Cash Mountain Vigil: The “Reset” Reward

This year, the finance team saved the company $4.2 million in taxes and recovered $28 million in bad debt.

The night before the Christmas gala, the CEO had us stack $7 million in cash in the conference room and guard it overnight.

Grace, he said with a smile, Ive got a special prize for the finance team tomorrow!

That night, we took turns using the bathroom, staring at the money.

Emily, our intern, whispered, "This much cash it has a smell, right? A good one. Maybe well each get a bundle?"

I just smiled. With our frugal CEO, wed be lucky to get a $500 bonus.

At the gala, sales stuffed cash into bags, with the top seller taking home $280,000.

Then it was our turn. The CEO handed me a cheap plastic gadget that chirped, "Reset! Reset!"

"The finance team works the hardest," he said. "So, I got you all a new calculator to make your work faster and your overtime shorter!"

1

"BeepReset! Reset!"

The room erupted in thunderous laughter, the sound so loud it felt like it could tear the roof off the ballroom.

Alex, the head of sales, laughed the loudest. He was still holding his duffel bag overflowing with cash, pointing at us. "Mr. Jackson, that gift is brilliant!" he roared. "Get the bean counters to wipe last year's slate clean! Time to start fresh next year, do more work, and stop making trouble for the rest of us!"

This was the "special prize." This was the "surprise" we'd earned after guarding his money all night, holding our bladders until they nearly burst.

Last night, after everyone left, the building's heating was shut off. It was fifteen degrees in that conference room. To guard the seven million dollars he wanted to "show off," the five of us huddled in oversized coats, taking shifts to watch the money, terrified to even take a bathroom break.

Emily, the intern, had fallen asleep on the pile of cash and drooled on it. She woke up in a panic, her face pale with fear that she'd be docked pay for damaging the bills. Our senior accountant, Sarah, who suffers from a severe herniated disc, sat bolt upright on a hard chair all night. This morning, she could barely walk straight.

We had guarded a mountain of gold, only to be publicly executed for it.

"Mr. Jackson."

I took a step forward, walking to the microphone. The laughter died down a little, but the malicious stares still felt like needles piercing my skin.

Mr. Jackson looked at me, his eyes full of amusement. "What is it, Grace? Too excited? No need to thank me. It's just a little something from the company. A good craftsman needs the best tools, right?"

"We don't want a token gesture. We want fairness." I stared at him, suppressing the inferno of rage in my chest.

"This year, the finance department saved this company $4.2 million through completely legal tax planning."

"Last month, our entire department spent two weeks in the freezing snow, tracking down a debtor to recover a $28 million bad debt. We were chased by dogs and had dirty water thrown on us."

"The sales department took home their five percent commission. They deserved it. They're the heroes."

"But what about us?"

"We guarded seven million dollars of your cash all night, and all we get is a five-dollar calculator you probably bought on Amazon?"

The room went quiet for a few seconds. The smile on Mr. Jackson's face faded. He spoke slowly, deliberately.

"Grace, your math is wrong."

He picked up his own microphone, addressing the entire company in a paternal tone. "The finance department certainly works hard, but everyone needs to understand the basic logic here."

"The sales team fights on the front lines. They are the rainmakers who bring money into this company!"

"And you in finance? You're the support staff. The housekeepers. The money was always the company's. The bad debt was recovered because our legal team is intimidating. The tax savings were because of favorable government policies."

He sneered. "You just push a few buttons on a calculator. And for that, you think you deserve a cut worth millions?"

"The receptionist pushes the elevator button for me every day. Should I give her company shares, too?"

Another wave of laughter exploded through the room, this time more vicious and unrestrained.

"Yeah, finance is always a pain in the ass. Getting an expense report approved is like pulling teeth, and now they want a commission?"

"Mr. Jackson's right. They're just a bunch of number-crunchers. They produce nothing but want a piece of the pie? They must be crazy!"

The humiliation slapped me across the face. I could feel my team behind me, trembling with suppressed rage. I could even hear Emily sniffling.

"Fine."

I nodded, then slammed the calculator down on the podium with a loud crack.

"Since Mr. Jackson thinks all we do is push buttons, this gift is far too valuable. We can't accept it."

With that, I turned to my team, their eyes red and brimming with tears.

"Let's go."

2

The moment we stepped out of the hotel, the cold wind hit me, and I realized my back was drenched in a cold sweat.

"Grace, I'm so sorry, I couldn't hold it in..." Emily squatted by the roadside, sobbing uncontrollably. "My mom's surgery is next week..."

"The doctor said we need to have fourteen thousand dollars ready. I was counting on my bonus... I thought I'd get at least five or six thousand. With my savings, it would have been just enough..."

"Stop crying." Sarah pulled a tissue from her purse and roughly wiped Emily's tears, though her own hand was shaking. "Who are you crying for? Didn't you hear Alex and the others? We're just parasites!"

"But Sarah..." Emily looked up, her makeup a mess. "That $4.2 million tax plan... Grace, you went through dozens of drafts to get that right! That $28 million... Grace led us and fought like hell to get it back..."

"How can they say it had nothing to do with us?" she wailed. "When we started the project, Mr. Jackson promised us a one percent commission!"

I remained silent, pulling a cigarette from my pocket and lighting it. He probably made that promise because he never believed we could actually pull it off.

Ping.

A notification lit up Sarah's phone. A payment reminder for her son's private school tuition. She quickly turned off the screen, avoiding my gaze.

"I'll figure out the money," I said, looking back at the hotel. "What belongs to us, no one can take away. Everyone go home, get some sleep. Be at the office on time tomorrow."

