Holding a crucial piece of “evidence” in my hands, yet I’d never once done anything like using it to bring someone down. So the video I’d secretly recorded just sat there in my phone’s memory, quietly slipping into oblivion without me even realizing it.
After securing her footing at the company, Thúy Diễm’s attitude grew more and more arrogant. From being the department head’s “darling,” she quickly rose to become the Big Boss’s “star employee.” Of course, I never caught footage of her riding that old bastard—he’d been divorced for years anyway. If he wanted to fool around with young girls, he could just take them straight home. No need for sneaking around in office toilets.
After that incident, I waited to see how Quang Lân would deal with me, but in the end, everything remained calm—too calm. He probably knew full well what Thúy Diễm was actually capable of. The project I’d put together was already beyond his abilities, let alone hers. I, on the other hand, decided to quit sooner rather than later, to get away from a place where career ladders could apparently be climbed by spreading your legs. So I didn’t bother stirring up more trouble.
A few weeks later, my coworkers and I received the news: Thúy Diễm would be promoted to deputy manager, working alongside Quang Lân to oversee our team. No one was surprised, but we were furious. Everyone felt it was time to leave the company before some half-educated brat climbed onto our heads and started bossing us around.
Just as we were getting ready to submit our resignation letters, the pandemic hit.
I don’t want to dwell too much on it—everyone lived through it, so everyone knows how terrifying it was. The city went into lockdown zone by zone, and I ended up trapped in the boarding house with Ngọc Lễ and Duy Long. With no other choice, my coworkers and I postponed quitting and tried to cling on through the outbreak.
One month into lockdown, things became far harder than I’d expected. Business slowed to a crawl, and from top management to middle management, everyone was constantly irritable and on edge. Long-winded scolding sessions replaced what used to be strategic meetings.
One day during a team Zoom meeting, Thúy Diễm “on behalf of” the department head announced, “If you all know, the company is facing serious difficulties because of the pandemic. So even though we don’t want to, we’re forced to reduce staff. Other departments are keeping only half their personnel, and our department will be the same.”
The worst thing I’d feared finally came true. I had no idea how I’d survive in this city if I lost my job now. While I was still spiraling in thought, Thúy Diễm continued, “But I’ll give everyone a chance. We’ll discuss what each of you has contributed to the company and why I should let you stay. You’ll each have five minutes to prepare. After that, we’ll begin.”
Our Facebook group chat immediately exploded.
One female coworker cursed, “Who the fuck does she think she is? Is this her company now?”
Another guy added, “Climbing ranks by spreading her legs—guess it really is true.”
My friend said, “She just wants us to tear each other apart for her entertainment. You guys talk if you want. I’m not saying a word.”
Another colleague chimed in, “I’ve got a house in Saigon. I’m not scared.”
While the chat was still buzzing, the meeting resumed, “Five minutes are up. I’d like to invite Ms. Ngân to speak first.”
Ms. Ngân turned on her mic. “I have nothing to say. I respect the board’s decision. Besides, management surely knows who actually has ability and who doesn’t. After today, there’ll probably be a few people with zero competence still sitting around collecting paychecks anyway. Talking too much just means clinging to the company with words instead of real ability. That’s all. I’m not good at putting on airs like some people.”
Ms. Ngân was famous for fearing neither heaven nor earth—only her lover’s temper. There was no way she cared about this brat’s words. And she had real ability. If she were forced out after today, it would be the company losing her—not the other way around.
Everyone who spoke after her, including me, said only one sentence: “I feel the same way as Ms. Ngân.”
Unable to force us into her little performance, Thúy Diễm looked visibly disappointed. She’d been naive enough to think her words alone could control others. That opportunistic move only exposed her rotten character—childish and despicable.
Over the next few days, I called home often. Never before had the idea of life and death felt so vividly real. My grandparents were elderly, everything had to be handled with extreme caution. Meanwhile, my family worried about me being alone in Saigon, having to fend for myself with no one to rely on.
That day, when I called my mom, her eyes were red and swollen. She said nothing, but my instincts told me something was wrong. I secretly messaged my younger brother. Despite Mom forbidding him from telling me, after some bribing and threats, he finally confessed.
A neighbor back home had been careless during the pandemic, going in and out freely. He’d just returned from a major outbreak area and stopped by my parents’ place out of “neighborly goodwill.” As a result, my whole family was quarantined. Worse, my grandparents—already frail—had to be hospitalized.
Medical costs for the elderly were enormous. The family’s savings vanished quickly. In no time, my parents were forced to borrow money.
But during the pandemic, the only people with cash… were loan sharks.
Faced with my grandparents’ survival, my parents had no choice. Afterward, those men came daily, smashing things outside the house, making it impossible for my mom to do business. My brother told me, “They even held a knife to Dad’s neck. Mom cried so hard and told me to hide inside no matter what.”
I could only choke back tears. My mom had kept everything from me so I wouldn’t worry. But even if she’d told me sooner, I probably couldn’t have helped much.
The debt was over fifty million—and it accrued interest daily. If it dragged on, even a lifetime of work wouldn’t repay it.
That night, I called my mom again. Her eyes were still red. I reassured her, “Don’t worry. I’ll send money home.”
She cried, “Where would you get that much? It’s a pandemic—take care of yourself. Worst case, we’ll sell the land.”
That land had been my grandfather’s legacy. I knew my parents wouldn’t sell it unless absolutely forced.
Holding back tears, I said, “My company’s doing well. I get bonuses. I’ll send twenty million now, and the rest in a few days.”
After sending the money, I was left with only a few thousand in my account. Duy Long had overheard my call from the rooftop and asked, “Something wrong at home? Can we help?”
I told them everything. “I’ll send more after payday. Still short over twenty million.”
Duy Long said apologetically, “My family’s struggling too. I already sent money home.”
Ngọc Lễ added, “My family’s okay, but I’m broke.”
I forced a smile. “It’s not your fault.”
Duy Long replied, “I can at least cover your food for now.”
I nodded, deeply moved. “Thanks. Just help me get through this month. I’ll pay you back.”