Not One Penny Less

“Your expense reports? They’re gone.” Brenda, the Director of Finance, delivered the line with the same flat tone one might use to comment on the weather. I stared at her. Three hundred days on the road. Sixty-eight thousand dollars I’d fronted. Eighty-six flight receipts. A hundred and ninety-four hotel invoices. All neatly cataloged in the photo album on my phone, organized by date. “Gone?” I let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Right. Fine.” Brenda blinked, momentarily surprised. She’d expected me to panic.

1 The conference room air conditioning was cranked up too high. I sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, facing Vanessa Hall, the HR Manager, and my direct superior, Rick Peterson. “Amy, as you know, the company is undergoing some restructuring,” Rick began, his tone overly casual, like we were discussing weekend plans. “Unfortunately, your role is on the optimization list.” I didn’t react. “It’s certainly not about your performance, of course,” he added quickly. “It’s a functional adjustment. Unavoidable.” Vanessa slid a document across the table. “This is the separation agreement. Please take a look, and if everything seems right, you can sign.” I glanced down. The agreement stated: Mutual consent to terminate the employment contract. Severance: N. “What is N?” I asked. “You’ve been with the company for three years, so that’s three months’ salary,” Vanessa replied, her expression businesslike. “The company is being very generous.” Three years. A number flashed in my mind: 300 days. In those three years, I had spent 300 days on the road. I didn’t touch the agreement. “What about the expenses?” Vanessa and Rick exchanged a swift look. “What expenses?” Rick asked. “The travel costs I fronted,” I said. “Sixty-eight thousand dollars.” The room went silent for two seconds. “That’s a Finance department issue,” Rick said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s out of our jurisdiction.” “I already went to Finance,” I told him. “Brenda said the receipts were lost.” Rick frowned. “Well, then you’ll need to resubmit the paperwork.” “Resubmit what?” “The invoices,” Vanessa chimed in. “You know the procedure, Amy. No receipts, no reimbursement.” “The receipts are right here.” I cut her off. Both of them looked at me. “Every single flight, every hotel invoice, every meal receipt—I have a photo, stored by date,” I said. “Three hundred days, I didn’t miss a single one.” Vanessa’s expression stiffened. Rick cleared his throat. “That’s good. Just give the material to Finance, and they’ll verify it.” “Verify what?” I asked. “I submitted this material last year. Finance said there was a ‘system upgrade’ and the files were lost, so I resubmitted. Then they said the receipts were ‘non-compliant,’ so I re-taped and re-submitted. And now they say they’re lost again?” Rick remained silent. “Rick, let me ask you a direct question,” I looked straight at him. “Is the company simply unwilling to reimburse the $68,000, or are you unable to?” His face flushed slightly. “Amy, that’s an inappropriate question,” he said. “The company doesn’t shortchange employees. But everything has to follow proper channels, you have to understand—” “I understand,” I nodded. “Then I will also follow proper channels.” I stood up, picked up the separation agreement, and placed it back on the table. “I’m not signing this.” I turned and walked out. Back at my cubicle, I started to pack up my things. My phone screen lit up. A text from my mother: Coming home for dinner tonight? I typed: Working late, can’t make it. Then I deleted it and changed it to: Yes. I certainly wouldn’t be working late tonight. Halfway through packing, Jess Miller, the young associate from the next cubicle, leaned over. “Amy, they ‘fired’ you too?” “Yep.” “I knew it. They’ve been cutting people left and right.” Jess lowered her voice. “Did you hear about old man Harrison in Sales? He’s been here eight years. Gone.” I just hummed in response. “Hey, did you ever get your expenses approved?” Jess asked. “Not yet.” “How much was it?” “Over sixty thousand.” Jess sucked in a breath. “That much? You fronted all that?” “Couldn’t travel otherwise,” I explained. “Corporate credit was too slow to approve, and the clients wouldn’t wait.” “That’s so shady…” Jess broke off abruptly as she saw Rick emerge from the conference room and immediately shrank back to her desk. I kept packing. Three years of stuff didn’t amount to much. A travel mug, a few notebooks, a half-dead potted succulent. The laptop was company property. I opened my email and forwarded all critical correspondence to my personal address. Travel approvals, expense submission records, project reports, client exchanges. I took screenshots of everything. I got home at eight. My mother was busy in the kitchen; my father was watching TV in the living room. “Why are you home