Chapter 1: The New Boss Has a Familiar Face

Corporate dropped in a new boss from nowhere—and, lucky me, it turned out to be my girlfriend’s ex, Chris Miller.

In front of everyone at the office, Chris basically called me out, loud enough for the whole floor to hear. “Jake’s just taking a big paycheck and not working, just filling up the numbers.”

A few people actually looked at me. Someone snickered. I stared at the screen, pretending not to hear.

He didn’t stop there. “This isn’t even a technical position, just a paper-pusher, shuffling forms and rubber-stamping approvals. How does he justify a thirty-thousand-dollar salary?”

The timing couldn’t have been worse—right before the holiday personnel shuffle, Chris made sure I was the first on the chopping block.

As if that wasn’t enough, my girlfriend Sarah dropped me too. She didn’t even wait for the ink to dry before she was back with Chris.

But karma has a long memory. A few months later, the company’s projects started failing left and right, startup funds were denied, and Chris finally had to swallow his pride and beg me to come back.

By then, I’d already been headhunted by a big firm and was soaking up the sun on a beach, miles away from all that drama.

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The conference room was freezing, HR’s polite smile about as warm as the fluorescent lights flickering overhead, buzzing like angry bees. The air reeked of someone’s cloying perfume—too sweet, too strong.

She slid a folder across the table, her voice practiced and gentle. “Due to the company’s current business needs and strategic adjustments, this layoff is a difficult measure. We’ll do everything possible to ensure laid-off employees receive fair treatment.”

My chest felt tight, but I kept my face blank. I wasn’t about to let them see me sweat. My hands stayed folded on the shiny table. Not even a twitch.

The moment I saw Chris stroll in as acting CEO, his Italian loafers tapping out a threat on our old linoleum, I knew my days were numbered.

Chris was Sarah’s ex. They’d started dating in college. They were that couple—matching hoodies at tailgates, beer pong champions, always front row at the homecoming game. Sarah once showed me photos: the two of them at frat parties, Cancun for spring break, her in the stands wearing his jersey while he played quarterback.

But Chris’s family was pure old-money Connecticut, and after graduation he was off to London for an MBA. Sarah didn’t want a long-distance thing, so she ended it. She’d told me the story over wine, trying to sound cool, but the pain was still there in her voice.

Chris thought Sarah would just wait for him, that prep school arrogance—like the world pressed pause the second he walked out.

When he finally returned from his overseas adventure, the first thing he did was look for Sarah. That’s when he found me standing by her side.

He didn’t even hesitate—just swung at me. I swung back. His fist caught my jaw; mine smashed his pretty-boy nose.

The rain was coming down in buckets that day, one of those sudden Chicago downpours that soaks you in seconds. Sarah’s mascara was running down her cheeks, her voice breaking as she tried to pull us apart. “Stop—don’t fight anymore!”

We ended up at the police station, dripping wet, sitting on hard plastic chairs while a cop filled out paperwork. After mediation, we were both released. Chris’s lawyer rolled up in a BMW; I called an Uber.

Chris sneered, his voice low and sharp, blood trickling from his nose: “Jake Foster, right? Good, good, good! Let’s wait and see!”

I honestly didn’t expect Chris to be the boss’s only son, sent abroad to get his credentials polished. Should’ve guessed from the Rolex and the attitude.

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“What about severance then?”

HR recognized me as a veteran. She glanced nervously at the door, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her voice dropping. “Mr. Miller wants to discuss severance with you personally. But… he probably…” She didn’t finish, but her eyes said it all.

I nodded. No explanation needed. Chris was ruthless. Laying me off two weeks before Christmas? No bonus, no severance, nothing. The timing was a knife to the gut.