Chapter 4: Nepotism Unmasked

"Why?" Ms. Sharma laughed, short and sharp, her eyes glinting. "Sales mein aise supervisor ka kya kaam, jo chhutti pe chala jaaye jab sab log extra kaam kar rahe hain? You set the wrong example, Rohan."

Her words bounced off the walls, stinging. I couldn’t keep the disbelief out of my voice. My hands gripped the desk, knuckles white.

"Weren’t you the one who suggested I take a vacation? I filed an approved leave request. When work comes up, I come back immediately, and you’re using this as a reason to remove me?"

She didn’t flinch. "Why not? While everyone else is busy, you go on vacation. That shows a lack of responsibility and team spirit. The sales department doesn’t need a supervisor like you."

Just then, the office door swung open and Priyansh sauntered in, every bit the hero of his own story.

He barely glanced at me before addressing Ms. Sharma, as if I was invisible. "Well, Rohan bhaiya, figured it out yet? If you have, hurry up and pack your things. Go sit at my old desk."

He pointed to the far corner, where the AC barely worked and the Wi-Fi was spotty. The insult was clear.

"Move all your stuff from the office door over there. It’s blocking my view."

He smirked, as if moving my things was an act of mercy.

"Rohan is a senior employee. Be nice to him. You’ll need his help in the future," Ms. Sharma scolded, half-heartedly. Priyansh shrugged, unfazed.

Looking at the two of them, it all came together—the way she spoke to him, the proud tilt of his chin. Ms. Sharma’s full name was Priya Sharma. Their faces, the surnames, the banter—it was right there. Mother and son.

A specific memory flashed in my mind: last Diwali, Priyansh had handed me a sweet box with a grin, and Ms. Sharma had joked, 'Bas, ab hum family ho gaye.' That moment, which once felt warm, now tasted of betrayal.

The nepotism was so blatant, it was almost funny. Only in India, I thought, could ‘setting’ trump everything else.

Anger surged up my spine. Years of swallowing insults and sacrificing weekends boiled over. My voice cracked as I glared at both of them.

"Do you think the boss knows about your tricks?"

My accusation echoed down the corridor. I half-expected the whole office to freeze.

Ms. Sharma’s eyes gleamed. "Do you think, if the boss didn’t approve, I—a mere HR manager—could decide who replaces a supervisor?"

She wore the look of a chess player who’s just announced checkmate.

"Since you still haven’t reflected on your mistakes, we’ll deduct your performance bonus for these two months as a warning to others."

Her words landed heavy, each one a slap. My stomach turned.

"Fine."

I spat the word. My throat burned. My heart pounded with the unfairness.

I pointed at them, sneering, my finger shaking but unafraid.

"So that’s how it is? Then I’ll go ask the boss what he really thinks."

I didn’t wait for a response. I stormed out, the weight of years of service pressing on my shoulders.