so early?” Mom asked. “Not busy.” “That’s good. That job of yours, always on the road. You’ve gotten too thin.” I didn’t reply. During dinner, Mom started again. “You should see the Johnson family’s daughter next door. She found a nice boy who works in finance. Stable job, nine-to-five. That’s the life you should have.” “Mom, I got laid off today.” The chopsticks stopped moving. My dad put down his glass and looked at me. My mother froze for a few seconds. “Laid off? What do you mean? You were doing so well! Didn’t your boss just praise you?” “Corporate restructuring. My position was eliminated.” “Then… what are we going to do?” Mom started to panic. “Your insurance, your 401(k)? Can you still pay the mortgage?” “I can pay it,” I said. “I have savings.” “Savings? How much? Your monthly take-home is barely five thousand, and you have the mortgage—” “Mom, I can handle my own affairs.” I put down my chopsticks and retreated to my room. I closed the door and lay on the bed. There was a faint water stain on the ceiling, I didn’t know when it appeared. Three years. I gave that company three years. The first year, I closed the firm’s largest client, bringing in eight million in revenue. The second year, I flew to 18 cities alone, met 47 clients, and spent 187 days traveling. The third year, I brought in 60% of the company’s total sales quota and received the smallest annual bonus in the entire company. Because my boss said: “Amy, your numbers are great, but you’re still new. You need to stabilize. We’ll definitely give you a raise next year.” Next year. Next year, I was laid off. I opened my phone’s photo album and found a folder labeled “Invoices.” It was perfectly organized by date. January 3, 2022. LA to Chicago. Flight $280. January 3, 2022. Chicago Hyatt. Lodging $185. January 4, 2022. Client dinner. Meal $155. … I kept scrolling. Until February 1, 2023. It was Christmas Eve. I was traveling in Omaha. The client called an emergency meeting, my flight was canceled, and every decent hotel was booked. I ended up finding a cheap, roadside motel—$89 a night. I remember that night. I was eating instant noodles in that sterile room, watching the snow fall outside, and I sent the client a brief holiday text. He replied with a $20 gift card. I never redeemed it. I thought, once the expenses are paid, this will all be pocket change. Now, I realized how utterly foolish I had been. I put the phone down and closed my eyes. Sixty-eight thousand dollars. I was going to get that money.

2 The next morning, at nine o’clock sharp, I showed up at the office. The young receptionist looked surprised. “Amy? You… you’re coming in to work today?” “For the handover,” I said. “Oh,” she said, and asked no more questions. I swiped my badge and went straight to the Finance department. Finance occupied the entire third floor. I pushed the door open. A few people were scattered around. Brenda’s cubicle was in the far corner, by the window. “Brenda.” She looked up, her expression uneasy. “Amy? You haven’t left yet?” “I wanted to check on my expense reports again.” Brenda sighed and stood up. “Come on, I’ll take you to the archives.” The archive room was at the end of the hall, a small space crammed with filing cabinets. Brenda dug through a cabinet for a long time and pulled out a manila folder. “Here are your records. See, you submitted three applications last year. The first was in March, for $12,500; the second in August, for $18,900; the third in December, for $14,200—” “That adds up to $45,600,” I said. “There’s still $22,400 I haven’t applied for.” Brenda paused. “Why didn’t you apply for the rest?” “Because every time I applied, you said the documents were incomplete, and asked me to supplement them. I supplemented them, then you said the receipts were non-compliant and asked me to re-tape them. I re-taped them, then you said the system was upgrading, the approval was frozen, and told me to wait until next month.” I looked at her. “I waited a year, and not a single dime was reimbursed. After that, I gave up trying and figured I’d just save them up and submit everything at once.” Brenda didn’t speak. “Brenda, I have a question for you,” I said. “Was the $45,600 ever reimbursed?” “Yes, it was,” she said. “Where’s the money?” “It’s being processed.” “For how long?” “That… I’d have to check the system.” “I’ll help you check.” I pulled out my phone and found a screenshot. “This is March 17th last year, when I submitted the first application. This is your Finance email, confirming receipt of materials. This is April 2nd, notifying me the materials were incomplete. April 10th, I supplemented them. April 15th, you said the receipts were non-compliant. April 20th, I re-taped the receipts. And May 8th, you said the system was upgraded and approval was frozen.” I looked up at her. “It is now March 2024. That one transaction has been ‘processed’ for