He Asked Where My Money Went So I Read Him The Bill

I was traveling for work. I fronted thirty-seven thousand.
Two months later, I submitted the expense reports. Finance said the receipts were non-compliant and kicked them back.
I resubmitted three times, then Finance said the VPs signature was missing.
The VP signed, then she said I had to wait for the next months cycle.
At three in the morning, my boss called, demanding I book the six a.m. flight.
I said: "Theres no money left in my account."
My boss exploded: "You cant pull together five grand? Where the hell has your money gone?"
I pulled up the reimbursement record and read it to him, transaction by transaction.
On the other end of the line, there was a silence that lasted exactly five minutes.
1
The phone vibrating shook me awake. Outside, the window was ink-black. I jolted up from the couch, grabbed the screen, and the name David Davies flashed, sending a twitch to the corner of my eye.
Three a.m.
I swiped to answer, my voice thick with sleep. Hello, Mr. Davies.
Leo, you awake? Listen, I need you to book the earliest flight to Charlotte. The six a.m. one. You have to make it. Mr. Davies voice was a rapid-fire command, too urgent to allow for a moments thought.
My brain went thrum, and the fog instantly cleared. Another emergency trip. Another fronted expense.
I gripped the phone, a second of silence hanging between us. Mr. Davies, I
No buts, Leo! This is a Code Red. The Charlotte project hit a snag, and youre the only one who can handle their technical questions. The client is waiting at nine. If youre late, the sky falls.
His voice, amplified by the speaker, was practically a roar. I could picture him pacing his bedroom, frantic.
I took a deep breath, shifting my stiff body on the cheap sofa. The studio apartment was dark, lit only by a faint, sickly glow from the street outside.
Mr. Davies, I said. I cant book the flight.
The line went dead quiet. After a few seconds, his voice returned, cold, laced with disbelief and accusation.
What does that mean? What do you mean you cant book the flight?
I have no money in my bank account.
I spoke the five words, and the energy drained out of me.
It was a profound humiliation. A man in his early thirties, at three in the morning, telling his company CEO he couldnt afford an emergency, five-hundred-dollar plane ticket.
Mr. Davies was completely ignited, his voice ratcheting up eight octaves like a string of firecrackers.
Leo! Are you messing with me? A round-trip flight to Charlotte is five hundred, maybe a thousand, tops! You cant front that? Where did all your bonuses and salary go? What, are you funding a secret family?
His venomous assumptions hit me like needles.
I didn't answer. A knot of cotton, thick and hard, was lodged in my chest.
I lowered the phone, hit the speaker button, and tossed it onto the sofa. Then I fumbled for my other, work phone on the coffee table. I unlocked it and opened the Notes app. It was a digital ledger of the past two months of my professional disgrace.
Mr. Davies, listen. My voice was eerily calm.
September third. Trip to Phoenix for project kickoff. Flight and hotel. Fronted one thousand, eight hundred, sixty dollars.
September tenth. Client dinner with the Phoenix team. Fronted two thousand, two hundred dollars.
September seventeenth. Emergency procurement of samples. Fronted three thousand, five hundred dollars.
September twenty-fifth. Return flight from Phoenix. Eight hundred, ninety dollars.
October eighth. First day after the holiday. Trip to Atlanta. Flight. One thousand, two hundred dollars.
October ninth. Client entertainment in Atlanta. Fronted four thousand dollars.
I read out the list, item by item, with zero emotion. Each line was like a small cut to my own heart. The numbers, the city names, the memory of each transaction played out like a film in my mind.
I read at a steady, measured pace. The Note contained twenty-seven entries in total, each one followed by a clear, undeniable dollar amount.
On the other end of the line, Mr. Davies breathing grew ragged. He seemed to try to interrupt, making only a quick, single syllable sound each time before I blocked him with the next expense entry.
In the dark apartment, only my cold voice and the numbers echoed.
October twenty-eighth. Just last week. Final trip to Charlotte. Round-trip flight and accommodation. Fronted three thousand, nine hundred, eighty dollars.
Total amount outstanding: thirty-seven thousand, two hundred, forty dollars.
Mr. Davies, this is all company project spending. The September reports? I submitted them three times. Veronica said the formatting was wrong. The October reports? She said I had to wait for the next cycle.
My salary is eight thousand a month. After the mortgage and car payment, whats left of my money is tied up in these outstanding reimbursements.
Right now, across three bank apps on my phone, the total balance is under fifty dollars.
So, Mr. Davies, I genuinely cannot afford the five-hundred-dollar flight.
Its not that I dont want to go. Its that I have no money to go.
