The Pie-Maker’s Final End

My year-end bonus finally came through. Three hundred for me, eighteen thousand for everyone else.
My general manager, Mr. Wang, clapped me on the shoulder, his smile dripping with false sincerity. Claire, you're young. Don't focus on the money. Focus on the platform we provide.
I smiled back, nodded, and accepted the pathetically thin red envelope.
A week later, my contract expired. The company did not renew it.
On the day I left, Mr. Wang was popping champagne to celebrate. His phone, however, wouldn't stop ringing.
01
The red envelope, stamped with the company's gold-foil logo, lay in my palm, as light and brittle as a dead leaf.
Three hundred dollars.
The number registered in my brain without stirring a single emotion, just a pool of stagnant, silent water.
I walked back to my desk, a forgotten island in a sea of files and sticky notes, tucked away in a neglected corner.
The air was thick with the scent of celebrationa heady mix of perfume, coffee, and money.
"Holy crap, eighteen thousand! Herms bag, here I come!"
"Where are we celebrating tonight? Three-Michelin-star, nothing less!"
"My husband just called and told me to transfer it to him for the mortgage, lol."
Faces, distorted with excitement, swam before my eyes. They held up their phones like victory flags, the glaring bank transfer notifications a testament to their triumph.
I sat down, a blank expression on my face, a spectator at a feast that had nothing to do with me.
Mark, the colleague who loved to dump his grunt work on me, made a point of sauntering past my desk.
He held his new iPhone so close to my face I could see the pixels, the "180,000.00" on the screen cranked to maximum brightness.
"Hey, Claire, got yours?" he drawled, his voice slick with smug satisfaction.
I didn't look up. My eyes were fixed on the dusty keyboard in front of me.
"I did."
"In this economy, for the company to be so generous... we really picked the right team."
He lingered, his voice just loud enough for the surrounding cluster of desks to hear.
"It all comes down to ability, you know? The capable ones do more work. But sometimes, it's just luck. Can't expect a free ride forever."
Every word was a poisoned needle, aimed directly at me.
A few stifled snickers rippled through the air.
My fingers, resting on the keyboard, curled into a fist. My nails dug into my palm, a sharp, grounding pain.
I still didn't look up. I just opened my laptop.
The screen flickered to life, reflecting my plain face and black-rimmed glasses, my expression a perfect mask of indifference.
Ping. Ping. Ping. The department's group chat was blowing up.
It was the general manager, Mr. Wang.
He'd sent a huge digital red envelope with the caption, "Great work, team! Let's keep the party going tonight!"
The chat was instantly flooded with "Thank you, Mr. Wang!" and "You're the best, boss!" stickers.
I tapped on the envelope.
"Too slow. All envelopes have been claimed."
I closed the app, glanced at the member list. Mr. Wang had tagged everyone. Everyone except me.
It wasn't an oversight. It was deliberate.
A public execution, carried out by a man in a position of power.
He wanted everyone to know that I, Claire Chen, was insignificant.
A heavy, cold stone settled in my chest.
The internal office phone on my desk let out a piercing ring.
"Claire, Client A's system crashed again. Handle it. Their CEO is furious."
It was Mark's voice, laced with impatient authority.
Client A was notoriously difficult. Their system was ancient, plagued with problems. A cursed project no one wanted to touch.
Whenever trouble brewed, the mess landed squarely on my desk.
"Okay," I said, a single word, and hung up.
I opened the CRM, pulled up all of Client A's files, and started analyzing the problem.
In the bottom right corner of my screen, an inconspicuous icon began to flash.
It was Sarah from administration.
"Claire, don't let them get to you. They've all lost their minds."
In this cold, sterile office, Sarah was the only one who called me by my first name.
Seeing her warm message, my frozen heart stirred with a faint pulse.
I typed back.
"It's okay, Sarah. I'm used to it."
Was I really?
Or was I just numb?
Numb to the pain, numb to the anger.
I closed the chat window and navigated to a deeply encrypted folder on my D drive.
Inside, there was only one file.
I opened it. A dense spreadsheet filled the screen.
Client Name, Project Details, Order Value, Key Contacts, Private Phone Numbers, Family Birthdays, Children's Hobbies...
For three years, every single deal I had personally closed, every client I had personally nurturedit was all here.
This was the data behind Mr. Wang's "glorious achievements" in his reports, the ammunition he used to curry favor with the higher-ups.
This was my final hand.
After I was done, the group chat lit up again.
Mr. Wang had posted: "To celebrate our department's record-breaking performance, all expenses tonight are on me! We're not going home sober!"
