Chapter 1

"You haven't contributed much," he said.

At the company's annual party, everyone got a bonus.

When I opened mine, all I found was a blank sheet of paper.

On it, someone had written just four words, "Keep working harder."

On stage, Edward Horton, my supervisor's son, was giving his award speech.

He said, "Thanks to the company, thanks to the team. This algorithm is the result of three years of hard work..."

A screenshot of code flashed across the big screen.

There was a watermark in the bottom right corner.

CY-0217. That was my ID number.

*****

My name was Jace Chandler, 38 years old.

I had been working at CloudTrace Tech for a full decade.

Ten years ago, I was the 17th employee, with the ID number CY-0217.

Back then, the company was still operating out of a residential house, and there wasn't even air conditioning.

I single-handedly wrote the company's very first core algorithm.

That algorithm later became the lifeblood of the company. It raked in about 80 million dollars every year.

But somehow, none of that ever really felt like it had anything to do with me.

After the annual party, I headed back to my cubicle, still holding that empty slip.

My cubicle was stuck beside the restroom. This was my eighth move.

The first time, I had a spot by the window. Then next to the break room. Then the stairwell. The fourth time...

I stopped keeping count after that.

"Jace, why are you here?" Vincent asked.

Vincent Stone, the new intern, passed by with a coffee in hand, looking genuinely surprised.

"This is my cubicle," I replied.

"Wait, really?" Vincent scratched his head. "I thought this was the storage room..."

I smiled quietly, saying nothing.

I turned on my computer, and the code I'd written yesterday was still on the screen.

It was an optimization for a data cleaning module. It could boost the system's efficiency by 12%. I'd spent three days coding and two sleepless nights testing it.

But I knew the credit wouldn't be mine. Because in the end, my code always gets credited to someone else.

"Jace." The voice came from behind me.

I turned around. It was Lewis Horton, the technical director. He was my direct supervisor. And he was Edward's father.

"Mr. Horton," I said.

Lewis smiled and said, "You did pretty well at the annual party, didn't you?"

"Yeah, it was alright," I replied.

He asked, "Did you catch Edward's speech?"

I said, "Yeah, I saw it."

Lewis said, "What did you think? Pretty impressive, huh? That kid's really grown a lot these past few years."

I didn't say anything.

Lewis patted my shoulder. "Jace, you've been here a long time. There's something you should understand by now."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

He said calmly, "Tech is a team effort, not just one person's achievement. Edward presented and promoted your algorithm really well. That takes skill too."

I nodded. "Yes."

Lewis added, "You need to broaden your perspective."

"All right," I replied.

Lewis left, looking satisfied.

I sat at my desk, staring at that blank slip that read, "Keep working harder."

I had those same words for ten years. Every year at the annual party, I got the same words.

The first year, I thought it was meant to motivate me. The second year, it felt more like a consolation. By the third year, I started to doubt it.

The fourth year, I wanted to ask why. By the fifth year, I didn't want to ask anymore. Because I knew asking wouldn't change anything.

By 9 pm, after working late, I headed home.

My wife, Lenka Weiss, was watching TV in the living room.

"You're back?" she asked.

I replied, "Yeah."

"How was the annual party?" she asked.

I handed her the blank sheet.

Lenka glanced at it, and her face darkened. "This again?"

"Yeah," I replied.

She asked, "What about this year's bonus?"

I said, "They haven't given it out yet."

She pressed, "How much did you get last year?"

"Four thousand dollars," I replied.

Lenka was quiet for a moment. "My coworker's husband works at a small company. He got a bonus of 20 thousand dollars. He's only been there three years."

I didn't say anything.

She looked at me. "Jace, what do you even mean to them at your company?"

She'd asked me that question so many times before. I had never been able to answer, because I didn't know myself.

"Didn't your algorithm bring in a ton of money for the company?" Lenka asked.

I replied, "Yeah."

"Then why..." she hesitated.

"Because it's not really my algorithm," I said, feeling a bit bitter.

Lenka looked stunned. "What do you mean?"

I said, "In the company's documents, the developer of that algorithm is Edward."

"Who's Edward?" she asked.

I replied, "Lewis's son."

"Who's Lewis?" she asked.

I said, "My supervisor."

Lenka's face twisted with emotion. "So, the stuff you created ended up becoming your boss's son's achievement?"

"Yeah," I said.

She pressed, "Why didn't you speak up?"

"Would it have mattered?" I replied.

Lenka opened her mouth, but didn't say anything.

I walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind me.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Ten years. I had been at this company for ten years. From age 28 to 38.

I gave the best years of my life to this company. And what did I get in return? A cubicle next to the restroom. A blank slip with "Keep working harder" written on it. And a credit that would never be mine.

My phone buzzed. It was a message.