I finished the last sentence and fell silent. The entire world was quiet.
On the phone, a deathly stillness.
No roaring, no questioning, not even the sound of his breath.
I stared at the ceiling, my eyes dry and aching.
Time crept by, second by second.
One minute.
Two minutes.
Three minutes.
He remained silent, like a statue. I knew he hadn't hung up; the line was still open.
This silence was heavier than any shout.
After precisely five minutes, a faint, almost inaudible sigh came through the speaker.
Then, a sharp click.
He hung up.
2
The phone screen went dark, and the room returned to the deep black.
I stayed in the same position, lying on the couch, unmoving. My body was exhausted, but my mind was perfectly clear.
That five-minute silence felt like a long, drawn-out battle. I didnt know what Mr. Davies was thinkingshock, perhaps, shame, or fury. But in that moment, I knew I had won.
Not won against my boss, but won back a sliver of my own dignity.
I sat up, poured myself a glass of cold water, and chugged it down. The icy liquid slid down my throat, dissipating some of the fire that had been burning in my chest.
What now?
Fired? Or would he send the money, only to keep me on the hook like a slave?
I didnt know, and I couldnt bring myself to care. The two-month-long tightrope Id been walking had finally snapped tonight. And with the break came a strange release.
I picked up my personal phone, opened the chat with my girlfriend, Sienna, and typed a line: Babe, I might be losing my job.
I stared at it for a moment, then deleted it, word by word.
No need to worry her yet.
The phone vibrated again. It was Mr. Davies.
I looked at the screen, hesitated, and then answered.
Leo. This time, his voice was much calmer, tinged with a weariness Id never heard before.
Im here.
You dont need to go to Charlotte, he said. Ive tasked Marcus, the VP, to figure it out.
Understood. I acknowledged it, feeling no particular emotion.
You He seemed to want to say something, then stopped. You need to get to the office. Now. Immediately.
Now? I checked the time. Three-thirty a.m.
Yes, now. Bring all your expense reports, all the original receipts, everything. His tone left no room for argument. And take a cab. Ill reimburse the fare when you get here.
Im on my way.
I hung up, stood up, and flipped on the lights.
In the harsh light, I saw my own drawn facedeep-set eyes, unshaven stubble.
I walked into the bedroom, pulled open a drawer, and took out a thick manila envelope. I dumped the contents onto the bed.
Invoices, statements, meal receipts, taxi slipspiled up like a small mountain. Each one was paper-clipped to a small note detailing the date and purpose.
I had tried to submit them three times. Each time, Veronica, the finance manager, had found a new, petty reason to reject them.
The vendor name on this invoice isnt the full company name. Needs to be a corporate title.
These taxi receipts are sequential. That's non-compliant.
This dinner receipt lacks an itemized statement. Cant accept it.
Mr. Davies signature here is illegible. Auditors will flag it. Get a clearer one.
Each time, I had to carry the stack of papers around like a supplicant, chasing down executives and department heads for re-signatures, re-attachments, and re-submissions. And each time, she found a new flaw.
I restacked all the documents, put them back into the envelope, and held it to my chest like a ticking bomb.
Downstairs, I called a cab. The night air was cold, making me shiver.
The driver asked, Where to, boss?
The Apex Building.
Thirty minutes later, the cab stopped outside the office tower. I paid the fare and walked into the deserted lobby. Only the security desk was lit.
I swiped my keycard and went up. Sixteenth floor. The entire floor was pitch black, save for a sliver of light spilling from Mr. Davies corner office.
I pushed the door open. Mr. Davies was sitting behind his desk, a cigarette pinched between his fingers. The ashtray was overflowing with butts.
He looked up, gave a slight lift of his chin, and gestured for me to sit.
Did you bring the documents?
I placed the manila envelope on the desk in front of him.
He didn't touch it. He just stared at me, his eyes clouded with a complex mix of emotions. Leo, why didnt you tell me sooner?
I tried to smile, but it felt forced, brittle.
Mr. Davies, I did. I mentioned it last monththe pressure from fronting funds, the slow reimbursement cycle. You said you knew, and youd push Finance.
He froze, trying to recall the moment.
Do you remember? In the break room, after I finished briefing you on the project, I added it at the end. You were on a call and just waved your hand at me.
Mr. Davies face changed. He remembered.
He crushed out his cigarette, lit another one, and took a long, hard drag.
Was it Veronica who was holding up the process?
I dont know if she was deliberately holding me up. I just know that the reports I submitted two months ago still havent been processed for a single penny.
