My Boss's Arrogant Son Made Sure I Got Fired, But I Was Prepared, Revenge Was Sweet... CH2

The Golden Boy

My name is Claire Patterson, and on April 18th I learned exactly how dangerous it can be when a spoiled heir thinks the world owes him obedience.

The morning itself started like any other Thursday. I was at my desk before seven, coffee in one hand, quarterly reports in the other. Numbers were my calm, my order, my way of putting sense to a chaotic world. I had been with Crawford & Carter International for six years, long enough to see its highs, its lows, and its near-collapse last year when one of our biggest accounts nearly walked away. I’d pulled long nights, endless flights, sacrificed holidays and weekends to save that relationship. And when we turned the corner, when Eastbridge Global signed on the dotted line, I thought I’d secured not just my future, but the company’s.

That was before Nathaniel Carter.

The door slammed open hard enough to rattle the glass picture frames on my office wall. I didn’t even have to look up to know who it was. No one else in this building had the gall—or the sheer lack of manners—to enter like that.

“Nathaniel,” I said evenly, placing my coffee down.

He was nineteen. Tall, awkward, a designer suit clinging to his lanky frame like a costume borrowed from his father’s closet. His eyes, a cold shade of Carter-blue, blazed with the fury only a spoiled child can summon when told no.

“You think you can ignore me?” he snapped, slamming his fist onto my desk. The sound echoed. “When I give an order, you follow it.”

I stayed seated. Calm. Professional. This wasn’t the first tantrum I’d endured in this building, though it was certainly the loudest.

“Nathaniel,” I said, folding my hands together, “I don’t take orders from interns.”

His jaw locked, his face turning a shade redder. “I’m not an intern. I’m the future CEO. You’ll regret this.”

I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Then I’ll deal with you when you’re actually CEO. Until then…” I gestured politely toward the door. “…please leave my office.”

For a moment, he just stood there, lips twitching like he wanted to scream. Then he stormed out, muttering something about “teaching me a lesson.”

I knew brushing him off would come back to bite me. I just didn’t expect it to be that very night.

Months Earlier

To understand how I ended up in Nathaniel’s crosshairs, you have to rewind a few months. Richard Carter, our CEO and Nathaniel’s father, had proudly announced his son would be joining the company to “gain real-world experience.”

Most of us exchanged knowing looks. We’d seen this story before: the heir shows up, shadows a few meetings, makes a nuisance of himself, then disappears back to his yacht or trust fund. But Nathaniel was different. He wasn’t content to lurk. He demanded a title: Junior Operations Director.

That was the title I had bled for. I had clawed my way into this seat, working sixty-hour weeks, flying to every corner of the globe to build relationships. And here was a teenager, plopped into a leadership position with no credentials and no understanding of how the company worked.

At first, I played along. I corrected his mistakes quietly. I fixed his botched proposals before clients ever saw them. I even covered for him when he “forgot” deadlines. Why? Because I valued my career. Because I believed in the company. And maybe, just maybe, I thought he’d grow up.

I was wrong.

The Breaking Point

Two weeks before that Thursday, Nathaniel barged into my office with a file. He dropped it onto my desk like a dead fish.

“Fire the Johnson team,” he said, smug as ever.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“They annoyed me. Get rid of them.”

The Johnson team was my team. They had just secured a $3.5 million contract, one that kept us solvent.

“I’m not firing anyone because they annoyed you,” I said calmly.

His eyes narrowed. “I’ll tell my father you refused a direct order.”

“Go ahead.”

He stormed out, slamming the door so hard a stack of reports toppled onto the floor.

I thought it would end there. I thought Richard would knock some sense into his son. But entitlement has a way of bending reality.

The Gala

The annual spring gala was supposed to be a celebration. The venue glittered with chandeliers and champagne fountains. Investors mingled, smiling, laughing, the scent of money and ambition heavy in the air.

I was proud that night. Proud to represent the international division I’d built from scratch. Proud to see my clients shaking hands with our executives. For a fleeting moment, I believed hard work still mattered.

Then my phone buzzed. A text from Richard Carter.

Claire, please come to my office first thing tomorrow morning.