Another wave of fawning praise followed.
I opened the text box and typed a few words.
"Mr. Wang, I'm not feeling well. I'd like to request leave from the dinner tonight."
I hit send.
No reply.
As expected.
I shut down my computer and started to pack my things.
There wasn't much to pack.
A few technical books, a three-year-old mug, and a dying potted plant.
I placed the books in a cardboard box and picked up the mug.
The company logo, a gift from my first day, was faded and barely legible.
For three years, I had been like that logo, my presence here growing fainter and fainter, until I had almost disappeared completely.
I opened a drawer and took out a pre-prepared handover document, placing it on the desk.
It detailed the procedural steps for all the work I was responsible for.
As for why those clients would call my personal phone with a problem at two in the morning...
As for why the most demanding client would only accept proposals written by me...
As for the "special relationships" that were maintained through personal care and favors...
Sorry. Not a word of that was in the handover document.
I threw the dying plant into the trash, along with three years of frustration and resentment.
02
In the final week before my contract expired, Mr. Wang's exploitation reached a fever pitch.
He summoned me to his office, a corner suite with a panoramic view of the city's financial district.
Sunlight streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, so bright it hurt my eyes.
He leaned back in his expensive leather chair, his fingers drumming a light rhythm on the polished mahogany desk.
"Claire, this project is yours."
He pushed a thick file across the desk. The cover read: "Apex Group Strategic Partnership Proposal."
Apex Group. The company's largest, most important, and most difficult client.
I opened the file. After two pages, my heart sank.
It was a new, incredibly complex, custom request involving multiple technical hurdles. And the client wanted to see a complete first draft in three days.
Three days.
It was an impossible task.
This wasn't just exploitation; it was sabotage.
"Mr. Wang, three days is too tight. The technical feasibility study alone will..."
"Claire."
Mr. Wang cut me off, that signature, knowing smile plastered on his face again.
"I know it's difficult. That's why it's a test."
He stood up, walked around the desk, and placed a heavy hand on my shoulder once more.
"You're young. Don't be so quick to say no. The company has invested so much in you. It's time we see what you're really made of."
He leaned in closer, his voice low, laced with the smell of stale liquor and hypocrisy.
"Your contract is up soon. Whether or not we renew it depends on your performance this time."
A naked threat, sugar-coated with the word "test."
My stomach churned.
I didn't argue. I just picked up the file, which felt as heavy as a block of lead.
"I'll do my best."
As I left his office, Mark immediately appeared at my side, his face a mask of undisguised glee.
"Congrats, Claire. Mr. Wang is giving you a real opportunity. Work hard, and you might just get to stay."
His voice was low, but loud enough for the whole office to hear.
Everyone was watching me, as if I were a character in a play.
Pity, mockery, indifference.
Their gazes wove a giant net, trapping me in the center.
I returned to my desk and dropped the file with a dull thud.
In that moment, I knew with absolute certainty that Mr. Wang had no intention of renewing my contract.
He just wanted to squeeze every last drop of value out of me before tossing me aside like trash.
If I succeeded with this project, the credit would be hisa testament to his "strong leadership and capable team."
If I failed, the blame would be mineproof of my "incompetence and inability to perform."
I was the final stepping stone in his climb to the top.
I opened my laptop and stared at the impossible task before me. I felt no anger, no despair.
Just a terrifying, preternatural calm.
For the next three days, I became a ghost in the office.
During the day, I sat at my desk, organizing files and dealing with the miscellaneous tasks Mark and the others threw my way.
At night, when the office was empty, filled only with the hum of the air conditioning, my real work began.
Sarah couldn't stand to watch. At eleven o'clock one night, she placed a hot cup of coffee on my desk.
"Claire, stop. It's not worth it."
She looked at my bloodshot eyes, her face full of concern.
"You're going to ruin your health for this company, and who's going to care?"
I took the coffee. The warmth from the mug spread through my fingertips but didn't reach my heart.
I managed a tired smile.
"It's okay, Sarah. Just seeing things through to the end."
She sighed and didn't press further, just quietly cleared away the empty takeout containers on my desk.
After she left, I didn't open the complex project file.
I picked up my phone and dialed a number.
The contact name was "Mr. Miller - Apex."
The call was answered quickly. A steady, slightly weary voice came through the line.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Miller, good evening. This is Claire Chen."
"Oh, Claire," his tone immediately warmed. "It's late. Is everything alright?"
"Mr. Miller, I wanted to confirm a few technical details about the new strategic partnership proposal directly with you, to make sure we're on the right track."