Mr. Davies was silent for a beat. He picked up my work phone from the desk and dialed a number.
Veronica! Get your ass down to the office! Now! Im giving you thirty minutes. If youre not here, dont bother coming in tomorrow!
He roared into the phone, the veins in his neck bulging.
He slammed the phone onto the desk, his chest heaving.
I watched him. I felt no satisfaction, only a profound sense of sorrow.
Why wait until now?
3
The wait for Veronica was filled with a deathly quiet. Mr. Davies chain-smoked, and the office was shrouded in a gray haze.
I remained silent, watching the sky outside gradually change from inky black to slate-blue.
The events of the past two months played out in my mind like a fast-forwarded film.
The first time I handed the September reports to Veronica. She was in her mid-thirties, well-groomed, with a perpetually polite, professional smile.
She took the stack, briefly flipped through, and smiled. Leo, your filing isnt compliant. Look, receipts need to be ordered chronologically, from top to bottom, smallest amount to largest.
I hadn't thought much of it then, assuming I was inexperienced. I immediately apologized, took them back, and reorganized.
The second time, she smiled again. Oh, dear. Youve written the amount wrong. See here? This is three hundred sixty-five dollars and fifty cents. It must be written out fullyThree Hundred Sixty-Five Dollars and Fifty Cents. One misplaced word and our strict compliance rules reject it.
I took them back to correct the handwriting.
The third time, she finally conceded the formatting was okay, but then pointed to a dinner receipt. This wont work. Company policy: any single meal expense over fifty dollars requires an itemized statement.
I explained, Veronica, this was a quick meal with the client, no detailed receipt was provided by the restaurant.
Her smile grew sweeter. Then Im afraid its unacceptable. Without the detail, the external auditors will flag it. Youll have to find a way to get one.
I went back to the restaurant; they said their system couldn't generate one.
I returned to Veronica, and she spread her hands. My hands are tied. Policy is policy.
That day, I stood in her office doorway for ten minutes. She just watched me with that serene smile, her eyes entirely devoid of warmth.
In that moment, I suspected she was doing this on purpose.
Later, I had to get a special waiver from Mr. Davies just to clear that single receipt.
But in October, she found new games to play.
Mr. Davies signature is too messy. What if the auditors accuse us of forging a signature? You need to go get a clean, clear one.
I waited outside Mr. Davies office for two hours until his meeting was over, then carefully asked him to sign the form again.
Once submitted, she returned it again. Wait. Your approval flow is incorrect. The department head signs first, then Mr. Davies. You reversed the order. Do it over.
I wanted to smash the stack of papers in my hand against her face.
But I held back. I needed this job. I needed the paycheck.
I even wondered if I had offended her somehow. Id brought her a gift from an out-of-town trip; she smiled and accepted it, only to tell me during my next reimbursement attempt that my long-distance train ticket was handwritten and non-compliantit had to be machine-printed.
Meanwhile, another colleague, Mitcha distant cousin of Mr. Davies wifewalked in. I personally witnessed him handing Veronica a crumpled, handwritten slip of paper that read: Office supplies: Five hundred.
Veronica didn't even look at it. She simply pulled five hundred dollars in cash from her drawer and handed it to him, saying with a wink, Mitch, try to write legibly next time, okay?
Mitch pocketed the cash and gave me a smug look.
In that split second, all the humiliation and fury boiled to the surface.
Why?
Just because I lacked connections, lacked a safety net, just because I was an ordinary guy trying to make it in the citydid that mean I deserved to be abused like this?
I started secretly collecting evidence.
The time of every submission, the reason for every rejection, every instance of her differential treatmentI used my phone to record audio or take screenshots.
I wasnt sure what Id use them for. I just knew, instinctively, that they might be necessary someday.
I even considered reporting her to Mr. Davies, but like in the break room, he was too busy. Too preoccupied to listen to the grievances of a low-level employee. In his world, there were multi-million-dollar contracts and projects a hundred times more important than my little problem.
He wasn't evil. He was just indifferent.
Just like his questioning on the phone, Where the hell has your money gone? He never considered that his employee might be financially ruined because he was fronting the companys operating costs.
Creak
The office door opened, and Veronica appeared in the frame.
She had obviously rushed here; her hair was a mess, and her face showed remnants of sleep and annoyance.
When she saw me, her eyes flashed with surprise, but she quickly masked it with that familiar, professional, fake smile.
Mr. Davies, calling me in so late? Whats the emergency? she asked in a saccharine tone, acting as if she were completely unaware of what was happening.
I looked at her and felt that the woman was terrifying. She was like a snakebeautifully colored, but utterly poisonous.
