I poured my life into that place. Every late night, every cancelled weekend, every spark of an idea – it all went there. I believed in it, in us. I truly did. I started when it was just a small operation, a fledgling dream. I saw its potential, nurtured it, helped it grow into something truly significant. My ideas, my solutions, my relentless drive… they built so much of what it became.
But as it grew, I stayed still. My title remained the same, my salary barely nudged. I watched others, less experienced, less dedicated, climb the ranks past me. I saw my projects, my very intellectual children, rebranded and presented by someone else, someone higher up, someone more valuable. “You’re indispensable,” they’d say, patting me on the back, “we couldn’t do it without you.” Empty words. Hollow promises. They were just buying time, extracting every last drop of my passion for pennies on the dollar.
A heart-shaped necklace with the initials “SS” engraved on it | Source: Midjourney
The final straw came when my most ambitious project, a system I’d spent three years perfecting in my spare time, a system that would revolutionize our industry, was finally ready. I presented it, brimming with a hope I hadn’t felt in years. This was it. This was my proof, my undeniable worth. The applause was deafening. The praise, effusive. Then, a month later, it was launched. With another’s name on it. Another’s face in the press releases. Mine? I was a ‘key contributor.’ A ‘valued team member.’ I wanted to scream. I wanted to smash everything. But I just… smiled. A cold, hard smile that no one saw.
That night, I didn’t go home. I sat in my silent office, the one I was ‘indispensable’ to, and I started to plot. My anger solidified into something sharp, precise. They thought they owned my ideas? They thought they owned me? I would show them. I would take back what was mine, and I would build an empire on its ashes. I knew the system inside and out. Every line of code, every design choice, every subtle innovation was etched in my mind, in my fingers. I had kept backups, of course. Not because I planned this, not initially. Just good practice, I told myself. A part of me always knew, didn’t it? I began to meticulously transfer everything. Not just the core system, but the documentation, the user insights, the future development roadmap – everything they had deemed theirs but was undeniably mine.
A mean grinning widely | Source: Midjourney
It took months. Stealthy, silent operations late at night, copying files, encrypting data, setting up my own infrastructure. Every keystroke felt like an act of defiance, a quiet revolution. I built a team in secret, carefully vetting each person, sharing just enough to ignite their interest, but never the full scope until they were fully committed. I drained my savings, leveraged every resource, all for this. For my freedom. For my justice.
The day I finally pressed send on my resignation, it felt like shedding a skin. I walked out of that building, a ghost, a phantom, leaving behind a ticking time bomb. I watched from afar as my former company prepared to launch their version of my system. Oh, they had no idea. The real launch, my launch, was set to happen just hours after theirs, completely overshadowing them, rendering their stolen product obsolete before it even breathed.
An angry man | Source: Midjourney
The news broke like a tsunami. My new venture, built on the very foundation they had undervalued, exploded onto the scene. The market reacted instantly. Their stock plummeted. Their much-hyped launch was a pathetic whisper against my roaring success. The headlines screamed: ‘Disgruntled Innovator Steals Thunder From Corporate Giant!’ I didn’t steal it; I reclaimed it. The calls poured in. Investors, partners, journalists. I was hailed as a genius, a visionary. The feeling was intoxicating. I had won. I had proven my worth, not just to myself, but to the entire world. I had outsmarted them. I had finally, truly, gotten everything I deserved.
An upset woman standing with her arms crossed | Source: Midjourney
Weeks later, a package arrived. Unmarked. No return address. Inside, a single, antique locket. It was identical to one my mother had worn every day of my childhood, a locket she’d said was a family heirloom, passed down through generations. My heart hammered. I opened it. On one side, a faded photo of my mother and father, young, smiling. On the other, a tiny, almost imperceptible inscription. My hands trembled as I brought it closer. It read: ‘For our little innovator. Love, Dad.
Project Phoenix.’ Project Phoenix. That was the internal code name for the company. The company I just brought to its knees.My father… he was the one who founded it. My father, who had supposedly died in an accident when I was a child. The father my mother always said was a humble engineer, working for some unnamed firm. The father I never knew, whose legacy I’d inadvertently destroyed.
He wasn’t dead. He was very much alive. He built that company. And he had been watching me the entire time. My mother… she had lied. Everything was a lie. My entire life, built on a foundation of deceit. And my grand triumph? My glorious revenge? It wasn’t against some faceless corporation. It was against my own father. I had not just outsmarted the company; I had destroyed my family’s legacy, and shattered the last illusion of my own past.
A man sitting back in his chair looking defeated | Source: Midjourney
I stared at the locket, my victory tasting like ash, like bitter, horrifying ash. Was I being tested? Was this a twisted inheritance? Or had I just committed the ultimate act of patricide, not with a weapon, but with code? The calls still come, celebrating my success. But all I hear now is the deafening silence of my shattered world.