an entire year.” Brenda looked incredibly awkward. “Amy, this isn’t my decision alone,” she said. “You know the Finance procedure. It needs Manager approval, Director approval, VP approval—” “I know,” I nodded. “So I want to know: where is it stuck now?” “I… I’ll have to look at the system.” “You can look right now, can’t you?” Brenda hesitated, walked to her computer, and typed a few keystrokes. The screen lit up. She stared at it for a few seconds, and her expression changed. “What is it?” I asked. “Your first application… was approved in April.” “And the money?” Brenda didn’t say anything. I walked over and looked at the screen. It read: Application ID: EX-2023-0317-001 Application Amount: $12,548.50 Approval Status: Approved Payment Status: PAID Payment Date: May 12, 2023 I stared at the word “PAID” for ten seconds. “Paid to whom?” I asked. Brenda pulled up the payment details. Recipient Account: L. A. Kim Bank: Regional National Bank, Downtown Branch “Whose account is this?” I asked. Brenda’s hand was visibly shaking. “I don’t know… I really don’t know… Isn’t this your account?” “My name is Amy Johnson,” I said. “That person’s name is Kim.” The accounting office fell completely silent. At noon, I got a call from Vanessa Hall, the HR Manager. “Amy, be in the conference room at two o’clock this afternoon.” “What for?” “Regarding your expense issue.” She paused. “Rick will be there too.” “Understood.” I hung up and grabbed a quick bite in the cafeteria. A few Sales team members were at the next table. They saw me, whispered amongst themselves, and then pretended not to notice me. I understood. The ‘fired’ person had a plague-like quality. No one wanted to be associated with them. At two o’clock, I was in the conference room. Rick, Vanessa, and Brenda—the same three people—sat lined up. “Amy, have a seat,” Rick said. “We called you here today to clear up the expense matter.” I sat down. “Brenda looked into it this morning, and it seems there were indeed some issues with your reimbursement,” Rick looked at me. “One payment of over twelve thousand dollars was sent to an incorrect account. This was a clerical error by Finance, and the company will rectify it immediately.” “What is the rectification plan?” “We will recover the funds and then issue the payment to you.” “How soon can you pay me?” “That… requires following the proper procedure.” Procedure again. “Rick,” I said. “I have another sixty-five thousand dollars that hasn’t been reimbursed. How do you plan to handle the total amount?” Rick and Brenda exchanged a glance. “That amount, we’ll need to verify,” Brenda said. “Your record of $68,000 doesn’t exactly match ours—” “Then let’s match them.” I pulled a file folder from my bag. “This is a record of every single business expense for the last three years: flights, hotels, meals, transport. Every item has a photo of the receipt, and every item has a bank statement proving I paid it myself.” I pushed the folder onto the table. “Three hundred and twelve transactions in total, adding up to $68,352,” I said. “Your system shows I applied for $45,600, and the actual amount received in my account is zero.” Vanessa flipped through the folder, her face grim. “Amy, this… this is a significant number. We need time to verify.” “How much time?” “A week?” “I’ll be back in one week,” I said. I stood up, taking my folder with me. “And by the way, I will not be signing the separation agreement,” I said. “At least, not until the expense issue is fully resolved.” Rick’s face darkened. “Amy, what is this supposed to mean?” “It means nothing,” I looked at him. “It means I want my money back. Is that too much to ask?” I didn’t wait for his answer, turned, and left. Back at my desk, my phone rang. It was Mr. Graham, a key client. “Amy, I heard you left?” “I was ‘fired,’ but the process isn’t finished yet.” “Ah, your company…” Mr. Graham sighed. “Let me tell you, I made sure the final project payment went through on time. If you have any issues on your end, let me know.” “Thank you, Mr. Graham.” “Say, if you are leaving,” he lowered his voice, “have you considered a change of scenery? I know a few friends in the industry. If you need a connection, I’d be happy to introduce you.” “I appreciate that, Mr. Graham.” I hung up and leaned back in my chair. Mr. Graham was the first major client I landed. Three years ago, I spent six months tracking him, flying to Atlanta twelve times alone, before finally closing the contract. An eight-million-dollar project, the highest profit margin of the year. My boss said: “Amy, you scored big!” They gave me a three-thousand-dollar bonus. Harrison in Sales, who closed nothing that year, got five thousand. Because he was a “long-term employee” and they “needed to maintain morale.” I should have seen the writing on the wall then. This company never paid based on contribution. It paid based on friendship.

