My Three Million Dollar Sabotage

“Everyone else here seems to manage. Why can’t you?” Ella’s voice echoed in the conference room. A dozen pairs of eyes focused on me. I lowered my gaze to the quarterly report in my hands. Monthly KPI Completion Rate: 32%. Olivia: 115%. Ben: 108%. Even Sarah, the intern who’d only been here three months, was at 95%. Only me. 32%. “If those numbers look like this next month, Jenna, you’ll need to seriously re-evaluate your future here.” I didn’t speak. Three years. Every month, the same ritual. I genuinely thought I was incompetent. It wasn’t until the day I resigned that I finally saw the full KPI Allocation Spreadsheet.

1. The air conditioning in the conference room was set to Arctic, but my back was slick with sweat. Ella tossed my report onto the table. The sound wasn’t loud, but every word she spoke felt like a nail driven into my skull. “Jenna Hayes. Tell me, why are you, once again, at the bottom of the list?” I stood up, palms damp. “The client side this month—” “The client side?” Ella cut me off. “Did Olivia’s clients have no issues? Did Ben’s clients have no issues?” I opened my mouth, but no defense came out. “Just sit down, Jenna,” Ella said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s the same tired excuses every month. I’m exhausted hearing them.” I sank back into my chair. The silence was thick. I could feel the glances of my colleagues: some purely entertained, some tinged with pity, and others—undiluted schadenfreude. “Alright, that’s it. Meeting adjourned.” Ella stood up. “Jenna, stay behind.” The others filed out. Olivia brushed past me and murmured, “Hang in there.” I couldn’t tell if it was genuine support or practiced corporate politeness. The door clicked shut. It was just Ella and me. “Jenna,” Ella said, pulling up a chair across the table. Her tone softened, dropping into a deceptive cadence of concern. “I’m not targeting you, you know that.” I nodded stiffly. “But this performance… it’s indefensible.” “Ella, I personally visited twenty-three prospective clients this month—” “And the result?” I fell silent. “How many contracts did you close?” “Two.” “Two,” Ella repeated, letting the number hang in the air. “Olivia saw fifteen accounts and closed eight. Tell me, where exactly is the breakdown?” I wanted to point out that Olivia’s accounts were mostly renewals and long-standing clients—easy conversions. My accounts? They were all new, cold leads—never-before-converted prospects. The furthest was in the next county, a four-hour round trip. But I didn’t say it. It wouldn’t have mattered. “Jenna, I’m doing this for your own good.” Ella stood up and gave my shoulder a patronizing pat. “Young people need to be put through the wringer. Build character, right?” “Right.” “Next month, try harder.” “I will.” I walked out of the conference room. Laughter drifted from the breakroom. “Another dressing down, huh?” “I know. Last place every month.” “I mean, how does she still have a job?” “Must be the thick skin, honestly.” More laughter. I froze. That was Olivia’s voice. The same Olivia who had just told me to “hang in there.” I didn’t go in. I turned and went back to my cubicle. I logged onto my computer. The screen showed my client visit log for the month. Twenty-three accounts. Twenty-three cold calls. I’d visited one company three times, and they wouldn’t even look at the quote. With another, I’d barely finished my opening line before they said, “We’re not interested.” I drove two hours to a third, only to find the office had moved months ago. I was trying. I just couldn’t understand why everyone else could breeze through their targets while I was killing myself just to fail. My phone vibrated. It was Mom. “Sweetie, did you get your monthly bonus yet?” I gripped the phone, unable to speak. “Jenna?” “Mom, I’m in the middle of something. I’ll call you back later.” I hung up. I stared at the screen, which now displayed next month’s client list. Ella had just emailed it. Twenty-eight accounts. All new prospects. I managed to pull up Olivia’s list. Twelve accounts. Eight were renewals, three were existing client referrals, and only one was a new lead. I placed the two lists side-by-side and stared at them for a long time. Then I closed the window. Forget it. Maybe I really was just incompetent. At the end of the day, Sarah, the admin, called out to me. “Jenna, you have a package.” I took it. It was from my mother. I opened it to find a thick winter jacket. Tucked inside was a note: It’s getting cold. Don’t work too hard; your health is what matters. I stood by the company exit, looking at the coat. Mom didn’t know I was dead last every month. Mom didn’t know I hadn’t had a raise in three years. Mom didn’t know I was the department’s running joke. I shoved the jacket back in the bag and stepped out the door. It was raining. I hadn’t brought an umbrella. I walked the entire way to the subway station, getting soaked.

