At 1 a.m., I stood alone in the chilled vault, my boss's words echoing off marble floors: “Double-check every document. I want no mistakes.” He’d grind us down, even called it our “test of loyalty,” and after months, I hated him quietly over coffee breaks with the others. None of us understood why he pushed so hard, why every late-night audit felt like punishment.

Only tonight, by accident, I heard shouting upstairs—his voice, clipped but shaking, telling the board that as long as he oversaw our team, not one of us would be cut. When he returned, tie askew, he snapped, “You missed a column, Anna,” as if nothing had happened. I just nodded, pencil hovering over paper, while his hand briefly trembled beside the ledgers.