The CEO Besatisfies with Vouchers Until I Revealed Who I A

To crush our New Year's sales targets, the three of usthe dealership's top sales championshad cleared out the entire 4S showroom inventory.

We expected the promised cash grand prize. Instead, the boss handed that bonus to an intern who'd been here all of five days. As for us? He tossed over supermarket vouchers printed with "$500 off a $50 spend."

"It's the holidays. Your commissions are high enough already." The boss's tone dripped with condescension. "People shouldn't be too greedy. Take these vouchers, buy some rice and cooking oil, and go home for the New Year."

The meeting ended.

Simon, our top closer, crumpled the voucher and tossed it into the trash can in a perfect arc. Along with it went dozens of purchase intent forms from corporate and government clients he'd been nurturing for months.

Evelyn, the gold-medal salesperson, immediately messaged several luxury car clubs. From now on, for any after-sales maintenance, not a single one of their cars should come to this dealership.

I silently took out my phone and dialed the Group Chairman.

"Grandpa, revoke the franchise rights for this branch. I think the manager here has a defective brain. Consider it my New Year's gift."

Burning bridges after crossing the river? Common enough. But slaughtering the hen that lays golden eggs right before the New Year, just to stew it for soup?

That was a new one.

"Elena, I can't take this money. It was earned through the hard work of you seniors. I'm just a newcomerI don't deserve it."

The intern, Hudson Pruitt, pushed the box of cash toward me, eyes wide with feigned sincerity.

"How about... you all take this money? Consider it a token of respect for my elders."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was pitched perfectly for Manager Whitney to hear from nearby.

Whitney's frown deepened. He stomped over, snatched the box, and forcibly stuffed it back into Hudson's arms.

"Hudson! Take it! This is what you deserve!"

A heavy hand clapped Hudson's shoulder. Then Whitney turned to us, contempt etched into every line of his face.

"The new media strategies Hudson brought in have revitalized our store's publicity. *That* is what keeping up with the times looks like!" His lip curled. "Unlike certain old peopledead weight occupying space, relying on seniority, and endlessly greedy!"

Old Simon looked ready to explode.

But Hudson immediately stepped in front of Whitney, spreading his arms protectively. He looked at Simon with a wronged, puppy-dog expression.

"Uncle Simon, don't blame the manager. The market is tough this year. These vouchers are a personal gesture from the manager's own pocket to help subsidize us." A theatrical sigh. "Everyone is struggling. Please try to understand the manager's position."

What a masterclass in emotional manipulation.

"What? You think it's too little?" Whitney slammed his palm on the table, spittle flying. "I've given you face, haven't I? If you don't want to work, then get out! There are plenty of people lining up for jobs right now!"

Colleagues who usually couldn't hold their heads up around uscrushed beneath our performance figuresnow wore gloating expressions.

Evelyn and I exchanged a look and silently returned to our stations.

When Hudson passed by, he deliberately lagged half a step behind. In a voice only I could hear, he whispered.

"Elena, don't look down on it."

His gaze dropped to the commuter bag I'd carried for three years. His lips curled into a smug smirk.

"How about I lend you a little from this $300,000? You could buy a new bag. After all, yours is almost worn through."

I stopped.

Turned my head.

Looked at his petty, arrogant face.

A scoff escaped me.

"No need."

"Keep your money to treat that two-faced personality disorder of yours."

Hudson's expression shifted instantly.

The next second, his volume shot up, eyes turning red on command.

"Elena! How can you... how can you curse at me? I... I truly just wanted to help you..."

"What is going on here!"

Whitney heard the commotion and came running over, rage already boiling.

"Elena Henson! What are you doing now?"

A finger jabbed directly at my nose. He didn't bother to ask for the truth.

"Hudson is kindly showing concern for you, and you bully him? A newcomer, here for only a few days, and you're already ostracizing him? How can you be so heartless?"

I stared at him.

Speechless.

I couldn't be bothered to explain.

Whitney's cursing grew more energetic until he finally waved his hand dismissively.

"I think the three of you just had a few good months and let it get to your heads! You're too idle!"

"Starting today, move your workstations to the warehouse in the back! When you've reflected enough, you can come out!"

Banishing three sales champions to work in the warehouse?

If our biggest competitor heard about this move, they'd send a thank-you banner overnight.

Old Simon and Evelyn trembled with rage, but I stopped them with a sharp look.