3 A week later, Vanessa Hall’s call came in right on time. “Amy, please come in tomorrow at ten a.m. We have a resolution regarding your expenses.” When I arrived at the conference room, it was Rick, Brenda, and Vanessa again. But there was one extra person: Trevor Kim, from the Legal department. He wore glasses and looked fairly young. “Amy, please sit down,” Rick said. His tone was noticeably more polite than before. “This is Trevor from Legal. He’s here to discuss the matter.” I sat down. “We’ve verified the materials you provided last time,” Rick looked at me. “The numbers are accurate. The company’s processes failed you, and for that, I apologize.” I didn’t respond. “The company’s proposal is this,” he continued. “The $68,000 you fronted, we will pay it to you in installments. The first installment of fifteen thousand will arrive next week. The remaining balance of $53,000 will be paid over the next twelve months, in monthly payments—” “No.” I cut him off. “Excuse me?” “I don’t accept installments,” I said. “Sixty-eight thousand dollars. Paid in full, immediately.” Rick’s face looked strained. “Amy, the company’s cash flow is tight right now, as you know. We just had a large round of layoffs—” “Rick,” I looked at him. “I don’t know if the company’s cash flow is tight. But that $68,000 is three years of my saved income. My monthly take-home is five thousand. Four thousand for the mortgage, a thousand for living expenses. Everything else went into this. I trusted the company, so every trip, I paid first, waiting for reimbursement.” I paused. “Now the company is saying it needs twelve months to pay me back. Does that sound fair to you?” Rick said nothing. Trevor Kim, the lawyer, suddenly spoke up. “Ms. Johnson, from a legal standpoint, the company is obligated to pay the full reimbursement. However, if the company is facing financial difficulty, a payment plan is considered a reasonable solution. You should consider—” “I have considered it,” I interrupted him. “I don’t accept it.” “Then what is your proposed solution?” Trevor asked. “I have two options for you.” I pulled two documents from my bag. “Option one: The company pays the $68,352 in expenses in a single lump sum, plus the N+1 severance package. I sign the agreement, complete the handover, and we part on good terms.” I pushed the first document onto the table. “Option two: I file a claim with the Labor Relations Board, demanding the $68,352 in expenses, the N+1 severance, plus interest for the delayed payment period.” I pushed the second document across as well. “This is my drafted arbitration request. The evidence is ready, and I can submit it at any time.” The conference room was silent for five seconds. Rick’s face was beet red. “Amy, what is the meaning of this? Are you threatening the company?” “It’s not a threat,” I said. “It’s a choice.” I stood up. “Today is Monday. I’ll give you until Friday. Before the close of business on Friday, you can tell me your decision. If I don’t hear from you by then, I’ll file with the Labor Board first thing Monday morning.” I picked up my bag. “And by the way, I have backups of all three years of project files, client archives, and internal correspondence. If you don’t want to resolve this properly, I don’t mind letting a few more people know how the company treats its employees.” “You—” I didn’t wait for Rick to finish, pushed the door open, and left.