He waved the tickets in my face like they were his birthright. Perks of being the boss, he said, grinning. I smiled back, the kind of smile that hides a storm. Enjoy the game, I told him. He had no idea that by Monday he’d wish he’d stayed home. I joined Ridgeway Consulting 3 years ago, hungry to prove myself.

Back then, Mark Lawson wasn’t just my boss. He was my mentor. He saw something in me. Or so I thought. He’d take me out for drinks, tell me stories about how he built his career, how loyalty mattered more than talent. I believed him. I worked weekends, holidays, late nights until the janitor flicked the lights off in warning. I became his go-to, the reliable one.

When the Wilson project came in, the one that could double the company’s quarterly revenue, he handed it to me. Don’t let me down, kid. I didn’t. Six months of missed birthdays, canceled dates, and black coffee later, I delivered perfection. The client, thrilled, handed me two Super Bowl tickets, front row, 50yard line.

He said it was for the person who made it happen. Mark smiled when he heard. That’s incredible, really. But technically, the project was under my division, he said, laughing like it was a joke. You should be grateful you have a job at all, right? He took them just like that. I didn’t sleep that night, not because of the tickets, but because of what that act revealed. He wasn’t a mentor.

He was a parasite. The next morning, I walked into his office, calm as stone. Thanks for everything, Mark. I learned a lot here, I said. He looked up, smirking. You’re not quitting, are you? You’ve got a bright future here, son. Of course not, I lied. I’m just saying enjoy the game. He chuckled. I will.

While he was busy planning his weekend in Las Vegas, I was planning something else. You learn a lot by working under a man like Mark. You learn where he hides his skeletons. See, Mark wasn’t just arrogant. He was careless. He’d forward me internal reports, client statements, and confidential emails, expecting me to clean up his mess.

I’d been building a quiet archive, one folder at a time. It wasn’t out of malice back then. I just wanted to stay organized. But now it was my weapon. It started with a single email, a forwarded thread where Mark had altered invoice dates to inflate his quarterly performance numbers. Then travel reimbursements for trips that never happened.

Then expense reports for client dinners that I knew personally he’d had with his mistress, not the clients. I didn’t confront him. I built my case meticulously. I drafted a report, clean, factual, undeniable. I backed it with timestamps, signatures, and bank records. I even added screenshots of messages he sent after 2:00 a.m.

when he thought he was texting his girlfriend, not the company Slack. Then I waited for my queue. Sunday, he was on TV, smiling, beer in hand, front row at the Super Bowl. He even posted a selfie with the caption, “Hard work pays off.” I almost laughed. That night, I sent one email to HR, the CEO, and the company’s legal department.

Subject line: Concerning misuse of company funds, Mark Lawson. Attached: Everything. Monday morning, I arrived early, coffee in hand. I even brought donuts, the good kind. When Mark walked in, he was glowing. “You wouldn’t believe that game,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Best weekend of my life.” “I bet,” I said. At 9:17 a.m.

, his phone buzzed. “Then again, then again.” He frowned, glanced at his screen. The color drained from his face. He walked to his office, closed the door. Through the glass, I watched the CEO step in, followed by two HR reps and a security guard. I didn’t hear the words, but I saw the gestures, the confusion, the denial, the anger, then the silence.

By 10:04, he was gone, box in hand, eyes hollow. As he passed my desk, he tried to meet my eyes. I didn’t look up. Guess it was a hell of a game, I murmured. The company launched an internal audit. Turns out my report was only the tip of the iceberg. They uncovered years of small thefts and policy violations. He wasn’t just fired. He was blacklisted.

Two weeks later, I got promoted. The same position he’d once told me I wasn’t ready for. The irony? The Wilson client called to congratulate me. Said they were glad to see I was finally getting recognition. Then they added almost sheepishly, “We have season tickets next year and they’re yours.” I smiled. “Thank you. I’ll make sure to enjoy the game.

” People often ask if I regret it, if I feel guilty about how it all ended. Guilt? No. You can’t feel guilty about justice, only satisfaction. Mark taught me something valuable. Never show anger. Anger makes you predictable. Calm makes you dangerous. He thought he was untouchable because he signed my paycheck.

Because he could take what was mine and call it mentorship. But men like him forget loyalty works both ways.