We silently packed our belongings. Our colleagues avoided us like the plague, terrified of being associated with the fallen champions.

Hudson Pruitt leisurely sat down at my original workstation. The prime spotfacing the entrance with the best view of the floor.

As we moved boxes, my phone buzzed.

Hudson had posted a WeChat Moment visible only to me.

The photo showed him sitting at my desk, legs crossed, with the box containing the $300,000 cash bonus displayed prominently in front of him.

The caption read: *Some positions can't be held just by grinding seniority. [Snickering Emoji]*

I looked at the post.

Sneered.

Casually took a screenshot.

I ignored Hudson's provocation, but that only emboldened him.

Early the next morning, he carried two cups of coffee and sidled up to Whitney.

"Manager, I think the seniors' client maintenance methods are outdated. They don't understand the psychology of young people today."

"I want to use my own methods to manage those VIP customers and bring them a brand-new experience."

Whitney beamed, completely charmed. He made the call immediately.

"Good! You've got ideas! That's how it should be!"

A wave of his hand, and he convened a morning meeting. In front of the entire staff, he forced Evelyn, Old Simon, and me to hand over all our VIP client data to Hudson.

Evelyn's face darkened instantly.

"What?" Old Simon sprang up from his chair. "Whitney, are you crazy? We won those customers one by one. Why should we hand them over to him?"

Whitney's eyes bulged. "Because I am the manager! This is an order! If you don't do it, get out!"

"Manager, this violates protocol." I stood up. "Client information is a salesperson's core asset. How can you demand we hand it over just because someone asked?"

"What I say *is* the rule!" His roar echoed through the showroom. "Elena Henson, if you talk back one more time, believe me, I'll have you thrown out today!"

Hudson stood by the side, hypocritically smoothing things over.

"Elena, Uncle Simon, don't misunderstand. I'm not trying to steal your customers. I just want to learn and help share the workload."

He took the thick stack of files we handed over and bowed ninety degrees in front of everyone.

"Thank you, Uncle Simon and my big sisters, for your guidance. I will study hard!"

His humble act drew another round of praise from Whitney.

The moment he returned to his desk, however, he posted a photo in the sales department's private group chat.

It was a page from our client filesdetailing a customer's family situation, hobbies, and even the brand of food their dog preferred.

*Hudson: My god, are client notes this tacky nowadays? It's like a police interrogation. No wonder you can't keep people loyal. [Facepalm]*

The sycophants who loved to flatter the flavor of the month immediately chimed in.

*Colleague A: Exactly, exactly. Too old-fashioned.*

*Colleague B: Hudson's thinking is trendythis is sales in the internet era!*

Evelyn nearly smashed her phone.

I pressed my hand over hers and shook my head.

"Don't rush. Let him dig his own grave."

"The higher he climbs, the harder he falls."

Hudson quickly selected a target from the pile of client files.

The city's famous Ice QueenHailey James.

Hailey was notoriously picky, sharp-eyed, and detested frivolous men. Recognized as one of the hardest clients to win over. Evelyn had spent a full six months building a rapport just to establish initial trust.

Hudson evidently thought his charm was irresistible.

The very afternoon he got the files, he secretly messaged Hailey James, asking her out that night to "have a drink and talk about life."

Even more outrageous? The venue he chose wasn't a high-end club, but a cheap, tacky bar that had recently gone viral on TikTok.

That evening, before we even clocked out, the store's complaint line rang.

Hailey James's assistant. Her voice was pure ice.

"Does your dealership now recruit gigolos?"

"What kind of lowlife dares to ask Ms. James out like that?"

"Tell your Manager Whitney: our Group's procurement plan for this year will permanently blacklist your store!"

The call ended.

The showroom fell into a deathly silence.

Not long after, Hudson came running back in a sorry state.

A bright red handprint marred his face. Red wine stained his white shirt. His hair was a bird's nest.

Before anyone could speak, he let out a wail. With reddened eyes, he threw himself at Whitney, who had rushed over upon hearing the news.

"Manager! You have to stand up for me!"

A shaking finger pointed at me. His voice trembled with accusation.

"It was Elena! The information she gave me was wrong! She deliberately left out the client's taboosshe wanted to see me make a fool of myself!"

"She's jealous of me! She wants to ruin me!"

Whitney whipped his head around, glaring at me with venom.

"Elena Henson! You! How can you be so vicious?"

