Chapter 1

The factory floor had plunged into total chaos when the main assembly line blew out.

To save the million-dollar production deadline, I stayed up and worked for forty-eight sleepless hours straight.

Not only did I salvage the entire contract, but I even redesigned the bottleneck modules to boost overall efficiency.

Yet on payday, my boss slammed an itemized deduction notice right in front of my face.

"Chase, while repairing the machinery, you used three rolls of heavy-duty tape and two quarts of industrial lube," Richard said, his tone utterly dismissive.

"Plus, you drank two cases of bottled water from the breakroom. It all comes out of your check. I rounded it down for you—a clean five-hundred-dollar deduction."

A few suck-up coworkers chimed in with sneers:

"Come on, Chase, an ace engineer like you shouldn't sweat pocket change, right?"

I looked down at the miserable excuse for overtime pay on my stub. My heart went completely cold.

Without a single word, I slammed five hundred-dollar bills down on his desk, grabbed my toolbox, and walked out for good.

A month later, my customized assembly line crashed, and the entire plant ground to a screeching halt.

Richard called me like a lunatic, practically screaming into the receiver:

"Chase! Come back right this second! I’ll give you a five-hundred-dollar raise!"

Sitting in my sleek corner office at a premier multinational firm, I took a relaxed sip of my drink and answered evenly:

"Mr. Leach, I am currently an exclusive senior technical consultant. My time is billed by the minute."

"Want me to fix your junk? Sure."

"One thousand dollars a minute. Not a penny less."

Silence hung over the line for two stunned seconds before Richard exploded into a furious roar.

"Chase Vance! Have you lost your damn mind?!"

"A grand a minute?! Why don't you just rob a bank?!"

"Let me tell you something: don't think this place can't run without you! I've got plenty of guys who can fix a stupid machine!"

His screeching was so loud that I pulled the phone away from my ear.

I took another sip of freshly ground espresso.

"Then I wish you the best of luck."

With that, I hung up.

And promptly blocked his number.

Hans, our technical director, leaned over from his desk and asked, "Trouble, Chase?"

I gave an easy smile and shook my head.

"Just spam."

Hans shrugged and tapped the blueprint displayed across my dual monitors.

"This parameter tweak you made is nothing short of brilliant."

"You just shaved at least a hundred thousand euros off our production costs."

"I’m putting you in for the highest performance tier bonus next month."

I nodded in appreciation. "Thank you, Hans."

A hundred thousand euros.

Back at Richard’s pathetic sweatshop, the money I saved him exceeded that amount tenfold.

Yet the greedy parasite docked me five hundred bucks over some tape and bottled water.

Give an inch, and they take a mile.

Since he thought my skills were dirt cheap, I was more than happy to let him discover the real cost of cheap labor.

Just before clock-out time that afternoon, the front desk paged my line.

"Mr. Vance, there are three men in the lobby asking for you. They claim to be your former coworkers."

I frowned slightly.

Old coworkers?

In Richard’s toxic circus, nobody was my friend—they were just vultures waiting for my downfall.

I took the elevator down to the lobby.

Three figures stood awkwardly in the pristine reception area.

Leading them was Trent, the shop floor supervisor, flanked by two of his usual lackeys.

Spotting me, Trent puffed up his chest and strutted over, reaching out to slap my shoulder in faux-camaraderie.

I took a swift half-step aside, letting his hand hit empty air.

His palm froze in mid-flight. Without missing a beat, he rubbed his hands together with an oily grin.

"Well, look at you, Chase! Really moving up in the world, huh? Quite the swanky corporate tower."

I looked him dead in the eye, ice in my voice.

"Say what you came to say, or get the hell out."

Trent’s smile tightened, but he quickly forced that greasy, patronizing smirk back onto his face.

"Whoa, easy there, brother. No need for all that fire."

"Mr. Leach told me that the five-hundred-dollar fine was just an accounting error."

"If you come back right now and get the lines humming, he’ll refund you double—a full grand in cash."

"We’re all brothers here. Why burn bridges over a tiny misunderstanding?"

A sharp laugh escaped my lips.

Brothers?

When I was running myself ragged for forty-eight hours until my nose started bleeding, Trent was kicking back in his air-conditioned office sipping iced lattes and playing mobile poker.

When I got fined, he was the loudest hyena laughing at my expense.

Now that the machines were dead, suddenly we were blood brothers?

"I gave my rate. One thousand dollars a minute."

"Show me the retainer, and I'll show up."

"Otherwise, don't waste my breath."

I turned on my heel to leave.

Trent panicked and lunged forward, grabbing my sleeve.

"Chase Vance! Don't you dare play hard to get with me!"

"You think landing a gig at a foreign firm makes you royalty?!"

"You want me to make a scene right here? Let your fancy new bosses see what kind of trash they actually hired?!"

His voice echoed across the open atrium, instantly drawing stares from security guards and passing executives.

I stopped, slowly turning back toward him.

"Go ahead. Try it."