So Done With 3 Years of Free Labor

"Warren, are you deaf?"

Marcus Reed's spit sprayed across my face. "You're handing over that hundred grand today!"

Tiffany Collins stood with a folder hugged to her chest, her mouth curling. "There were twelve of us on that project team. What gives you the right to keep it all?"

That was when Manager Gerald Dawson pushed through the crowd, playing peacemaker. "Warren, this isn't like you. I don't know how you got that bonus approved without going through me, but we're all colleagues here. Hand it over, split it evenly across the department, throw in a token payment for everyone's hurt feelings, and I'll personally see to it you get promoted next year."

I looked at the faces in front of me and snorted out of exasperation.

"Hurt feelings? Whose feelings, exactly?"

Marcus slapped his palm against the edge of my monitor. "Ours, obviously! You think you can pocket all that money and treat the rest of us like idiots?"

A chorus of agreement rose around me.

"Exactly, playing the good little worker bee all this time and then hogging everything the second it mattered."

"His skills are garbage. He's got some nerve taking that bonus."

I let my eyes drift over their faces.

Three years ago, Marcus had been a nobody, fresh out of his junior role. He used to crouch by my desk, hand me a latte, and grin so wide his whole face creased. "Warren, help me with my presentation slides, please? My girlfriend's waiting for me to get off work."

For that one favor, I'd worked until four in the morning.

Last month, Tiffany had called me in tears. "Warren, I've got a fever, and the client needs the final draft. Can you send it over for me?"

She hadn't written a single word of that draft. I'd pulled an all-nighter redoing the whole thing so she wouldn't fall behind. When she woke up, she collected the client's five-thousand-dollar final payment and sent me ten dollars as a "thank you."

And Manager Dawson was the worst of all. At last year's company banquet, he'd walked away with "Manager of the Year." Every chart, every slide in that presentation had been mine—three sleepless nights of work. I remembered him standing on stage, glowing with pride, while I clapped in the audience until my hands hurt.

Now the three of them had me cornered at my desk, giving me an ultimatum: hand over the entire hundred-thousand-dollar bonus, or pay them two hundred thousand in damages.

I smiled.

"Fine," I said. "Tomorrow morning, at the main conference room, I'll give you my answer."

Marcus froze, clearly thrown off by the fact that I wasn't crying or making a scene. He caught himself and grabbed a fistful of my backpack strap. "Don't even think about running. I'm locking your computer tonight, just so you can't go back on your word."

Tiffany chimed in with a jab of her own. "That's right. I already had IT freeze your account access. Until this is settled, you're not doing a damn thing."

I stood up, and at five foot eleven, I had a good half a head on him.

"Marcus," I said, "that line in your performance review—'driving business growth through data'—I wrote that for you. Remember?"

His grip loosened.

I picked up my bag, shouldered past him, and walked out of the office. Behind me, Marcus's voice rose into a shout.

"Keep acting tough! See how tough you are when you show up with no money tomorrow. I'll make sure you can't work in this industry again!"

Whispers followed me out. I didn't look back. I stepped into the elevator and pulled out my phone to check the company group chat, which was already blowing up with people talking about me.

Marcus: [Some people are dead weight, dragging the team down for three years, and now they think one lucky bonus makes them hot stuff. Tomorrow, he's going to learn what teamwork means.]

A dozen or so replies followed—popcorn emojis, "lol," that kind of thing.

I smirked, opened my photo album, and dropped a screenshot into the chat. It showed my computer screen: a black interface, one line of white text glowing in the center.

[Full package generation complete. Time elapsed: 0.3 seconds. Quality rating: S+.]

The chat went silent for three seconds. Then it exploded.

Marcus fired back instantly: [Warren, what are you trying to pull? Bragging about a powerpoint template in the middle of the night?]

Tiffany: [Are you okay? Showing off how fast you are?]

Someone else chimed in: [Isn't that just AI-generated art? You can get that free online.]

I typed back with one hand: [Tomorrow, in the conference room, I'll show you all personally how this "free template" works. Don't be late.]

I locked my phone and flagged down a cab.

Tomorrow, nobody was getting off easy.