"Hudson is practically a child! How could you set him up like this? Have you no conscience at all?"

I was so angry I laughed.

I pulled the original document from the handover folder and slammed it onto the table.

"Manager Whitney, open your eyes and look."

"The client handover form is in duplicate. On my copy, the notes regarding Hailey James are written clearly in black and white."

I pointed to the bolded line and read it aloud, emphasizing every word.

"**Values privacy, dislikes male company, and is disgusted by informal or flirtatious approaches.**"

"So." My voice dropped. "Is it that someone is blind and didn't see it?"

"Or did he think his male charm was powerful enough to ignore the rules?"

Hudson's face went pale. Seeing the evidence against him, he immediately pivoted.

He covered his face with his hands.

"Anyway... anyway, the customer is angry now! The deal is dead! Elena, you're happy now, right? You're satisfied?"

Whitney was completely irrational. He pointed at the three of us.

"The customer was handed over by you, so you share the responsibility!"

"Since you can't tolerate a newcomer, go clean the exterior glass of the showroom!"

"You don't stop until it's spotless and Hailey James's anger has subsided!"

Evelyn wanted to charge forward and argue, but Old Simon held her back.

The three of us, holding rags and buckets, were driven out into the pouring rain.

Hudson Pruitt stood safe and dry behind the glass, cradling a steaming cup of coffee. He raised his phone, snapping a photo of our miserable, drenched figures in the rain, and posted it immediately.

The caption glowed through the window: *"Senior colleagues work so hard, staying serious even in the rain. Guess I need to step up my game too~ Cute."*

Evelyn Fox stared at the post. Her knuckles went white around the bucket handle. "I'm going to kill that little bastard."

I caught her arm before she could move. "Don't."

"He's mocking us!"

"Smash the glass, you pay for it. He's not worth the debt." I kept my voice low, steady. "Besides. He won't be jumping around much longer."

For the New Year's Day event, headquarters had transferred a limited-edition global supercar to our showrooma one-week exhibition piece worth nearly twenty million. Pitch-black. Lines smooth as a hunting cheetah. The kind of machine that didn't ask for attention.

It demanded worship.

Manager Whitney called an all-hands meeting specifically for this car. His voice dropped into a grave register he usually reserved for funerals.

"Listen up! This car is our ancestor! No one touches it. Chip a single flake of paint and selling your organs won't cover the cost." He puffed out his chest, radiating self-righteous authority. "Especially the interior. Genuine leather. Hand-stitched by top Italian craftsmen. Extremely precious. Do not touch it."

He scanned the room.

"Do you hear me?"

Heads bobbed frantically.

But the moment the meeting ended, Whitney ushered Hudson Pruitt into his office. When Hudson emerged, a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. Barely concealed arrogance.

I had a suspicion.

Sure enoughwhen the staff headed to the cafeteria for lunch, Hudson sneaked back into the showroom. Alone.

He fired up a livestream titled: *"New ride just dropped. Taking the bros for a spin."*

He mounted his phone on the steering wheel, tilting the angle to capture his "perfect" side profile and the luxury logo on the headrest.

"Family, look at this interiorpure handmade, low-key luxury." A wink at the camera. All performance. "This car's just so-so. Bit over twenty million. I usually just use it for grocery runs."

The chat exploded. Viewers who didn't know better spammed "666" and "Rich boss, take me for a ride!"

Intoxicated by the flattery, Hudson pulled a cigar from his pocket. Lit it. Inhaled deep. Blew a slow, pretentious smoke ring.

"A man must have taste," he declared.

Then his hand twitched.

A clump of burning ash fell directly onto the pristine white leather of the passenger seat.

A black hole. Fingernail-sized. Seared into the material.

Hudson froze.

The blood drained from his face.

He killed the livestream. Scanned the room frantically. His gaze landed on a work jacket hanging on a nearby rack.

Moving with the guilt of a thief, he sprinted over and stuffed the smoldering cigar butt into the jacket's pocket.

Half an hour later, Manager Whitney's roar shook the walls.

"Who did this?! Who is responsible?!"

He pointed a trembling finger at the glaring black hole. His face twisted into an ugly shade of green. Staff crowded around. When they saw the damage, a collective gasp sucked the air from the room.

A twenty-million-dollar supercar.

One burn hole could cost a house down payment.

Hudson cowered behind the crowd, feigning shock.