My stomach dropped.

The Morning After

By 7:30 a.m., I stood in Richard’s office. He looked exhausted, lines deepening around his mouth.

“Claire,” he began, not meeting my eyes, “I’m afraid I have to—”

“Check your inbox first,” I interrupted.

He froze. His gaze flicked to his screen. He clicked. Once. Twice. His face drained of color.

Because what Richard didn’t know was that I had been documenting everything.

Forty-three forwarded emails, every single one from Nathaniel. Some were laughable, others borderline illegal. Orders to falsify delivery reports. Demands that finance adjust numbers to make his forecasts look better. Emails to me directly: Just do what I say or I’ll make sure you’re out.

Richard’s hands trembled as he scrolled. “I… I had no idea.”

I folded my arms. “Didn’t you?”

He flinched. Because deep down, of course he knew. But it was easier to look away when your golden boy was playing dictator.

“Claire,” he whispered, “why didn’t you come to me sooner?”

“Because I thought this company believed in merit,” I said evenly. “And because I didn’t want to be the reason your family imploded.”

He buried his face in his hands. “My board can never see this.”

I leaned forward. “I’m not here to threaten you, Richard. I’m here because your son walked into my office yesterday morning and demanded I fire a team that just saved you $3.5 million. And when I refused, he promised to destroy my career. I won’t let a nineteen-year-old brat treat people like garbage while you look the other way.”

He looked up, weary, defeated. “What do you want?”

I smiled slightly. “I want my career. I want the Johnson team protected. And I want this nonsense to stop before it blows up in your face. Nathaniel is your problem, not mine.”

I left his office with my heart pounding.

It wasn’t about revenge. Not yet. It was about justice. About making sure hard work still mattered.

But by Monday morning, it was clear Nathaniel wasn’t going to let it go.

The Sabotage

Nathaniel Carter was the kind of person who mistook pettiness for strategy.
If he couldn’t beat you with merit (and he never could), he’d settle for games played in the shadows.

The Monday after my confrontation with Richard, the games began.

Death by a Thousand Cuts

It started small.
An email chain about an international client suddenly didn’t include me. I only found out when someone forwarded it with a “Not sure why you weren’t on this, Claire.”
A strategy meeting—one I’d helped plan—was rescheduled without notice. I walked into the boardroom at the original time and found it empty, the chairs neatly pushed in like they were mocking me.

Then came the budget approvals. Normally, international operations ran smoothly, my sign-offs rubber-stamped after years of spotless track records. Now, every approval was mysteriously “delayed.” Finance blamed “miscommunication.” Procurement blamed “system errors.” But I could see Nathaniel smirking in the hallway, leaning against the wall like a vulture waiting for something to die.

One morning, I caught him outside a conference room. The board had just left after a quarterly review. He winked at me as I passed.

That wink told me everything: he thought he was winning.

Why I Wasn’t Afraid

Here’s the thing about spoiled heirs like Nathaniel: they think power is permanent, untouchable, as if their last name alone can carry them forever.

But I’d been in the corporate trenches long enough to know the truth: power is only as strong as the foundations propping it up. And Nathaniel, whether he realized it or not, was standing on foundations I had built.

The international division—the crown jewel of our company—was mine. I’d birthed it, nurtured it, grown it from a one-client gamble into a network spanning six continents. If I left, the division would wobble. If I was pushed, it could collapse.

He didn’t understand that yet. But he would.

Because while Nathaniel was busy pulling strings, I was weaving a net.

My Allies

Three months earlier, when I first realized Nathaniel was maneuvering for my job, I’d started preparing. Quietly. Carefully.

The first person I brought in was Marta Chen, head of compliance. Marta had a memory like an elephant and a spine of steel. She’d worked beside me for years and had seen more than one executive “bend the rules” until they snapped. Over late-night coffees, I laid out my evidence. Nathaniel’s emails. His directives. His reckless demands.

Marta shook her head, exhaling sharply. “Claire, this is a career-ending mess. If the board sees this—”

“They need to see it,” I said flatly.

She studied me for a long moment. Then she nodded. “I’m with you.”

