. “Vivian,” I gripped the crumpled list until my knuckles were white, “Zane was responsible for the Horizon Account. He spent the last week buying swim trunks and sunscreen. He only put the data in yesterday. I warned him there were errors, and he told me to mind my own business.” A second of silence, then Zane’s whiny, wounded voice—clearly right next to her phone—cut in: “Vivian… I didn’t think the client would be this demanding. And Ash didn’t explain the issues clearly. If I knew it was a big deal, I wouldn’t be here celebrating…” Vivian’s tone instantly turned glacial. “Asher, what is that supposed to mean? Are you pushing responsibility? Zane is new. You’re the veteran. Is it so hard to mentor him? Or are you just bitter that a younger guy is succeeding?” “Bitter?” I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “Vivian, this is a business, not a playground. He screwed up. Why do I have to clean up his mess? I’m a person, too. It’s a holiday. I want to rest.” “Rest?” Her voice ratcheted up, becoming sharp and cruel. “Asher, get this straight: you’re not on vacation. We’re paying you overtime! Earn your money and do the job! Stop with the self-pity!” “I won’t do it.” It was the first time I had ever been this firm. “Excuse me?” She sounded genuinely shocked. “I said, I won’t do it. Whoever made the mess cleans it up.” The line went silent. After a few tense seconds, Vivian let out a cold chuckle, her voice dripping with threat. “Fine, Asher. You’ve grown a backbone. I’m telling you now: if we lose this account, you can kiss your annual bonus goodbye! And when we do our personnel review after the New Year, you can forget about that VP spot you’ve been chasing!” Click. She hung up. I held the phone, listening to the dial tone, which sounded like the five years of my life being flushed down the drain. Annual bonus. VP spot. Those two carrots had been dangling in front of me for three years. Every time I felt like quitting, she’d wave them. I used to believe her. Now, I looked at the crumpled list, the red checkmark, and the words “a downer.” Suddenly, the whole situation felt absurd. Just then, the group chat buzzed again. Zane had tagged everyone and sent a large cash bonus. Zane: “Hey, team! I messed up and upset Vivian about a work thing. Drinks are on me! Grab this cash and let’s not let a little corporate drama kill the mood! Cheers!” The chat instantly flooded with “Thanks, Zane!” “Best manager ever!” “Love you, Zane!” No one asked about the guy who was still sitting in the freezing Chicago office, alone. No one knew that “the work thing” required me to pull an all-nighter. With a stone-cold expression, I crumpled the list again and tossed it back into the bin. Then, I walked back to my computer. Not to work. I opened a deeply hidden folder. The file name was simple: Backup. It contained five years of core client data, original pitch drafts, and records of some highly questionable financial dealings Vivian had done. And of course, it held Zane’s raw, disaster-prone data for the Horizon Account. My first impulse had been to fix it. If the project imploded, the company would take a big hit. But not anymore. My fingers flew across the keyboard. I pulled up the faulty file Zane had sent to the client. I didn’t correct the mistakes. I simply highlighted a few of the more subtle, catastrophic logical flaws that Zane had tried to hide, making them glaringly obvious in the final review. Unless the client was blind, they would instantly see they were being treated like idiots. I packaged the file and sent it to Vivian’s email. In the subject line, I wrote one sentence: “Vivian, as per your instruction, this is Zane’s ‘final draft.’ I haven’t touched it. Pure, uncut.” I closed my laptop. I stood up, switched off the light, and locked the door. Walking out of the high-rise, the wind felt like a knife on my face. But I realized that in five years, I had never felt this exhilaratingly free.

The first day after the New Year’s holiday. The office reeked of expensive cologne and the cloying sweetness of duty-free souvenirs. Everyone wore that look of exhausted but satisfied post-vacation bliss, exchanging gifts: artisanal chocolates, custom-blended coffee, and cheap, colorful trinkets from Miami. “OMG, look how tan you got!” “It’s the healthy look! Vivian was amazing; we had a suite overlooking the ocean!” I walked through the bustling office like an invisible man and sat down at my desk. It was piled high with documents that had accumulated over the break. No gift. Not even a single piece of chocolate. Sarah, the accounting supervisor next to me—for whom I’d covered countless reports and even helped her kid with his geometry homework—was showing off a box of high-end skincare to the front desk girl. “Vivian specifically picked this out for me. Anti-aging magic, she said.” When she saw me sit down, Sarah’s voice dropped. Her eyes darted away, and she turned her back, pretending to organize her space. The awkward silence was worse than a direct insult. Everyone knew I hadn’t gone. Everyone was pretending I wasn’t there. “Well, look who decided to show up early!” Zane’s voice, smug and self-satisfied, came from behind me. He was wearing a brand-new, impeccably tailored designer suit and carrying a few high-end shopping bags. He strutted to the center of the office and clapped his hands. “Everyone, quiet down! We had a blast, all thanks to Vivian. To show our appreciation for all your hard work, Vivian bought a special New Year’s cash bonus for everyone! Every single person gets one!” A cheer erupted. Vivian emerged from her corner office. She was flawlessly made up, her bold red lipstick adding to her powerful aura. Zane followed her like a well-trained puppy, carrying a thick stack of bonus envelopes. Vivian handed them out, one by one. “Sarah, great job last year.” “Mike, keep up the hustle.” “Martha, the floors look great. Here you go.” Even Martha, the cleaning lady, received a fat envelope and smiled, her face wrinkling with joy. Finally, Vivian arrived at my desk. Zane’s hand, holding the remaining envelopes, was completely empty. The boisterous energy of the office suddenly choked, replaced by a suffocating silence. All eyes were locked on me and Vivian. Vivian didn’t appear embarrassed in the least. She adjusted her hair and looked down at me with cool indifference. “Oh, Asher. I’m so sorry. The envelopes were packaged according to the trip roster. Admin must have forgotten to include you. Since you weren’t in Miami, you know.”