Accused Of Overworking Staff, I Took Back All Rights

Chapter 2

After Emily left, I leaned back in my chair and replayed the video one more time.

Every beat, every dramatic pause, every perfectly timed tear—it all felt way too rehearsed.

This wasn't a spur-of-the-moment rant.

She'd planned this whole thing out.

Worse yet, I knew exactly why this kind of video blew up.

These kinds of stories always went viral online. Only this time, I was the one caught in the crossfire.

Ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

Madison stepped inside, wearing a cream knit top with soft, natural makeup. She'd nailed that wide-eyed, innocent act perfectly. "You wanted to see me, Vivian?"

I didn't waste a second on small talk. I turned my phone screen straight toward her. "Explain this."

Her face flickered, and her eyes reddened fast. "I just posted how I really felt."

"How you really felt?" I held her gaze. "You're claiming I forced you to work at two in the morning?"

"You did send a message at that time," she said in a low voice.

I asked, "Did I tell you to reply right away?"

"No." She paused. "But workplace pressure doesn't have to be said out loud to be real. You're the boss. You know that—just because you don't say something doesn't mean your team doesn't feel it."

It was the first time I'd seen someone spin total nonsense into something that almost sounded plausible. "So let me get this straight—me giving the team flexible hours is somehow proof I'm exploiting you?"

She lifted her head, like she was summoning all her courage. "I'm not attacking you personally. I just think the company keeps talking about respecting work-life boundaries, but that's not how it actually works. You might think you're being fair and open-minded, but to your team? Every late-night message you send feels like an unspoken order."

"You don't have to reply," I said.

"Do I really not?" She stared right at me, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "If I don't reply, will you think I'm not dedicated enough? Will you hold it against me when you hand out projects? Vivian, you're in charge. Of course, it's easy for you to say."

I looked at her, and it clicked all at once.

She hadn't come in here to fix anything.

She just wanted to see if I'd back down, if I'd panic, if I'd play along with her little victim narrative.

The second I started explaining or getting defensive, she'd get to stay the wronged party.

"Take the video down," I said.

She said softly, "I'm sorry, I can't do that. This isn't just about me anymore. So many people have messaged me saying they've gone through the exact same thing. I can't let them down."

A three-week new hire had taken one single work message I'd sent overnight, painted herself as a victim, and dragged the entire company into a PR crisis.

And there she stood, telling me she couldn't let random internet strangers down.

"So what do you want?" I asked.

She froze for a second, clearly caught off guard by how direct I was being. "I'm not here to negotiate."

I sneered. "Then why did you post the video?"

She bit her lip, tears clinging to her eyelashes. "I just want the company to take this seriously. At the very least, no one should feel like they have to be on call the second they leave the office. And someone has to admit this is wrong."

"Someone?" I held her stare. "Or me?"

She said nothing.

But her silence said everything.

I nodded. "Get out."

She blinked in surprise. "Vivian, I..."

I stared at her. "I said, get out."

She hung her head and walked out.

Once the door clicked shut, I refreshed the page.

The video had gained another twenty thousand likes.

The top-voted comment was full of hostility.

A: [The worst kind of boss is the one who says they respect you, but makes you too scared to ever truly clock out.]

Someone replied under it.

B: [This is the most toxic management style. She can always say she never forced you to do anything.]

I was about to close the tab when the likes list ticked up by one.

I recognized the new profile picture instantly.

It was Rachel Mosley.

Last year, when her mom was in the hospital, I'd covered all her client meetings for three whole weeks.

I realized then that the thing that hurt the most was never the person crying on camera.

It was the people standing in the background, hitting that like button without saying a word.