Fired Over a Gift Card, Then They Learned I Held $200 MillionChapter 1

My probation ended. I got fired.

The bank had no open positions this year, so an intern who'd just been told to leave stormed straight into President Fox's office.

She claimed I'd been sitting on my position to line my own pockets, skimming fifty thousand in gift cards every month—the ones purchasing set aside for clients.

I didn't even bother looking up at her. "I have deposits here. That makes me a client too. Those gifts were mine to begin with."

She sized me up, lip curling. "You, a client? You've got what, a few thousand to your name? And you think that entitles you to fifty grand a month in gift cards? You think this bank is your personal ATM?"

I looked at her—swaggering, shameless—and at Nelson, sitting there in silence. I smiled, stood up, and packed my things.

She wanted this job so badly? Fine. She could have it.

Only she got one thing wrong. The bank wasn't my ATM.

Of the bank's two hundred and thirty million in annual deposits, two hundred million were mine.

*I* was the bank's ATM.

……

I clocked out right on time, tucking this month's fifty-thousand-dollar batch of gift cards into my pocket.

That's when the president's office erupted.

Every colleague who loved a good show crowded toward the door.

I had zero interest in the drama. I grabbed my best friend and headed for the restaurant—figured we'd blow through the fifty grand over dinner.

I'd barely stood up when I heard my name ripping through Virginia Austin's shouting.

"From what I know, Tracey Butler didn't even take the entrance exam before they let her in! She sits at her desk every single day doing absolutely nothing. Fine, she collects a paycheck for free!"

"But in just the three months I've been interning here, I've watched her go to purchasing every single month and walk out with gift cards. Why should someone like her take up a spot at this bank?!"

I pushed through the crowd of colleagues, walked into the office, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

Watched her go off.

Virginia's face was flushed crimson. She lunged at me, hands clawing wildly across my clothes, desperate to dig out proof.

It didn't take long. Her fingers found the stiff edges of the cards.

She grinned, yanked them out, and slapped them down on the desk.

"President Fox, didn't I tell you? Right here. Evidence!"