"Manager... I... I think I saw Uncle Simon wandering around the car earlier. He... he looked like he was smoking..."

Every head turned toward Old Simon, who had just walked in from the cafeteria.

Old Simon blinked. Completely bewildered. "Why are you all staring at me? I didn't do anything."

Manager Whitney didn't give him a chance to speak. He lunged at the old man, patting him down roughly. "You think I'd accuse you without proof?"

Seconds later, Whitney pulled the cigar butt from Simon's jacket pocket.

It still reeked of burnt tobacco.

"Caught red-handed!"

Whitney held the evidence aloft, screaming in Simon's face. "Simon Dickerson! You have some nerve! The company explicitly forbade anyone from touching this car, and you dared to smoke inside it?"

He jabbed a finger at Simon's chest.

"You are deliberately destroying company property! I'm calling the police. You're going to jail!"

Old Simon stood frozen. "No... it wasn't me! I smoke ten-buck packs of Red Pagoda. I can't afford cigars!"

Sweat beaded on his forehead. His face went ashen. His breathing turned ragged.

Hudson rushed forward, grabbing Whitney's arm. Playing the benevolent peacemaker.

"Manager, please. Calm down." His voice dripped with fake sympathy. "Uncle Simon probably just had a moment of confusion. I'm sure it wasn't intentional. How about... we let him pay for the damages privately? Don't call the police. He's old. If word gets out, it'll ruin him."

Old Simon shook with rage. He pointed a trembling finger at Hudson.

No words came.

I couldn't watch this charade any longer.

I stepped forward and caught Simon as he swayed, barely keeping him upright.

"Hudson Pruitt."

My voice cut through the noise.

"When you finished your livestream just now, did you forget to turn off the replay function?"

Hudson stiffened.

"Right now, hundreds of thousands of viewers are watching a crystal-clear recording of you holding a cigar in that car." I tilted my head. "Acting like a pretentious clown."

I held up my phone. Hit play.

High-definition footage. Hudson's smug face. The tremble of his hand. Ash falling onto leather.

Crystal clear.

Hudson's face turned deathly pale.

He threw himself at Manager Whitney's legs, hugging his thigh and wailing like a toddler. "Manager! Manager, I was wrong! I didn't mean it! I did it to promote the store! I just wanted people to see our inventoryI had good intentions!"

Whitney glanced at the video on my screen. His expression shifted rapidly.

Calculating.

Then he snatched the phone from my hand and dashed it against the tiled floor.

*Crack.*

The screen shattered into a spiderweb of glass.

"What video?" Whitney roared. He pointed a finger at the three of us. "That was obviously faked! You threeyou gang up to bully a newcomer, and now you're forging videos to frame him?"

His voice rose to a shriek.

"You are the cancer of this store! Parasites!"

He barked at the security guards nearby. "What are you staring at? Lock these three criminals in the warehouse! They maliciously damaged company property and tried to pin it on a colleague!"

He straightened his jacket.

"I'll deal with them after I contact legal."

The guards exchanged hesitant glances.

"I am the Manager!" Whitney bellowed. "My word is an order!"

Intimidated, the guards moved in. Grabbed us by the arms.

"Jackson Whitney!" Evelyn screamed, struggling against the grip. "This is illegal detention! Are you insane?"

We were shoved into the storage warehouse. The heavy door slammed shut.

The lock clicked.

A moment later, the lights cut out.

Total darkness.

The air was thick with the scent of rubber tires and stale engine oil. No windows. Only piles of junk in the corners.

Evelyn groped for the wall to steady herself. Her voice trembled in the dark.

"They... they actually dared to do this..."

I guided Old Simon to sit on a crate, then fished the bottle of nitroglycerin pills from his pocket. Placed one under his tongue.

That's when I heard it.

The faint, throaty roar of engines drifting in from outside.

My heart skipped.

*He's here.*

In the showroom, the red carpet had been rolled out.

Manager Whitney and Hudson Pruitt stood at the end of it, practically vibrating with deference. Hudson had changed into a suit, his hair slicked back with enough gel to reflect the overhead lights.

A convoy arrived. An elderly man stepped out of the lead vehicle, leaning on a cane. Despite his age, he radiated authoritythe kind that made the air heavier. Bodyguards in black suits flanked him instantly.

Hudson lunged forward first, presenting a bouquet prepared well in advance.

