Part 1Not One Penny Less

“Your expense reports? They’re gone.”

Brenda, the Director of Finance, delivered the line with the same flat tone one might use to comment on the weather.

I stared at her.

Three hundred days on the road. Sixty-eight thousand dollars I’d fronted. Eighty-six flight receipts. A hundred and ninety-four hotel invoices. All neatly cataloged in the photo album on my phone, organized by date.

“Gone?” I let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Right. Fine.”

Brenda blinked, momentarily surprised.

She’d expected me to panic.

* * *

The conference room air conditioning was cranked up too high.

I sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, facing Vanessa Hall, the HR Manager, and my direct superior, Rick Peterson.

“Amy, as you know, the company is undergoing some restructuring,” Rick began, his tone overly casual, like we were discussing weekend plans. “Unfortunately, your role is on the optimization list.”

I didn’t react.

“It’s certainly not about your performance, of course,” he added quickly. “It’s a functional adjustment. Unavoidable.”

Vanessa slid a document across the table. “This is the separation agreement. Please take a look, and if everything seems right, you can sign.”

I glanced down.

The agreement stated: Mutual consent to terminate the employment contract. Severance: N.

“What is N?” I asked.

“You’ve been with the company for three years, so that’s three months’ salary,” Vanessa replied, her expression businesslike. “The company is being very generous.”

Three years.

A number flashed in my mind: 300 days.

In those three years, I had spent 300 days on the road.

I didn’t touch the agreement.

“What about the expenses?”

Vanessa and Rick exchanged a swift look.

“What expenses?” Rick asked.

“The travel costs I fronted,” I said. “Sixty-eight thousand dollars.”

The room went silent for two seconds.

“That’s a Finance department issue,” Rick said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s out of our jurisdiction.”

“I already went to Finance,” I told him. “Brenda said the receipts were lost.”

Rick frowned. “Well, then you’ll need to resubmit the paperwork.”

“Resubmit what?”

“The invoices,” Vanessa chimed in. “You know the procedure, Amy. No receipts, no reimbursement.”

“The receipts are right here.”

I cut her off.

Both of them looked at me.

“Every single flight, every hotel invoice, every meal receipt—I have a photo, stored by date,” I said. “Three hundred days, I didn’t miss a single one.”

Vanessa’s expression stiffened.

Rick cleared his throat. “That’s good. Just give the material to Finance, and they’ll verify it.”

“Verify what?” I asked. “I submitted this material last year. Finance said there was a ‘system upgrade’ and the files were lost, so I resubmitted. Then they said the receipts were ‘non-compliant,’ so I re-taped and re-submitted. And now they say they’re lost again?”

Rick remained silent.

“Rick, let me ask you a direct question,” I looked straight at him. “Is the company simply unwilling to reimburse the $68,000, or are you unable to?”

His face flushed slightly.

“Amy, that’s an inappropriate question,” he said. “The company doesn’t shortchange employees. But everything has to follow proper channels, you have to understand—”

“I understand,” I nodded. “Then I will also follow proper channels.”

I stood up, picked up the separation agreement, and placed it back on the table.

“I’m not signing this.”

I turned and walked out.

Back at my cubicle, I started to pack up my things.

My phone screen lit up. A text from my mother: Coming home for dinner tonight?

I typed: Working late, can’t make it.

Then I deleted it and changed it to: Yes.

I certainly wouldn’t be working late tonight.

Halfway through packing, Jess Miller, the young associate from the next cubicle, leaned over.

“Amy, they ‘fired’ you too?”

“Yep.”

“I knew it. They’ve been cutting people left and right.” Jess lowered her voice. “Did you hear about old man Harrison in Sales? He’s been here eight years. Gone.”

I just hummed in response.

“Hey, did you ever get your expenses approved?” Jess asked.

“Not yet.”

“How much was it?”

“Over sixty thousand.”

Jess sucked in a breath. “That much? You fronted all that?”

“Couldn’t travel otherwise,” I explained. “Corporate credit was too slow to approve, and the clients wouldn’t wait.”

“That’s so shady…” Jess broke off abruptly as she saw Rick emerge from the conference room and immediately shrank back to her desk.

I kept packing.

Three years of stuff didn’t amount to much. A travel mug, a few notebooks, a half-dead potted succulent.

The laptop was company property.

I opened my email and forwarded all critical correspondence to my personal address. Travel approvals, expense submission records, project reports, client exchanges.

I took screenshots of everything.

I got home at eight.

My mother was busy in the kitchen; my father was watching TV in the living room.

“Why are you home so early?” Mom asked.

“Not busy.”

“That’s good. That job of yours, always on the road. You’ve gotten too thin.”

I didn’t reply.

During dinner, Mom started again. “You should see the Johnson family’s daughter next door. She found a nice boy who works in finance. Stable job, nine-to-five. That’s the life you should have.”

“Mom, I got laid off today.”

The chopsticks stopped moving.

My dad put down his glass and looked at me.

My mother froze for a few seconds. “Laid off? What do you mean? You were doing so well! Didn’t your boss just praise you?”

“Corporate restructuring. My position was eliminated.”

“Then… what are we going to do?” Mom started to panic. “Your insurance, your 401(k)? Can you still pay the mortgage?”

“I can pay it,” I said. “I have savings.”

“Savings? How much? Your monthly take-home is barely five thousand, and you have the mortgage—”

“Mom, I can handle my own affairs.”

I put down my chopsticks and retreated to my room.

I closed the door and lay on the bed.

There was a faint water stain on the ceiling, I didn't know when it appeared.

Three years.

I gave that company three years.

The first year, I closed the firm’s largest client, bringing in eight million in revenue.

The second year, I flew to 18 cities alone, met 47 clients, and spent 187 days traveling.

The third year, I brought in 60% of the company’s total sales quota and received the smallest annual bonus in the entire company.

Because my boss said: “Amy, your numbers are great, but you’re still new. You need to stabilize. We’ll definitely give you a raise next year.”

Next year.

Next year, I was laid off.

I opened my phone’s photo album and found a folder labeled “Invoices.”

It was perfectly organized by date.

January 3, 2022. LA to Chicago. Flight $280.

January 3, 2022. Chicago Hyatt. Lodging $185.

January 4, 2022. Client dinner. Meal $155.

…

I kept scrolling.

Until February 1, 2023.

It was Christmas Eve.

I was traveling in Omaha. The client called an emergency meeting, my flight was canceled, and every decent hotel was booked. I ended up finding a cheap, roadside motel—$89 a night.

I remember that night. I was eating instant noodles in that sterile room, watching the snow fall outside, and I sent the client a brief holiday text.

He replied with a $20 gift card. I never redeemed it.

I thought, once the expenses are paid, this will all be pocket change.

Now, I realized how utterly foolish I had been.

I put the phone down and closed my eyes.

Sixty-eight thousand dollars.

I was going to get that money.