After I Quit, My Ex-Boss Called to Demand Overtime

Right after the Christmas holidays, my former boss called me. The moment I picked up, he immediately barked down the line. "Do you know what time it is? Why aren't you here yet? The project on your desk is due today, and if it falls through, can you take responsibility for that? Get your butt over here right now!" He spoke with entitlement, as if I were still his overworked corporate slave standing by at his beck and call. Before I could get a word in, he slammed the phone down. A moment later, human resources called me. "Why aren't you here yet? Mr. Howell is furious! You've always been our most reliable employee. Even if you're unhappy with your bonus, you can't just throw a fit and walk out!" I was unimpressed. "Have you forgotten? I resigned before the holidays!" Today was my first day starting at one of our clients' firms. Chapter 1 When I brought up my resignation before the holidays, HR Director Rachel Davis brushed it off. "Oh, that," she said, her tone completely unbothered. "I saw your resignation letter, and Mr. Howell saw it too. But you know how busy things get before the holidays. "We just didn't have time to talk about it properly. Now that the holidays are over, why don't we sit down and have a real chat?" I narrowed my eyes. "Talk about what?" I had already handed in my notice and cleared my desk. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing left to discuss. "Talk terms, of course!" Rachel said smoothly. "Mr. Howell said he'd give you a $500 monthly raise. With the economy being what it is right now, what other company is going to give you a raise like that? Do the math. That's an extra 6,000 dollars a year." I couldn't help but run the numbers in my head. The slackers in our department, who clocked out on the dot every day and had never actually finished a single project from start to finish, reportedly pulled down $10,000 bonuses each. Meanwhile, last year alone, I generated millions in revenue for the firm, including a massive eight-million-dollar account that I managed entirely by myself from day one. I carried the workload of three people, logged more overtime hours than anyone else in the department, and didn't take a single sick day all year. Yet when they handed out Employee of the Year awards at the annual gala, every contract I had closed was suddenly attributed to Eliza Hale. She walked away with a $50,000 bonus, plus the latest flagship iPhone. Mine? A total of 250 dollars. It was absurd. Just thinking about it made my blood boil. "Rachel, why was my bonus exactly 250 dollars?" I demanded directly. The line went quiet. "Look, Camille," she began, carefully picking her words, "you have to understand that the company has policies in place. While you do produce a lot of work, you tend to take things a bit too seriously. "You don't place enough emphasis on teamwork. You skip team-building events, and you hardly socialize with your coworkers. Bonuses are calculated based on overall performance, after all." I let out a bitter laugh, recalling last year's team-building trip to the mountains. I couldn't go because I was stuck working overtime. The Friday night department dinner? I missed it because I was burning the midnight oil on a proposal. And that night out at the lounge? I turned it down because I had a high-stakes client meeting early the next morning that demanded careful preparation. Every event I skipped was sacrificed for the sake of doing a better job. And now, they were using those very sacrifices to write me off. And what were the others doing while I was grinding? Drinking, singing, taking group photos, and posting them on Instagram with captions like "Work Family" and "Best Team Ever." And now, Rachel called it overall performance. "Is there anything else?" I said, losing interest in continuing the topic. Rachel paused, lowering her voice. "Well... Mr. Howell also mentioned that a few of your projects last year received some negative feedback from clients, so..." "Which client?" I pressed. "What was the issue? When was it submitted? And why am I just hearing about this now?" "Well, I don't have the details," she stumbled. "It's just what I heard." So, she only heard I was doing a poor job. She only heard that I had complaints against me. She only heard that I wasn't a team player. And then, she decided that my bonus was 250 dollars. What a deliberate, insulting slap in the face! Chapter 2 "I understand, Rachel," I said, my voice calm. "However, I resigned before the holidays, and all the paperwork went through standard procedures." "Oh, Camille, why are you being so stubborn? Listen to me..." Rachel tried again. "Look," I cut her off. "For seven years, I never missed a single day of work, never took a day off, and never turned down overtime. I pulled my weight for this firm. If you need help with the handover, I'm willing to assist, but other than that, don't call me again." "Camille!" Her voice piped up sharply in frustration. "What kind of attitude is that? I'm calling you in good faith, and you're throwing it right back in my face?" I hung up on her right then and there, refusing to let my toxic former co-worker ruin my good mood on my first day joining the new firm. Yet my phone didn't stay quiet for five minutes before it started buzzing again. This time, it was a FaceTime audio call from my former subordinate, Eliza Hale, the very person who had stolen my Employee of the Year award. I tapped decline, but 30 seconds later, a barrage of text messages popped up. [Hey, why aren't you picking up?] [Mr. Howell is blowing a fuse right now. You need to contact him back ASAP!] [You're usually the most reliable person here. Why are you being so reckless all of a sudden? Don't make