The next morning, I arrived an hour early.

The door to Mr. Jackson's office was ajar. The room was thick with smoke and echoing with boisterous laughter.

"Mr. Jackson, that move last night was genius!"

"You should have seen the faces on those women in finance! They looked like they were going to be sick, hahaha!"

"It's about time someone put them in their place. They scrutinize every single one of my expense reports. That should shut them up!"

"Hmph. A bunch of penny-pinching vultures. They even question how I spend my own money," Mr. Jackson's voice was cold. "If they weren't still somewhat useful, I wouldn't have even wasted the five bucks on them."

"By the way, that 'AI Finance' system... how are the talks with that vendor going?"

"All settled!"

"It's only twenty-five thousand a year for the service. So much cheaper than keeping these freeloaders around! And it's smart AI. It listens. It doesn't cause trouble."

I stood at the door, my hand frozen on the handle.

So that was it.

It wasn't a joke to liven up the party. It wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision.

It was a premeditated execution. Humiliate us first, force us to quit, so he wouldn't even have to pay severance.

I threw the door open.

The laughter inside stopped abruptly.

Seeing it was me, the flicker of panic on Mr. Jackson's face turned to annoyance. "Don't you know how to knock? Where are your manners?"

Alex was lounging on the sofa, his legs crossed, a smirk on his face. "Well, well, if it isn't our esteemed Director of Finance. What's wrong? Your calculator break? Want me to get the sales team to pitch in for a new one?"

I ignored the barking dog and walked straight to Mr. Jackson's desk, planting my hands on it and staring him down.

"Mr. Jackson, since you clearly think the finance department is useless, we'll get out of your way."

"This is our severance proposal. Standard severance package, plus the bad debt commission you promised. Not a penny less."

"Sign it, and we're gone. We'll make room for your AI."

I slapped the proposal, which I had printed overnight, onto his desk.

Mr. Jackson glanced at the number and his eye twitched.

"Three hundred thousand dollars in commission? Grace, are you robbing me?"

"Is it too much?" I sneered. "Alex alone walked away with a bonus nearly that size yesterday. This is for our entire department of five. Compared to the $28 million we recovered, this is pocket change."

"That's the company's money!" Mr. Jackson slammed his mug on the desk. "Grace, don't push your luck. You want to leave? Fine! Write your resignation letters and get the hell out! You want severance? Not a chance in hell!"

"So, there's no room for discussion?"

3

"Discussion? What right do you have to discuss anything with me?" Mr. Jackson stood up, grabbing a stack of files and throwing them at me. "Believe it or not, I can have security throw you out right now!"

"Publicly insubordinate, terrible work attitude," he snarled. "You're fired! And you're getting nothing!"

Alex chuckled from the side. "You hear that? Get lost before you embarrass yourself further."

I looked at Mr. Jackson's contorted face and suddenly smiled. The smile made him pause.

"Mr. Jackson, you seem to have forgotten something," I said softly. "People in finance... we love keeping records. And we're even better at digging up old ones."

"If you want to do this the easy way, we'll follow labor laws. But if you want to do this the hard way..."

"Then we can help you remember exactly how that $4.2 million in tax savings was planned."

Without waiting to see his face change color, I turned and left.

Back in the finance department, the atmosphere was heavy. Every computer screen was black.

"Grace..." Emily ran over, her voice choked with tears. "I can't log in. It says my access is frozen. And HR just came by and told us to pack our personal belongings by the end of the day..."

"Stay calm." I patted her shoulder. "Where's Sarah?"

"In the small conference room. Linda is talking to her."

Linda, the HR Director. The woman who was always smiling and talking about "company culture" was now acting as Mr. Jackson's executioner.

I pushed open the conference room door.

Sarah was huddled in a corner, her hair a mess, looking ten years older.

Linda sat across from her, casually twirling a pen. Two unfamiliar men in black suits sat beside her.

"...Sarah, you need to think this through," Linda's voice was as gentle as ever. "This is embezzlement. It's cooking the books. If the company presses charges, not only will you have to pay back every salary you've ever earned, but you'll also do a few years in prison."

"Your son is about to apply to high school, isn't he? If his permanent record shows his mother is a felon, his life is ruined."

"Stop it! Stop it!" Sarah covered her ears, breaking down into hysterical sobs. "I'll sign! I'll sign the voluntary resignation! Please, just don't call the police!"

"There now, that's better," Linda smiled, pushing a document toward her.

"Hold on!" I rushed forward, snatched the paper, and tore it in half. "Linda, who do you think you're scaring?"

I stood in front of Sarah, glaring at her. "Those transactions were personally authorized by Mr. Jackson! To evade taxes, he had Sarah split the business across five shell corporations! He signed off on every single step!"

Linda shot me a disdainful look, slowly brushing the paper scraps off her suit. "Grace, I knew you'd be difficult."

She waved her hand, and the two men in suits stood up, blocking our way. Linda pulled another document from her folder and tossed it at me.

"You don't have to sign. You can sue. But let me remind you, the legal representative of those shell corporations is that junior accountant who quit six months ago. As the head of finance, do you think you can walk away clean?"

"As for Mr. Jackson's signature... what proof do you have that those are the originals? I can print as many of those as I want."

My heart sank. So that was their endgame. The junior accountant was a distant relative of Jackson's. The trap had been set months ago. They had planted a landmine right under our department, and we were the perfect scapegoats.

"And," Linda leaned in, her voice a low whisper, "that AI finance team has already taken over the backend data. All the operation logs on your computers have been wiped. Grace, what exactly are you going to fight the company with?"