The second was David Alvarez, our senior legal counsel. David had the weary look of a man who’d spent too much time plugging leaks in a sinking ship, but his mind was sharp as a scalpel. I slid a folder across the table during lunch one afternoon. He skimmed it, his frown deepening.

“This isn’t just bad,” he muttered. “This is liability. Compliance breaches. Fiduciary violations.” He set the folder down. “Claire, if this blows up, it won’t just take him down. Richard could go with him.”

“I know.”

David leaned back, eyes narrowing. “So what’s your play?”

“The truth,” I said simply. “In black and white. Let the board decide.”

A pause. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Alright. I’m in.”

The Work

Together, the three of us built the kind of case that couldn’t be ignored.

Marta cross-referenced every contract Nathaniel had touched. She found at least two that flirted with violations of international trade law. One mistake nearly triggered an investigation that could have cost us millions—an error I had quietly corrected without fanfare two months earlier.

David drafted confidential memos outlining potential breaches of fiduciary duty. He didn’t embellish; he didn’t dramatize. Just facts. Hard, undeniable facts.

I compiled every reckless email, every order to falsify numbers, every childish tantrum disguised as a directive.

By the time we were done, we had a dossier thick enough to make even the most complacent board member sit up straight.

The Client Card

The final piece was Eastbridge Global Holdings—our biggest international client, the one I’d personally courted and secured. They were a multinational behemoth, and without them, Crawford & Carter would sink.

I knew Eastbridge had doubts about Nathaniel. After all, they’d endured a disastrous meeting with him in my absence, where he’d confused shipment dates, misstated tariffs, and then tried to “wing it” with half-baked promises.

So, I reached out to Michelle Tan, Eastbridge’s head of partnerships, a woman I respected deeply. We met for lunch at a quiet bistro downtown.

After catching up, I asked casually, “How’s your experience been with the Carter team lately?”

Michelle gave me a long look, then smirked faintly. “Off the record, Claire? If you’re gone, so are we.”

I blinked. “Seriously?”

She sipped her tea. “We don’t work with amateurs. And your… junior director is an amateur. If Richard lets him run the show, we’ll take our contracts elsewhere.”

That was all I needed.

The Suspension

When Richard called me into his office a week later, his expression was grim.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “Nathaniel’s out of control.”

“Good,” I said. “So you’ve spoken with him?”

Richard shifted in his chair, eyes darting away. “I tried. He won’t listen. He told me if I don’t get rid of you, he’ll go to the board.”

I actually laughed. “He’s nineteen. Threatening board action. Impressive.”

Richard didn’t laugh. His voice dropped. “Claire… I’m afraid I have to suspend you temporarily. Just to calm him down. It’s not personal.”

I stared at him, stone cold. “It’s never personal, is it?”

He winced. “I’ll make it right. I promise.”

But I already knew. Richard wasn’t going to stand up to his son. He was going to sacrifice me, the person who had built his international division, because it was easier.

So I nodded politely, thanked him for his time, and walked out of his office with my head high.

Suspended. Effective immediately.

But I wasn’t defeated.

Because while Richard was busy trying to appease his son, Marta and David were about to lower the hammer.

And Eastbridge Global was waiting with their own ultimatum.

The Boardroom War

The official notice hit the companywide email list at 9:17 a.m. on a Tuesday.

“Effective immediately, Claire Patterson has been placed on administrative leave pending internal review.”

No explanation. No details. Just a cold, sterile line announcing my professional execution.

Around me, colleagues peeked over cubicle walls, whispering. Some shot sympathetic glances, others avoided my eyes as if suspension were contagious. Nathaniel strutted down the hall ten minutes later, hands in his pockets, grin wide enough to split his face. He didn’t speak, but the look he gave me said it all: Checkmate.

Poor boy. He had no idea the game had just started.

The Report

At 10:05 a.m., Marta and David submitted their joint report directly to the board of directors. It wasn’t emotional. It wasn’t dramatic. It was cold, clinical, lethal.

Evidence of Nathaniel’s attempts to manipulate financial data.

Emails ordering departments to falsify delivery reports.

