Chapter 1: Betrayed by My Own Protégé

My trainee poached a $700,000 investment account right out from under me—and just like that, my jaw dropped.

It hit me like a punch to the gut. I’d barely set my coffee down when I saw her—Jenna Lin—standing by the reception desk, waving the freshly signed paperwork in the air, grinning like she’d just hit the Powerball. The overhead lights caught the gold flecks in her hair, and she cocked an eyebrow, looking even more self-satisfied. My heart hammered in my chest, and for a split second, it felt like the whole branch held its breath, watching the drama unfold.

She held up the freshly signed paperwork, beaming like she’d just been handed the keys to a brand-new car.

“Hey, mentor, the client specifically asked to open the account under my name. What was I supposed to do—turn him away? I mean, come on.” Jenna’s voice was syrupy sweet, but there was a razor’s edge just beneath it. She flicked her hair over her shoulder, her badge glinting in the office lights. I caught a few of the younger tellers peeking over their monitors, eager to catch every word.

“If you want to blame someone, blame yourself for being slow and old-school.” She smirked, popping her gum with a snap. “Don’t give me that look.” I must’ve been glaring, because I felt my face tighten. “Worst case—I’ll buy you a Frappuccino from Starbucks. How’s that?”

Her words made me look petty. Was I really coming off as just a sore loser here? Did everyone think I was the one who couldn’t keep up?

My cheeks burned as every eye in the lobby seemed to land on me. Jenna’s tone made it sound like I was just bitter, like I was the one who had dropped the ball. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. Still, I forced a tight smile. The worst part? She said it loud enough for the branch manager to hear from his glass-walled office. I could already feel the judgment radiating from behind those half-closed venetian blinds.

To make it worse, the boss even tried to play peacemaker, telling me not to make things hard for the new girl.

He strolled out, all forced cheer and folksy wisdom, giving Jenna a hearty pat on the back. “Let’s all just get along, alright?” he said, as if this was some playground squabble. My jaw tightened. Did everyone forget that half this branch only keeps afloat because of my numbers?

(It was like I’d turned invisible overnight. All those years of grinding, the endless cold calls, the Saturday mornings spent at networking breakfasts—all of it swept aside because the new kid got lucky. And now? Just tossed aside.)

I could feel the resentment bubbling up, but I swallowed it down. There was no way I was letting this slide.

I rushed back to the office just in time. As soon as I heard my client had been poached, I went straight to Jenna Lin.

My heels clicked down the hallway like warning shots. I didn’t even bother to knock; I pushed open the door to the small conference room where Jenna was putting on a show. Her attitude had totally changed. Waving the signed forms, she spoke like she was the model employee:

“Look, you can’t blame me for this.”

She put on her best innocent face, lips pursed, eyes wide. I almost laughed at how rehearsed it was. “You weren’t here. I couldn’t keep the client waiting, so I helped you out.”

“If it weren’t for me, you would’ve lost the client. Instead of thanking me, you’re accusing me of stealing your client?”

“Besides, Mr. Peterson insisted on investing with me. What was I supposed to do?”

“I can’t just turn down business!”

“Honestly, you came back late yourself. Who else is there to blame?”

I’d set the appointment with the client for 10 a.m., and he arrived five minutes early. Seriously, you telling me a $700,000 deal got closed in five minutes?

I’d set that appointment. I’d prepped the portfolio. Five minutes? Please. I narrowed my eyes at her, searching for a crack in her story. She didn’t sign him under my name—I wasn’t buying her story at all.

Right then, the client messaged me on Facebook Messenger: “Hey, Sam, how’s it going? Just realized my new account manager isn’t you. Is there some shakeup at your branch?” My stomach dropped. Clients almost never messaged me on social media—this was bad.

I stared at the message, my fingers trembling just a little. Mr. Peterson had always been loyal—he even sent me a Christmas card last year, handwritten. What could I say? I chalked it up to a system glitch and promised I’d still be his point of contact going forward.

After I replied, I saw Jenna’s blank, innocent face and confronted her: “You used my name to poach my client?”

I could feel my voice rising, but I didn’t care. “Jenna, are you trying to get yourself blacklisted in this industry?”

You just don’t steal clients in this business. Everyone knows that.

There are unwritten rules in this business—lines you don’t cross if you want to last. She did it right out in the open—there’s no way the boss didn’t know.

And besides, I’m her mentor. I’ve taught her everything since she started.

Stealing your mentor’s client—after this, no one decent would hire her.

“Before this gets ugly, I suggest you go and change the account rep’s name.”

That’s me being diplomatic.

I was hoping she’d be sensible and not drag everyone into a messy scene.

But Jenna just looked at me with a little smirk: “Are you serious?”

She cocked her head, all fake surprise. “Why should I hand over my client to you?”

“Just because you’re my mentor, I should roll over and give you my own client?”

“You’re the one who dropped the ball. If I keep the client, that’s on my ability. Being my mentor means nothing if you can’t keep up.”

“Yeah, I just graduated, but I’m not some pushover.”

She sounded tough as nails—defiant, almost daring me to push back.

I almost laughed—out of sheer frustration.

I picked up her paperwork and walked out. But she stopped me, sliding in front of the door with a quick pivot: “Why are you so mad?”

She blocked the doorway, not even blinking. “We’re just regular employees here. Nobody’s above anybody else.”

“All the clients we bring in are business for the branch. What’s the difference?”

“Worst case—I’ll buy you the most expensive Frappuccino at Starbucks… just to thank you for your guidance.”

Looking at her smug face, I wanted to slap myself for ever trusting her. How did I not see this coming?

I remembered the first time she shadowed me—so eager, always scribbling notes in her little Moleskine. Jenna had followed me since she graduated and joined the company.

She was my junior at college—same school, same major—so I naturally looked out for her more.

I poured my heart into teaching her how to find and keep clients. After a few months, Jenna was always top among the new hires.

I was genuinely happy for her, always reminding her about what was and wasn’t professional.