things difficult for everyone.] ... I stared at the screen, entirely unbothered. So far, Eliza had been with the firm for three years. I was the one who had taken her under my wing when she was just an intern, teaching her how to handle demanding clients and how to step up whenever a project ran into trouble. In return, she hijacked my credit and ran off with my bonus. My phone buzzed again with a wall of text; clearly, my silence was driving her crazy. [Camille, I know you're upset about the bonus, but you can't blame the firm for that. Times were tough for everyone last year with the market being down, and Mr. Howell values you! [If word gets out that you walked out over a little money, how's that going to look? Besides, after all the years the company spent molding you into who you are, how can your conscience let you just abandon ship like this?] "Conscience?" Staring at that word, I found it almost laughable. I typed out my response: [Who secretly copied my entire client database while I was out sick? Who took my creative pitches, rewrapped them, and passed them off as her own ideas during team meetings? [And who treated the entire department to Starbucks right before performance reviews, leaving me as the only person without one? You're the last person who gets to lecture me about conscience!] In less than three minutes, another message flashed on my screen, carrying a tone of condescending frustration. [What's the point of digging up the past? Throwing a tantrum like this only hurts yourself. Where do you think you can even go without this firm? Do you have any idea how many master's grads out there can't even land a job right now? [You only have a bachelor's degree. You're 30 and still single. Every respectable metric on your resume was handed to you on a silver platter by this company. [Rachel has made it clear that if you don't come back right now, Mr. Howell is going to put out the word. Good luck getting anyone in the corporate circuit to hire you after that!] "Trying to intimidate me, huh?" I snorted. My phone buzzed once more with another text: [Camille? Say something! We're all waiting.] I opened the chat, replied with a passive-aggressive smiley face emoji, blocked her contact, and got out of bed. Today was my first day at the Marora Group, our client on that eight-million-dollar account. Their contact, Mark Irwin, was a straight shooter whom I had worked with closely throughout the project. When my former firm had stabbed me in the back right before the holidays, he had texted me. [Camille, we desperately need talent like you. Your effort is not valued over there. Name your salary, and let me know whenever you're ready to make the jump!] After splashing water on my face, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Starting today, I was going to live my life on my own terms. Chapter 3 I walked through the front doors of the Marora Group headquarters. The receptionist recognized me and greeted me with a warm smile. "Morning, Camille! Mr. Irwin is waiting for you in his office." Mark's office sat at the end of the hall, the door propped open. He was studying something on his computer. At the sound of my knock, he raised his head and smiled. "Camille! Good to see you. Have a seat." I sat down across from him, and he immediately got down to business. "I want to run something with you." I straightened up in my chair. "I'm listening." "Remember that project from before the holidays? The eight-million-dollar account with your old firm?" he asked. That was the very project I had pulled countless all-nighters for and revised endlessly, only for Eliza to walk up on stage and claim the prize. Mark continued, "It's time for the final sign-off and audit. I thought about sending someone else, but then I realized you managed that account from start to finish. "Nobody knows it better than you. So, I'd like you to handle it. Head over this morning and conduct the project audit." I met his earnest gaze, thinking back to the day I handed in my resignation. My former boss, Gregory Howell, hadn't even been bothered to look up as he tossed my letter aside. I recalled Eliza standing on stage accepting my award, her eyes glistening as she thanked everyone. I remembered Rachel telling me my bonus fell short because I was not a team player. I recalled what had happened that morning. Their frantic phone calls had been filled with commands, threats, and sweet talk that ultimately devolved into bitter, angry rants. "Sounds good. I'll head over right away." I nodded. "I'm curious to see how they're kicking off the new year." After leaving Mark's office, I swung by the HR department to finish my onboarding paperwork. Finally, the representative handed me my new badge. Printed beneath my photo was my name and new title: [Camille Franklin, Project Director.] I had barely sat down at my new desk when my phone lit up with a call from Gregory. Over the past seven years, this number had popped up on my screen countless times. The topics had ranged from midnight demands and weekend overtime orders to last-minute assignments while I was traveling for business. Every time, I had answered immediately, repeating the same dutiful lines. "On it, Mr. Howell." "Right away, Mr. Howell." "No problem, Mr. Howell." ... Once I answered the call, his angry voice boomed through the line. "Camille!" he shouted. "Who the hell do you think you are? You ignore my calls, dodge my texts, and block everyone who tries to reach you. What, you think you're untouchable now?" His temper flared higher as he continued, "I'm telling you, don't throw my generosity back in my face. If you don't get your ass in here today, I'm marking you absent without leave and firing you. I'll put a black mark on your permanent record. Let's