2. It was the end of the year. Annual bonuses were being paid out. I didn’t hold out much hope. But I still couldn’t stop myself from calculating. Three years into the job, my base salary was $65,000. The company policy stated the bonus was based on annual performance. My average completion rate was 35%. Pro-rata, I should at least get one month’s salary, right? About $5,400. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to send Mom a nice check. That afternoon, a message popped up in the Finance chat. “Annual Bonuses have been distributed. Please check your accounts.” I opened my banking app. Balance: $8,547.32. No change. I refreshed the page. Still no change. I went to the Finance Department. “Jenna Hayes? You didn’t receive an annual bonus this year.” “Why not?” “Failure to meet performance targets.” The finance officer kept her head down, staring at her screen. “Your annual average completion rate was below 40%. Per policy, no bonus.” “But—” “That’s a mandate from Ella. If you have an issue, take it up with her.” I stood frozen at the entrance to the Finance office. Someone cleared their throat behind me. “Excuse me, please.” I stepped aside. Olivia walked past, clutching a stack of papers. “Jenna? What are you doing here?” I shook my head. “Nothing.” Olivia smiled. “The bonus was great this year. Five months’ salary!” Five months. Her base salary was higher than mine. Five months was easily a six-figure payout. I got zero. “Congratulations,” I mumbled. “Thanks.” Olivia was already walking away. “We’re going out to celebrate tonight. Want to come?” “No, I have plans.” I walked back to my desk and sat down. Across from me, Ben was counting money, a grin on his face. “Thirty-eight hundred, not bad at all.” Patrice, the woman next to me, leaned over. “Mine was decent too. Thirty-five hundred.” The chatter turned into a lively debate about how to spend the money: new phones, travel plans, designer bags for spouses. No one asked me. They all knew. At five-thirty, Ella emerged from her office. “Jenna, a moment.” I followed her inside. Ella sat down and gestured for me to take a seat. “Did Finance talk to you about the bonus?” “Yes.” “And what are your thoughts?” I looked at her, not sure what she wanted to hear. “No thoughts.” “Jenna.” Ella sighed, a performance of weary concern. “It’s not that I don’t want to give you one, but your performance is truly awful. This company values results. You understand that, right?” “I understand.” “Look at Olivia. She consistently over-performs. Look at Ben. He’s a rookie, and he’s hitting 100%. What about you?” My head was bowed. “You’ve been here three years, and you’re always at the bottom. Frankly, any other company would have fired you a long time ago.” “…” “I’ve protected you, Jenna, you know that? Every time the CEO asks, I tell him you’re improving, you’re trying. But then you pull a 35% average.” Ella’s voice rose slightly. “Are you taking advantage of me?” I looked up. Her face was etched with disappointment. I couldn’t tell if the disappointment was real or just part of the act. “Ella, I…” “Never mind.” Ella waved me off. “Go home and think about this. If you pull this again next year, I won’t be able to save your job.” “Okay.” I stood up to leave. “Jenna.” I stopped. “I’m doing this for your own good.” “I know.” I left her office and returned to my desk. My computer screen was still on, showing the client list for January. Thirty-five accounts. All new, cold leads. I scrolled down, trying to see Olivia’s list, but my permissions were blocked. I closed the window and started packing my bag. Mom was waiting for my call. She would ask about the bonus. I thought for a moment, then said: “Just over a grand. Nothing huge.” “That’s plenty, sweetheart! You keep it for yourself. Your father and I are fine.” Mom sounded overjoyed. “Mhm.” “Jenna, everything going well at work?” “Perfectly smooth.” “That’s good. That’s very good.” I hung up, sitting on the subway, watching the dark tunnel flash past the window. A thousand dollars. I didn’t even have a hundred. When I got home, my roommate, Skylar, was already cooking. “You’re back. Eat yet?” “No.” “Good. I made extra. Let’s eat.” I dropped my bag and sat at the dining table. Skylar carried two plates out. “What’s wrong? You look awful.” “No bonus.” “What?” Skylar paused. “Why?” “Didn’t meet the target.” “But you’re always the last one to leave!” Skylar frowned. “Didn’t you tell me you visited over twenty clients last month?” “Twenty-three.” “And still nothing?” “Nothing.” I picked at my food. “My colleague got five months’ pay; I got zero.” Skylar put down her fork and looked at me. “Jenna, don’t you think something is off?” “What do you mean?” “You get in earlier and leave later than everyone else. You see more clients than anyone else. Why is your performance the worst?” I stayed silent. “Did it ever occur to you that the problem isn’t you?” “But… my completion rate is low, Skylar. It’s a fact.” “Low completion rate?” Skylar scoffed. “Do you know what kind of clients they’re assigning everyone