Chapter 1
I arrived right on time for my first day as an intern.
The moment I sat down, my boss tagged me in the group chat: [Cutting it close. That's a $10 donation.]
I stared at the screen, stunned. I wasn't even late, and I was only making 120 dollars a day. Was he seriously docking my pay like this?
I tried to explain right away, but he kept tagging me: [Talking back to your boss. That's another $20 donation.]
I shot back: [This is just arbitrary deductions!]
But he lost it, spamming the group chat.
Richard: [Bad attitude. $30.]
Richard: [Refusing to admit fault. $50.]
Richard: [Still not learning. $80.]
In just a few minutes, I'd lost most of my day's pay.
I couldn't help but laugh, already reaching for my bag, ready to walk out.
But then he tagged me again: [Don't forget, this internship is for credit, and I have your evaluation form right here.]
That's when it hit me. He'd been waiting for me to slip up.
What he didn't know was that this branch was actually run by my dad. My advisor had just happened to send me here.
*****
I was probably the first intern to ever grow a spine and flip the script on the boss on day one.
The entire floor went graveyard silent. Everyone buried their faces in their monitors, frantically typing or scrolling, terrified to catch the fallout.
It wasn't until my whole month's paycheck had been "donated" that May Stevens, the woman in the next cubicle, finally yanked on my sleeve.
She whispered, "Just drop it, sweetie. A dozen interns tried to play hero before you, and they all walked away with zero pay and a black mark on their performance reviews.
"You aren't beating Richard. He is tight with everyone from HR to the VP; they've all got each other's backs. If we want to keep our jobs, we just have to swallow the crap."
Right then, Richard started tagging the whole department in the Slack channel again.
Richard: [Emily Brown is the gold standard for how not to act. If anyone else wants to tank their career, be my guest!]
Richard: [But look, the money we collect from you guys goes right back into the team. This afternoon, I am using it to buy everyone a Starbucks.]
Watching his pathetic two-faced routine made my stomach turn, like I had just downed a mouthful of sour milk.
I was so livid that my hands were shaking as I hammered out the text.
Emily: [Yeah, right. "For the people"? Give me a damn break! Look at your bloated, greasy self in the mirror. We all know exactly whose pocket that cash is lining.]
But just as my thumb hovered over the send button, I froze.
No, it was not time to burn the bridge just yet.
My dad was still overseas on business, and it would be a while before he could fly back to clean house.
Besides, Richard had a whole old boys' club shielding him; I needed to drag every last one of his cronies out into the light first.
I forced a deep breath, deleted the bridge-burning insults, and pivoted to a professional chill.
Emily: [Richard, I hear you loud and clear. I hope the rest of the team learns from my "mistake" as well.]
Emily: [By the way, is there an official audit trail for these donations? Like a spreadsheet showing the buy-in, the itemized spending, and the current balance?]
Emily: [Since you're using me as a textbook example, shouldn't we keep the books public and transparent?]
After I fired that off, Richard went radio silent.
It took me tagging him three times before he finally shot back, sounding totally annoyed: [No need. I've got the numbers tracked in my head.]
I didn't miss a beat: [I can help with that. I'll set up a proper SOP.]
The second that message hit the channel, the group chat exploded.
Colleague: [I'm in!]
Colleague: [Sounds like a plan to me.]
Colleague: [Totally. Transparency is always better for the team.]
Richard went dead quiet again.
It took ten minutes of me blowing up his notifications before he finally buckled and replied: [Forget it. Just stay in your lane and focus on your actual job.]
I wasn't about to back down.
Emily: [I'm just looking out for the firm. If we have a clear paper trail, it serves as a real deterrent and keeps everyone efficient, right?]
One by one, the rest of the office started chiming in, flooding the thread with thumbs-up emojis and "I second that."
Since the timing was perfect, I dropped a link to a Google Sheet I'd already drafted right into the Slack channel.
Emily: [Spreadsheet is live. From now on, anyone can log the monthly intake and the burn rate. This is what actual transparency looks like—of the employees, by the employees.]
The thread immediately blew up with thumbs-up and fire emojis.
I tagged Richard again: [Richard, does this system meet your standards?]
He went completely ghost.
I uploaded another PDF to the chat: [Donation Policy.]
The office, which had been eerie and silent, suddenly hit a breaking point—one guy started snickering, then a girl joined in, and within seconds the whole floor was howling, unable to keep a straight face.
The file read: [Arriving on time: $15 donation.]
[Attempting to explain yourself to the boss: $30 donation.]
[Speaking to the boss like a normal human being: $120 donation.]
A split second later, the office door was kicked open with a violent slam.
A guy built like a feral hog, his face a terrifying shade of crimson and veins popping in his neck, charged straight for my desk. "Are you even capable of doing your damn job? If not, get the hell out of my building right now!"