"Hello, Chairman! Thank you for your hard work! I'm Hudson Pruitt. I've heard legends of your business acumen for years. Seeing you in person today..." He practically genuflected. "You have even more presence than the rumors say!"

Grandpa took the flowers without a smile.

Handed them immediately to an assistant.

His sharp eyes swept the empty showroom. His brow furrowed slightly.

"Where is Elena Henson? I recall from last month's report that she was the sales champion."

Whitney stepped in smoothly, arranging his face into a mask of pained righteousness. "Chairman! You don't know the half of it."

A dramatic sigh.

"Elena Henson relied on her seniority to form cliques and bully the new hires. When we tried to correct her, she held a grudge." He shook his head. "Out of personal spite, she deliberately damaged the limited-edition supercar on tour! We were preparing to call the police, but she... she fled to avoid punishment."

Hudson added a theatrical sigh. Pulled out his phone to display the photo of the burned seat. "Yes, Chairman. I tried to advise Elena not to be so extreme, but she wouldn't listen. It's a tragedy, really."

Grandpa's face darkened.

He tapped his cane against the floor.

*Tap. Tap.*

"Is that so?"

The words hung in the air.

"Since the exhibition car is damaged, we will need spare parts. Take me to the storeroom." His voice was flat. Unreadable. "I wish to inspect your inventory management standards."

Whitney and Hudson froze.

Their breath hitched.

"ChChairman!" Whitney scrambled to block the path. "The storeroom... it's currently being renovated! Full of dust and debris. I couldn't possibly let you ruin your shoes. Why don't we go to the office for some tea"

Inside the warehouse, I pressed my ear against the cold metal door.

Listening to Whitney's clumsy lies, a cold smile touched my lips.

I turned back to the darkness. Signaled Evelyn and Old Simon.

"Grab the tools."

We fumbled until our hands closed around heavy wrenches.

*CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!*

Metal against metal. The sound echoed through the building.

In the showroom, everyone froze.

All eyes turned toward the warehouse.

Grandpa stopped walking. His eyescloudy with age but razor-sharplocked onto Manager Whitney.

His voice was devoid of emotion.

"Renovation?"

A beat.

"That does not sound like a renovation crew."

Whitney's smile turned brittle. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. "It... it's rats! Chairman, you have no ideawe have a terrible rat infestation. The rats here are enormous! We're about to hire exterminators"

"Oh?"

Grandpa let out a cold scoff.

"I have never heard of a rat big enough to knock on a door."

He glanced at the head bodyguard.

"Kick it down."

His voice dropped.

"I want to see exactly how big these rats are."

The bodyguard nodded. Whitney and Hudson made a move to stop him, but two other guards stepped in their path.

Silent. Immovable.

The head bodyguard approached the warehouse. Raised his leg.

Drove his heel into the lock.

*CRASH!*

*Bang!*

The lock surrendered with a deafening crack.

Light flooded the warehouseharsh, blinding, merciless. I threw my arm over my eyes, squinting against the assault. Beside me, Evelyn and Uncle Simon did the same. We must have looked pathetic, illuminated like criminals in a police lineup: faces streaked with grime, clothes disheveled, blinking like moles dragged into daylight.

Hudson recovered first.

His finger shot toward us, trembling. "Security! Get in here!" His voice cracked on the words. "Arrest these three criminals immediately! They've damaged company property! Don't let them near the Chairman!"

He lunged for my arm.

I didn't flinch. Didn't even look at him. Just shoved his hand aside and walked past him like he was furniture.

I stopped directly in front of Manager Whitney. Let the silence stretch.

"Manager Whitney." My voice came out flat. Steady. "Is this the full report you gave the Chairman?"

Whitney's mouth opened. Closed. Whatever bluster he'd prepared died somewhere between his brain and his tongue.

Because Grandpa wasn't looking at him anymore.

Grandpa was looking at my hand.

The rough wood of the doorframe had gouged a scratch across my skin. A thin line of blood welled up, bright red against my pale fingers.

His expression went dark. He tossed his cane aside.

*Smack!*

The backhand connected with Whitney's face before anyone could blink. The sound ricocheted through the showroom like a gunshot, cutting off Whitney's stammering mid-syllable.

"You *bastard*." Grandpa's voice shooknot with weakness, but with barely leashed fury. "Who gave you the courage to lock my granddaughter in a place like that?"