Directives issued outside his authority, risking contractual violations.

Interference with compliance procedures.

And most damning of all, Richard Carter’s failure—by omission or willful ignorance—to stop any of it.

The report closed with a single recommendation:

“We advise immediate review of leadership accountability and potential breaches of fiduciary duty.”

Lockdown

By 11:30 a.m., the boardroom was sealed. The frosted glass doors shut, blinds drawn. Executives who tried to enter were waved away by grim-faced assistants.

I wasn’t in that room, of course. But Marta kept me updated through short, sharp texts:

Richard looks like he’s aged ten years in an hour.

Nathaniel tried to blame you. Didn’t go well.

Board wants answers. No one’s smiling.

I sat at home in my living room, laptop open but untouched, sipping tea with a strange calm. For months I’d carried the weight of proof, the dread that maybe no one would care. Now, the truth was out of my hands.

It was in theirs.

The Client Strikes

At 12:15 p.m., Richard received an email he had been dreading. I know because Michelle Tan sent me a copy herself later that day.

The subject line was polite enough: “Future Partnership Considerations.”

The body wasn’t.

Eastbridge Global Holdings has valued our relationship with Crawford & Carter. However, recent leadership changes and client-facing missteps have raised significant concerns about future stability. Unless corrective actions are taken immediately, we will be forced to reconsider our partnership.

Translation: fire Nathaniel, or lose your biggest client.

Richard’s Desperation

By 2:00 p.m., Richard had called me three times. I let the first two ring out. By the third, I answered.

“Claire,” he said, his voice ragged, “I think we need to talk.”

I let the silence stretch. Finally, I asked, “About my suspension?”

“Yes—no—I mean—about everything.”

He sounded like a man dangling from a cliff.

We agreed to meet at 4:00 p.m. in his office.

The Meeting

For the first time in weeks, Nathaniel wasn’t lurking in Richard’s shadow. The boy who had strutted around like a prince was nowhere to be seen.

Richard looked hollow. His tie was loosened, his face gray. The mask of the confident CEO had slipped, revealing the father underneath—terrified, cornered, desperate.

“The board is furious,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “They think I’ve lost control. Nathaniel… he tried to explain himself, but it only made things worse. And Eastbridge…” His voice trailed off.

“I saw the letter,” I said calmly.

His head snapped up. “They sent it to you?”

“Michelle and I go back years,” I reminded him. “Of course she did.”

He sagged back in his chair. “Claire… what do you want?”

The Demand

For the second time in as many weeks, he asked me that question. But this time, the balance of power was different.

“I want my suspension lifted immediately,” I said.
“I want the Johnson team protected—permanently.”
“I want Nathaniel stripped of his title and authority. He doesn’t set foot in operations again.”

Richard swallowed. “The board won’t let me keep him here after this. But Claire—he’s my son.”

“That’s your problem,” I said flatly.

He stared at me across the desk, the weight of fatherhood and leadership colliding in his eyes. For years, he had chosen the former, shielding Nathaniel from consequences. But now the bill had come due.

The Board’s Decision

The next morning, an emergency companywide email arrived.

Effective immediately, Nathaniel Carter has resigned from Crawford & Carter International to pursue other opportunities.
Effective immediately, Claire Patterson is reinstated with full authority over International Operations.

No mention of suspension. No mention of misconduct. The kind of clean, sanitized announcement designed to prevent gossip.

But gossip bloomed anyway.

In the breakroom, whispers grew: Nathaniel was caught cooking numbers. Claire had proof. The board forced Richard’s hand.

No one said it out loud, but everyone knew: Nathaniel had been dethroned.

Nathaniel’s Exit

I didn’t see him in person until later that afternoon, storming out of the building with a box of his belongings. He spotted me in the lobby, standing near the elevators. For a second, our eyes met.

His face was red, twisted with rage, humiliation, disbelief.

“You’ll pay for this,” he hissed, low enough that only I could hear.

I tilted my head. “Haven’t you paid enough?”

The security guard held the door open. Nathaniel stomped out into the sunlight, swallowed by a world that didn’t care about his last name.

And just like that, the golden boy was gone.

