After Eight Years, They Threw Me Away

Chapter 42: Public Statement

By noon, the statement had traveled farther than I expected.

Not viral.

Viral was a word people used when they wanted luck to sound like a strategy.

This was different.

Slower.

Stickier.

It moved through business groups, supplier chats, local owner circles, and the kind of private messages where reputations were made or buried.

At first, people only watched.

Then Mr. Gao from the furniture workshop called back.

He sounded embarrassed.

"Mr. Zhou, I saw your statement."

"Thank you for reading it."

"My partners saw it too."

"Good."

He cleared his throat.

"We may have reacted too quickly."

May have.

People loved softening their retreat.

"Confidentiality concerns are reasonable," I said.

Nora looked at me and nodded once.

Do not humiliate nervous clients.

She had written that on a sticky note and slapped it on my laptop that morning.

Mr. Gao exhaled.

"Can we meet again tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"And Mr. Zhou... sorry."

That one sounded real.

"We'll talk tomorrow."

I ended the call.

Nora removed the sticky note from my laptop.

"Good."

"I wanted to be less nice."

"I know. Your jaw did the thing."

"My jaw has a thing?"

"Several."

Before I could ask what that meant, the phone rang again.

Skincare seller.

Then the lighting factory.

Then a new number from a ceramics workshop referred by Liang.

Rumor had made people cautious.

The public response made them curious.

Curiosity was not trust.

But it opened the door again.

At three in the afternoon, Nora and I sat on the floor of the office because the desks were covered with sample boxes. She had her laptop balanced on a cardboard carton. I had a notebook on my knee.

Leo walked in carrying bubble tea.

"Why are the bosses on the floor?"

"Strategic humility," I said.

Nora took a cup from him.

"Lack of chairs."

"I told you. Hire me as operations director. Soft chairs happen."

"You still work at the factory," Nora said.

"Minor detail."

Leo handed me my cup and leaned close.

"Also, people are talking."

"About?"

"You. Horizon. The data thing. Supervisor Ma's cousin works at a packaging supplier, and he said Horizon has been telling people you are risky."

Nora and I looked at each other.

"Name?" she asked.

Leo blinked.

"Whose?"

"The cousin."

"Do you want his ID number too?"

"If available."

Leo slowly lowered himself onto an empty box.

"You scare me when you do paperwork face."

"Name," she repeated.

He gave it.

By evening, we had three separate informal confirmations that Horizon staff or related salespeople had repeated the old accusation to prospects.

Not courtroom proof.

Not yet.

But enough to guide the next step.

Nora drafted a legal notice with a lawyer she found through Auntie Fang's nephew, who, naturally, was somehow a paralegal.

Southport was made entirely of cousins.

The notice did not accuse Horizon by name publicly. It was sent privately to Martin He and Horizon's general mailbox, requiring them to cease spreading false statements and preserve relevant communication records.

At seven, Martin called again.

I did not answer.

Nora said, "Let him write."

"What if he doesn't?"

"Then he can yell at voicemail like a modern man."

He called twice more.

Then sent a message.

You are escalating unnecessarily.

I replied:

Please communicate through written channels.

Nora gave me a thumbs-up without looking away from her screen.

At nine, Liang came by with tea.

May came with him, holding a bag of food.

"You two look dead," she said.

"We are alive," I replied.

"Barely alive is not alive enough."

She unpacked rice, vegetables, fish, and soup onto the only clear corner of the table.

Liang looked around the office.

"Small place. Big trouble."

"Usually trouble comes before bigger place," I said.

He laughed.

"Good. You still talk nonsense."

After dinner, Liang grew serious.

"Horizon has bullied small shops for years. Not always illegal. Just pressure. They think local relationships are property."

"I noticed."

"They will not stop because of one statement."

"I know."

"Then why fight?"

I looked at the NE Growth sign on the door.

Because I had been silent once.

Because silence had cost me my job, my marriage, and my name.

Because every small client who trusted us needed to know we would not fold when a larger agency raised its voice.

"Because if we let them define us now," I said, "we will spend every year renting our own reputation from them."

Liang stared.

Then he nodded.

"Good answer."

May said, "Rare good."

Nora looked offended.

"That is my phrase."

For the first time all day, the office felt light.

At midnight, after everyone left, Nora and I stayed to prepare for the furniture workshop meeting.

She sat across from me, chin in hand, eyes tired.

"You handled today well," she said.

I looked up.

"Rare good?"

"Do not fish."

"I am not."

"You are holding the fishing rod."

I smiled.

She looked toward the window.

"Horizon will hit again."

"I know."

"Probably not with rumors."

"What then?"

She turned back to me.

"Something that makes a client doubt our delivery."

The office went quiet.

Outside, a truck passed, rattling the window.

Her guess came true three weeks later.

And the blow landed exactly where we were most vulnerable.