He Accused Me of Kickbacks, I Joined His Rival

Two years ago, my close friend Marcus’s restaurant was on the verge of bankruptcy.

I put my neck on the line and gave him the entire corporate catering contract for my company.

A million dollars in annual food service fees.

I thought he’d be grateful. Until someone sent me a recording.

Marcus’s wife Vanessa said:

“He has no idea how much she’s skimming off the top in kickbacks. Acting like such a saint.”

I listened to it and laughed.

But I didn’t confront him. Instead, I gave the contract directly to his competitor.

Two years ago, Marcus’s restaurant was hemorrhaging money. He couldn’t make payroll for months and was about to shut down.

He came to me with red-rimmed eyes. A man pushing thirty, crying in front of me.

“Nora, please help me. This restaurant is my father’s life’s work. I can’t let it die like this.”

We grew up together. I couldn’t watch his restaurant go under.

During that period, I fought against everyone’s resistance at the company. I literally pounded my fist on the conference table in front of several senior board members.

I put my position as Operations Director and my personal reputation on the line, guaranteeing his restaurant could provide the highest quality food service.

In the end, I secured the exclusive catering contract for the company cafeteria.

A steady million dollars a year in revenue. Enough to bring him back from the dead.

The day we signed the contract, Marcus grabbed my hand. He cried even harder than before.

He said:

“Nora, I’ll remember this favor for the rest of my life.”

“From now on, my life belongs to you.”

Vanessa, standing beside him, completely changed from her usual cold distance. She was all bows and smiles, her face plastered with flattery.

She poured me water, massaged my shoulders, calling me “hon” with every other breath, closer than an actual sister.

“Hon, you’re our family’s savior. We’ll do anything for you from now on.”

The more sincere those remembered smiles were, the more vicious the voices in that recording sounded.

Two years.

Just two years.

The friendship I’d protected with everything I had was nothing more than a transaction they could brag about and trash-talk in their eyes.

What I thought was a lifeline had become their story about my “greedy kickbacks.”

A wave of physical nausea rolled up from my stomach.

I didn’t do what they probably imagined—call them in a rage to demand answers, to argue my case.

There was no point.

Arguing with backstabbers who’d never appreciate you would only dirty my mouth.

I saved that recording along with the email, carefully filing it away in an encrypted folder.

Then I closed my email like nothing had happened.

I opened the company’s supplier database and typed in: Flavors Haven.

Marcus’s competitor’s restaurant.

I calmly finished my work, then left the office.