My Three Million Dollar Sabotage Chapter 1

"Everyone else here seems to manage. Why can't you?"

Ella’s voice echoed in the conference room. A dozen pairs of eyes focused on me.

I lowered my gaze to the quarterly report in my hands. Monthly KPI Completion Rate: 32%.

Olivia: 115%. Ben: 108%. Even Sarah, the intern who’d only been here three months, was at 95%.

Only me. 32%.

"If those numbers look like this next month, Jenna, you’ll need to seriously re-evaluate your future here.”

I didn't speak.

Three years. Every month, the same ritual.

I genuinely thought I was incompetent.

It wasn't until the day I resigned that I finally saw the full KPI Allocation Spreadsheet.

* * *

The air conditioning in the conference room was set to Arctic, but my back was slick with sweat.

Ella tossed my report onto the table. The sound wasn't loud, but every word she spoke felt like a nail driven into my skull.

"Jenna Hayes. Tell me, why are you, once again, at the bottom of the list?"

I stood up, palms damp.

"The client side this month—"

"The client side?" Ella cut me off. "Did Olivia’s clients have no issues? Did Ben's clients have no issues?"

I opened my mouth, but no defense came out.

"Just sit down, Jenna," Ella said, waving a hand dismissively. "It’s the same tired excuses every month. I’m exhausted hearing them."

I sank back into my chair.

The silence was thick.

I could feel the glances of my colleagues: some purely entertained, some tinged with pity, and others—undiluted schadenfreude.

"Alright, that’s it. Meeting adjourned." Ella stood up. "Jenna, stay behind."

The others filed out.

Olivia brushed past me and murmured, "Hang in there."

I couldn't tell if it was genuine support or practiced corporate politeness.

The door clicked shut.

It was just Ella and me.

"Jenna," Ella said, pulling up a chair across the table. Her tone softened, dropping into a deceptive cadence of concern. "I’m not targeting you, you know that."

I nodded stiffly.

"But this performance... it’s indefensible."

"Ella, I personally visited twenty-three prospective clients this month—"

"And the result?"

I fell silent.

"How many contracts did you close?"

"Two."

"Two," Ella repeated, letting the number hang in the air. "Olivia saw fifteen accounts and closed eight. Tell me, where exactly is the breakdown?"

I wanted to point out that Olivia’s accounts were mostly renewals and long-standing clients—easy conversions.

My accounts?

They were all new, cold leads—never-before-converted prospects. The furthest was in the next county, a four-hour round trip.

But I didn't say it.

It wouldn’t have mattered.

"Jenna, I'm doing this for your own good." Ella stood up and gave my shoulder a patronizing pat. "Young people need to be put through the wringer. Build character, right?"

"Right."

"Next month, try harder."

"I will."

I walked out of the conference room.

Laughter drifted from the breakroom.

"Another dressing down, huh?"

"I know. Last place every month."

"I mean, how does she still have a job?"

"Must be the thick skin, honestly."

More laughter.

I froze.

That was Olivia's voice. The same Olivia who had just told me to "hang in there."

I didn't go in. I turned and went back to my cubicle.

I logged onto my computer. The screen showed my client visit log for the month.

Twenty-three accounts.

Twenty-three cold calls.

I’d visited one company three times, and they wouldn't even look at the quote. With another, I’d barely finished my opening line before they said, "We're not interested." I drove two hours to a third, only to find the office had moved months ago.

I was trying. I just couldn't understand why everyone else could breeze through their targets while I was killing myself just to fail.

My phone vibrated.

It was Mom.

"Sweetie, did you get your monthly bonus yet?"

I gripped the phone, unable to speak.

"Jenna?"

"Mom, I’m in the middle of something. I’ll call you back later."

I hung up.

I stared at the screen, which now displayed next month’s client list. Ella had just emailed it.

Twenty-eight accounts.

All new prospects.

I managed to pull up Olivia’s list.

Twelve accounts.

Eight were renewals, three were existing client referrals, and only one was a new lead.

I placed the two lists side-by-side and stared at them for a long time.

Then I closed the window.

Forget it.

Maybe I really was just incompetent.

At the end of the day, Sarah, the admin, called out to me.

"Jenna, you have a package."

I took it. It was from my mother.

I opened it to find a thick winter jacket. Tucked inside was a note: It’s getting cold. Don't work too hard; your health is what matters.

I stood by the company exit, looking at the coat.

Mom didn't know I was dead last every month.

Mom didn't know I hadn’t had a raise in three years.

Mom didn't know I was the department's running joke.

I shoved the jacket back in the bag and stepped out the door.

It was raining.

I hadn't brought an umbrella.

I walked the entire way to the subway station, getting soaked.