else?” I looked at her blankly. “You get nothing but cold, new leads. They get renewals and existing accounts. What’s the closing rate on a cold lead? Maybe 20% if you’re lucky. A renewal? Eighty percent plus.” I clutched my fork, speechless. “Jenna, don’t be an idiot,” Skylar said, shaking her head. “Are you being set up?” “No way…” “No way? Then you tell me,” Skylar challenged. “Why do you always get the hardest accounts? Why are you always driving four hours into the next county?” I tried to argue, but the words caught in my throat. Because she was telling the truth. “I’m telling you,” Skylar said. “Go look. Find out how those KPI targets are really distributed.” “How?” “Find a way.” I couldn’t sleep that night. Lying in bed, Skylar’s words hammered in my head. Set up? It felt crazy. I didn’t have a feud with Ella. We weren’t enemies. Why would she deliberately sabotage me? But… Why was I always assigned the most difficult clients? Why was my completion rate always the lowest? Why, in three years, had I never received a single cent of the annual bonus? I grabbed my phone and navigated to the company intranet. Where was the KPI Allocation Spreadsheet? I searched for an hour. Nothing. Insufficient access permissions. I pulled up the client list Ella had sent, the one for January, and went over it carefully. Thirty-five accounts. All new, cold leads. One client was three hours away by train. Another was notoriously difficult; the last salesperson assigned to them quit after six months without a single contract. A third was just snatched by our biggest competitor, and I was expected to steal it back. I then dug through my old emails and found Olivia’s client list from the previous month. She had accidentally ‘Reply All’d’ to the entire team instead of just Ella. Twelve accounts. Eight renewals, three referrals, and one new lead—and that new lead was a subsidiary of the company’s largest existing client. I stared at the two lists. Her twelve, my thirty-five. Her eight renewals, my zero. She drives thirty minutes; I drive three hours. I felt a strange urge to laugh. So that was it. It had been like this all along. 3. I returned to the office after the holidays. My mood was heavy, yet strangely focused. Skylar was right. I had to find out. On the first day back, Ella called a department meeting. “New year, new energy. I expect everyone to over-perform this year.” She looked straight at me. “Jenna, you really need to step it up.” “I will.” “We won’t dwell on last year. Focus on earning that bonus this year.” “I will.” I didn’t say anything more. After the meeting, I found Sarah from the Administration Department. Sarah had been there a year longer than me and was generally friendly. “Sarah, I need to ask you something.” “Sure, what is it?” “Where can I find the company’s KPI Allocation Spreadsheet?” Sarah looked confused. “Why do you need that?” “Just… trying to understand the benchmark, get a clearer target.” “The KPI allocation is only visible to department managers and HR,” Sarah whispered, leaning closer. “You think something is wrong, don’t you?” I didn’t answer. Sarah glanced around and pulled me into an empty corner of the hallway. “Jenna, look, I’m going to tell you something, but you can’t breathe a word of it to anyone.” “What?” “Late last year, I helped HR organize some digital files,” Sarah said, her voice dropping lower. “I saw your department’s KPI breakdown.” My heart hammered in my chest. “Your target… it’s three times higher than everyone else’s.” “What?” “Your monthly KPI is $3 million. Olivia’s is $1 million. Ben’s is $1.2 million.” Sarah looked at me with deep sympathy. “Do you know what that means?” I stood there, my mind blank. Three times. My target was three times everyone else’s. “No wonder you’re always bottom of the list,” Sarah sighed. “A $3 million monthly target is impossible. The top sales exec couldn’t hit that.” “Why?” My voice was trembling. “Why me?” “I don’t know,” Sarah shook her head. “But you need to look into this yourself. Don’t let them make you feel incompetent while you’re making them look good.” I stood in the hallway for a long time. Three years. For three years, I was the last one to leave the office, I drove the most miles, and I worked the hardest. The result? Last place every month. Constant dressing-downs. Treated like a liability. It wasn’t because I was bad at my job. It was because, from the very beginning, the game was rigged. That afternoon, I found an excuse to visit the HR Department. “Barbara, I need to look at our department’s KPI spreadsheet.” Barbara, the HR manager, looked up. “Why would you need to see that?” “I just want to understand the effort required to earn the bonus. A goal-setting exercise.” Barbara hesitated. “That requires your manager’s approval.” “Ella is traveling this week, back on Monday,” I lied. “I just need a quick look. I won’t take photos.” Barbara considered it, then pulled up the file on her computer. “Fine. Take a look. I’m going to grab some water.” She left. I quickly moved to the computer and opened the file.