I didn't bother with any so-called corporate procedures, because I knew that for Mr. Miller of Apex Group, I, Claire Chen, was the most efficient procedure.
For the past three years, every time their internal system had an emergency failure, no matter the time of night, I was the one who responded immediately, solving the problem remotely.
Every time they had a wild, blue-sky idea, I was the one who stayed up all night creating a prototype that matched their vision.
His trust was never in my company; it was in me.
"Of course. Go ahead."
Over the next hour, I worked directly with the project's final decision-maker to hammer out all the core details and technical pathways.
He'd raise a technical challenge, and I'd immediately offer three viable solutions.
I'd mention a resource constraint, and he'd immediately approve the allocation of internal group resources to support it.
Everything that Mr. Wang saw as a "barrier" or a "challenge" was, for me, simply a problem to be solved.
Three days later, as the first rays of dawn streamed into the empty office, I printed out a one-hundred-and-twenty-page, flawless proposal.
I placed it neatly on Mr. Wang's desk.
Then, I went back to my own computer and selected all the folders I had created for the "Apex Project" over the past few days.
They contained all my notes, technical prototypes, communication records with Mr. Miller, and the final source files for the proposal.
I hit "Delete."
And then, I emptied the recycling bin.
All traces were gone.
At ten in the morning, a beaming Mr. Wang strode into the office.
He saw the proposal on his desk, flipped through a few pages, his satisfaction practically radiating from him.
He walked to the center of the office and cleared his throat.
"Everyone, I have some great news! The Apex project... our team has, against all odds, secured it!"
"This proposal is outstanding. It perfectly showcases our department's incredible strength and professionalism!"
A round of thunderous applause erupted.
He basked in the praise and adulation, never once looking in my direction, never once mentioning my name.
It was as if the proposal had sprouted from his desk on its own.
He clutched the document, the result of my three sleepless nights, like a trophy and marched proudly toward the senior executive's office.
I watched his retreating back, my eyes cold and empty.
I knew that the final tie between me and this company had just been severed. By my own hand.
03
The day my contract expired, the weather was beautiful.
The sky was a washed-out blue, clear and cloudless.
At ten in the morning, an email from HR appeared in my inbox.
"Dear Ms. Chen, due to business adjustments, your employment contract will not be renewed upon its expiration today. Please complete all departure procedures by 5:00 PM. Thank you for your three years of service."
Cold, corporate jargon, without a single extraneous punctuation mark.
I read the email once, then again, and then deleted it.
The office was a hive of activity, or at least, feigned activity.
No one looked at me. No one spoke to me.
I was an invisible woman, about to evaporate from this space.
Only Sarah came over and gently patted my shoulder, saying nothing.
But the warmth of her hand let me know I hadn't been completely forgotten.
Mr. Wang didn't even show his face today.
He probably didn't see the need. Or the worth.
A tool, used and discarded. Why bother with a final glance?
At three in the afternoon, my phone vibrated.
A text from Mr. Wang.
"Wishing you a bright future."
Four words, as if they'd been fished out of an icebox.
I stared at the message for a few seconds, didn't reply, and just long-pressed to delete it.
The departure process was unnervingly smooth.
Hand in my badge, sign the papers, receive my proof of employment.
Everyone I interacted with offered a professional, soulless smile.
As if I were just a visitor, not an employee who had poured three years of her life into this place.
I walked out of the office carrying a small cardboard box.
Inside was just a book, a mug, and my personal notebook.
I had arrived with nothing, and I was leaving with not much more.
As I passed through the large glass doors, I paused instinctively and looked back.
A grand champagne party was in full swing.
Mr. Wang stood at the center of the crowd, radiating success.
He raised his champagne flute high, his voice booming with unshakeable pride.
"Everyone! I have some incredible news!"
"Because our team did such an outstanding job securing the Apex Group project, creating immense value for the company, I have just been appointed by the board as the Vice President for the Southern Region!"
A roar of applause and cheers erupted in the office.
Streamers and confetti rained down, a surreal, theatrical display.
Everyone crowded around Mr. Wang, toasting him, showering him with flattery.
He stood in the spotlight, basking in his moment of glory.
A pedestal I had built for him, piece by piece.
My gaze cut through the noisy crowd and landed on his face, flushed red with excitement.
I smiled.
A genuine smile.
There was no bitterness, no resentment. Just the cold, detached amusement of watching a clown perform.
I turned and walked away, not looking back.
The warm sunlight fell on me, chasing away the chill that had settled in my bones for three years.
I hailed a taxi at the curb.