4
Mr. Davies didn't look at her. He pointed at the manila envelope on the desk, his voice like ice.
Veronica. Explain this to me. What is going on?
Veronicas gaze fell on the envelope, and the smile on her face stiffened. She walked over, picked up the folder, and slowly began flipping through the documents.
She turned the pages one by one, very slowly.
The office was so quiet I could hear the shush-shush of her fingernails against the paper.
Oh, these are Leos expense reports. She finally spoke, her tone light, as if discussing the weather. I was just about to process them. It hasnt hit the end-of-month closing date yet.
I let out a low, cold laugh.
Mr. Davies snapped his head up and glared at her. Not hit the closing date? The September reports, and its now the end of October? And youre telling me it hasnt hit the closing date?
Veronica seemed startled by the intensity of his rage, but she quickly regained her composure, adopting an injured expression.
Mr. Davies, you know our compliance is very strict. Leos his submissions had too many issues. Non-compliant here, missing documentation there. I was protecting the company! If an external audit finds an issue, Im the one on the hook.
As she spoke, she glanced at me, her eyes holding a touch of reproach, as if I were the clueless troublemaker.
Too many issues? Mr. Davies picked up my work phone, which I had left on the desk, opened the Notes app, and threw it in front of her. Look for yourself. Does this list accurately reflect the issues you raised?
Veronica picked up the phone, and her face instantly drained of color.
The list was written in plain, clear detail:
Sept 20. Submitted. Veronica said receipt gluing was non-compliant. Rejected.
Sept 25. Second submission. Veronica said capital letters for the amount were incorrect. Rejected.
Oct 9. Third submission. Veronica said meal receipt lacked itemized statement. Rejected.
Oct 15. Submitted October reports. Veronica said executive signature order was incorrect. Rejected.
Oct 22. Resubmitted. Veronica claimed one cab receipt showed evidence of alteration. Entire batch rejected.
Line after line, item after item, they stood as carved indictments.
Veronicas face ran the gamut of emotions, from red to white to a sickly green. Her hands began to shake, her lips trembled, and she couldnt utter a single word.
Veronica. Mr. Davies voice was squeezed through clenched teeth. Im asking you one more time. Did you do this?
I I Cold sweat beaded on Veronicas forehead. She looked at me desperately, her eyes pleading.
I ignored her and simply kept my gaze fixed on Mr. Davies.
I wasnt here to argue with her today. I was here to resolve a problem.
Mr. Davies, I have a little more you might want to see.
I pulled out my personal phone and opened a folder.
Inside were several audio clips and one video.
I played an audio clip first.
It was my conversation with Veronica.
Veronica, I genuinely cant get an itemized receipt for this fast-food place. They said their system doesn't generate one.
Then my hands are tied. Policy is policy. Leo, Im not singling you out. Anyone else would face the same standards. Her gentle, warm voice played back from the phone.
I immediately followed it with the video.
The footage was slightly shaky; I had covertly recorded it near the finance office doorway.
In the frame, Mitch, the bosss nephew, was handing Veronica that handwritten IOUthe white bar receiptgrinning.
Veronica, need a cash advance.
You little spender. Veronica smiled, counted five hundred dollars in cash from her drawer, and handed it to him without even glancing at the note.
The video finished playing.
You could hear a pin drop in the office.
Veronicas face was utterly colorless, like a blank sheet of paper. She slumped in the chair, her gaze vacant.
Mr. Davies stared at her, his eyes blazing. He picked up the ashtray on his desk, seemingly intending to throw it, but stopped halfway and slammed it down.
Veronica, he said, his voice flat and deliberate. You are truly something else.
He stood up and began pacing the office, like a caged animal.
The life and death of his entire company rested on his shoulders, and his trusted Finance Manager had been using this petty, underhanded method to force out his most capable employee.
He stopped, turning to face me, his eyes showing a seriousness I had never seen before.
Leo, I apologize.
He said it.
This was my failure.
Then, he turned to Veronica, his voice devoid of all emotion.
Right now. Calculate every single one of Leos outstanding reimbursements. To the penny. Then, transfer the full amount to his account. From your personal funds.
Veronica snapped her head up, unable to believe her ears. Mr. Davies! I I dont have that kind of money!
I dont care what you have! Mr. Davies slammed his hand on the desk. Embezzlement, misappropriation of company fundsthats your problem! Leos account must reflect that money by six a.m. this morning! Otherwise, youll face the full consequences!
He pointed a shaking finger at her.
And that Charlotte project? You go. Now.

First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "334483" to read the entire book.