But the war wasn’t quite over. Because when spoiled heirs fall, they don’t go quietly. They flail. They scheme. And Nathaniel Carter was no exception.

He wasn’t finished with me yet.

The Revenge Complete

When the board’s announcement hit inboxes, the office buzzed like a kicked beehive.
Most people celebrated quietly — some with smiles, some with relieved sighs, and a few with cautious shrugs that said, Finally.

But Nathaniel Carter wasn’t the type to vanish quietly into the night.

The Last Flail

Three days after his “resignation,” I received a tip from Marta.

He’s been emailing vendors. Off his personal account. Trying to stir trouble. Watch your back.

Sure enough, one of our logistics partners forwarded me a message Nathaniel had sent them:

Claire Patterson is unstable. She falsified records to frame me. She’s only in her position because she blackmailed the board. Align with me now and I’ll make sure you’re rewarded when I return.

When I read it, I actually laughed out loud. Blackmail? Me? The sheer audacity.

But it was dangerous, too. Lies travel fast. And in business, perception can poison just as quickly as fact.

So, I did what Nathaniel never could: I kept receipts.

The Trap

With David’s guidance, I reached out to our vendors directly. I forwarded them Nathaniel’s emails, paired with the actual compliance reports Marta had filed. Cold, unaltered facts. Numbers. Dates. Contracts. Evidence.

One by one, they responded: We stand with you, Claire.

Meanwhile, Marta traced the origin of Nathaniel’s messages. Turns out, the idiot had been sending them from his luxury apartment’s Wi-Fi — the same one tied to Richard Carter’s corporate account. With every email, he’d left digital fingerprints all over the place.

David’s memo to the board was short and brutal:

Mr. Nathaniel Carter has continued to interfere with company business post-resignation, distributing defamatory and false statements to vendors in violation of confidentiality agreements. We recommend pursuing legal remedy immediately.

Within 24 hours, Nathaniel’s access to every company system was permanently revoked. The board’s attorneys drafted a cease-and-desist that landed on his doorstep with the weight of a sledgehammer.

The Call

That night, my phone rang. Private number. Against my better judgment, I answered.

“Claire,” Nathaniel’s voice cracked with fury. “You think you’ve won? You’re nothing without this company. My father will—”

“Your father already did nothing,” I cut in. My tone was calm, steady. “He had years to fix you. He didn’t. And now? It’s not my problem anymore.”

“You’ll regret this!” he shouted.

I smiled into the silence. “No, Nathaniel. For once, you will.”

And I hung up.

Richard’s Reckoning

The following week, Richard Carter called me into his office. He looked… smaller. Not in stature, but in presence. Like the man had been deflated.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” he admitted quietly. “You saved this company.”

I crossed my arms. “No, Richard. I saved my division. The company? That’s on you.”

He flinched, but he didn’t argue. He just nodded, shoulders sagging beneath the weight of a truth he could no longer ignore.

“I’ll be recommending you for Executive Vice President,” he added after a pause. “It’s overdue.”

I considered that. The title was tempting. The pay even more so. But I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tie my fate any tighter to a man who had almost thrown me to the wolves.

So I told him, “We’ll see. For now, I’ll keep building what I built. But Richard? If you ever let family blind you again, there won’t be a second rescue.”

He nodded, chastened.

Sweet Revenge

By the end of the quarter, Nathaniel was a ghost story whispered in elevators. His LinkedIn profile went dark. His name disappeared from industry news. I heard through the grapevine that he’d tried to start a “consulting firm,” but no one wanted to work with him. The boy who once strutted through our hallways like a prince now couldn’t get a seat at the table.

And me? I thrived.

Eastbridge Global renewed their contracts with a five-year extension. New clients poured in, citing “stability” and “trust.” Marta was promoted. David’s counsel became the board’s north star.

One evening, after a long day closing a major deal, I poured myself a glass of wine and sat on my balcony overlooking the city. The lights glimmered, the air hummed, and for the first time in months, I let myself breathe.

Revenge hadn’t been loud. It hadn’t been explosive. It had been patient, precise, inevitable.

And it was sweet.