As I settled into the back seat, I took out my phone, opened my contacts, and found the number for "Mr. Miller - Apex."
I composed a text message.
"Mr. Miller, I have resigned from my previous company as of today. Thank you for all your support. I wish you all the best."
I hit send.
Almost instantly, my phone buzzed.
A reply from Mr. Miller.
"Claire, where are you headed next? I'll only work with you from now on. Give me a call when you have a moment."
I read the message, the smile on my face deepening.
Next, I opened my messaging app and selected a group I had named "Core Clients."
There were ninety-nine contacts in it.
Every single one of them was what Mr. Wang referred to as his "most important resources."
I typed the same message and sent it as a mass text.
Outside the car window, the city's skyscrapers flew by.
I knew that a storm was about to break in the glittering glass tower I had just left behind.
04
Mr. Wang's celebration was at its peak.
Champagne bubbles danced in crystal flutes, reflecting his glistening, self-satisfied face.
"To our glorious future! Cheers!"
He raised his glass, ready for another round of adulation.
Just then, a shrill, insistent ringing cut through the joyful noise like a knife.
It was his personal phone.
Mr. Wang frowned, annoyed by the interruption, and glanced at the caller ID.
"Apex Group - Mr. Miller."
The annoyance on his face was instantly replaced by a fawning smile.
"Excuse me, everyone. A call from our most important client, no doubt to congratulate us."
He preened under the envious gazes of his colleagues and sauntered to a corner to take the call.
"Hello, Mr. Miller! You've got great timing, I was just..."
His enthusiastic greeting was cut short by an icy voice on the other end.
"Mr. Wang, I am officially informing you that Apex Group is terminating all existing and future business with your company, effective immediately."
The smile on Mr. Wang's face froze, like a cheap wax figure melting under a hot lamp.
"Mr... Mr. Miller? What do you mean? We just signed the strategic partnership..."
"You lost your most important asset."
The voice on the other end was devoid of emotion, like a judge reading a verdict.
"That's all."
Beep... beep... beep...
The line went dead.
Mr. Wang stood frozen, phone in hand, his mind a complete blank.
Most important asset? What did that even mean?
Before he could process the shock, the phones in the office began to ring, one after another, as if a switch had been flipped.
His work phone, his assistant's phone, the main company line at the front desk...
Suddenly, the office was filled with a frantic, heart-stopping cacophony of ringing.
"Hello, this is..."
"Hello, this is Eastward Tech. I'm calling to inform you that we are cancelling all our current orders."
"What? Why?"
"No reason."
Mark hung up one call, his face pale, only for another to immediately come in.
"Hi, this is the procurement manager from Blue Ocean Logistics. We will not be renewing our contract for the next quarter."
"Mr. Lee! Mr. Lee! Please, let me explain!"
"There's nothing to explain. We only deal with Claire."
"Claire?"
One by one, familiar names echoed from the other end of the line.
Apex Group.
Eastward Tech.
Blue Ocean Logistics.
...
These were the crown jewels of Mr. Wang's presentations, the "loyal clients" he had bragged about countless times.
And now, as if by a coordinated signal, they were delivering the fatal blow in the coldest way possible.
Terminating partnerships.
Cancelling orders.
The smell of champagne still hung in the air, but the laughter and celebration had been replaced by a dead silence.
Only the incessant ringing of the phones, like a death knell, echoed in the hearts of everyone present.
The women's faces were stricken with panic, the men were at a complete loss.
The subordinates who had been fawning over Mr. Wang just moments before now avoided him like the plague.
Mr. Wang collapsed into his leather office chair, his eyes vacant.
His assistant, trembling, handed him an emergency report.
His gaze fell on the list of client names, crossed out in red ink, searing his eyes.
These were the "connections" and "achievements" he had been so proud of.
He had always believed these clients were loyal to him, to the company's platform.
Now, he was discovering just how wrong he had been.
"Claire..."
He mumbled her name, a dazed, uncomprehending sound.
He suddenly remembered something and, like a drowning man grasping at a straw, began frantically searching his phone for Claire's contact information.
Just then, with a loud bang, the door to the senior executive's office was kicked open.
The company founder, a normally composed man in his sixties, was red-faced, his eyes blazing with a rage that was almost palpable.
He stormed up to Mr. Wang and slammed another report onto his face.
The papers scattered to the floor like a flurry of hopeless snow.
"Wang!"
The founder's voice trembled with fury.
"Is this your idea of a huge success?!"
"Is this the regional vice presidency you brought me?!"
"Half of the company's orders... gone! In one afternoon!"

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