see what company dares to hire you after that!" "Firing me?" I sneered internally. "Mr. Howell," I said evenly, "I'm actually on my way to the office right now." Gregory couldn't hide the smugness in his voice. "Smart move! Hurry up. I'm waiting for you." When Mark first texted me his offer before the holidays, I hadn't accepted immediately. But after Eliza stole the credit for my hard work at the annual gala, followed by that insulting $250 bonus, I lay awake until six in the morning. That night, one thing became crystal clear: that company was never a place that rewarded true competence. All it offered was endless labor, taking the blame for others, and quietly suffering in a corner while the brownnosers took all the credit. Right then and there, I decided to walk away and join our client's firm instead. Snapping back to reality, I stood up and slung the lanyard with my new badge around my neck. I couldn't help but wonder what kind of look they'd have on their faces when I walked in as their high-priority client. The cab pulled up outside the familiar office building. Stepping through the glass doors, I found the lobby exactly as I had left it. I had only walked a few paces inside when Rachel strolled over, holding a cup of coffee. "Well, well. I thought you had more backbone than this," she scoffed, looking me up and down. "With that attitude you had on the phone this morning, I thought you were hitting the big leagues. What happened? Flew around in a circle only to crawl right back?" Chapter 4 I looked at her with a cold smirk, saying nothing, but my silence only fueled her arrogance. "What's the matter?" Rachel snorted. "Playing meek and mild now? What happened to that big attitude you had on the phone earlier?" Her eyes darted down to my chest before she let out a loud scoff. "And what is this? What's the deal with this badge? Our lanyards aren't this color. Camille, did you walk into the wrong building? Or..." Her eyes lit up with sudden mock enlightenment, and her laugh grew even louder. "Or did you take a job at DoorDash? Isn't a blue lanyard what all those delivery workers wear? Hahaha!" Because my badge was flipped backward, none of them could see the company name printed on the front. Before I could respond, Eliza's voice piped up from down the hall. "Camille, you're finally here!" She rushed over, stepping in front of me. "Come on, haven't you thrown enough of a temper tantrum by now? Hurry up and wrap up the loose ends. Our contacts from the client firm are going to be here any minute." She reached out to grab my arm, but I brushed her hand away. She scowled, dropping her voice to a harsh whisper. "Look, I'm trying to save your ass here. Mr. Howell is in a terrible mood today, so just get to work and stop walking into the line of fire. You don't want to get chewed out right in front of the client when they show up!" "Didn't you complete this project all by yourself?" I countered, unimpressed. "Mr. Howell said so at the annual gala. He even praised you for carrying the whole account on your back and doing an outstanding job. "You got the Employee of the Year award and a $50,000 bonus, so why are you asking me to clean up the mess now?" Rachel clicked her tongue. "Oh, come on, Camille. Now you're just being petty. Why are you keeping score at a time like this? Just get to work!" I stood my ground, refusing to move an inch. As we stood in a tense standoff, Gregory's roar thundered out from his office. "Where the hell is Camille? Is she here yet? Tell her to haul her ass in here right now!" He stormed out of his office, his eyes locking onto me as he scanned me up and down. "Well, well, look at you," he said condescendingly. "Done throwing your fit? Done causing a scene? Now you finally realize you have to crawl back?" "I'm here on business," I said, businesslike. "I've seen plenty of people like you," he sneered. "You put in a little work and suddenly think you're indispensable. Then you decide you've been wronged, throw a tantrum, and expect your boss to come running after you. "Well, let me tell you something. That shit doesn't work on me. That's just how the corporate world works. Nobody's going to stop everything just because you're upset. You thought the company would fall apart without you? Give me a break." He put his hands on his hips, raising his voice so the whole open-floor office could hear. "I thought you had some real spine, but look at you—crawling right back on your hands and knees anyway. Showing up late on the very first day back after the holidays? "That attitude is unacceptable. I'm docking your entire salary for this month so you'll learn your lesson." He stared at me, eager to see that familiar, submissive expression on my face. Instead, I let out a mocking laugh. "Are you sure you want to talk to me like this?" Eliza jumped in to egg him on. "Please don't be too mad, Mr. Howell. Camille is probably just in a bad mood. When I asked her to get to work just now, she snapped right at me." "So, a bad mood gives you the right to throw a fit and walk out?" Gregory glared at me. "A bad mood lets you ignore my calls? Let me tell you something. The corporate world isn't your home, and nobody is going to baby you here!" He waved his hand dismissively and added, "Go fix yourself up. The reps from the client firm are coming today for the project handover, and you're handling them. They're paying our bills, so you'd better put on a smile and keep your attitude in check. Don't screw this up." I shrugged. "The representative is already here." He blinked, thrown off guard. "They are? Where?" "Right here." I flipped my badge around to face them. The moment the three of them saw the bold lettering and corporate emblem printed on the front, they all froze in place.