The Final Negotiation

Chen Mo pressed the send button, and right at that moment, a pigeon flew past the window.

He watched the “Upload Successful” prompt on the screen, closed his laptop, and walked out of the warehouse. The hallway was empty, the only sound the fluorescent lights humming overhead.

His phone vibrated. A message from Old Zhou: “It’s sent. Meet him in the conference room at three this afternoon.”

Chen Mo replied with a “Got it,” then walked into the break room. Xiao Lin was there, making coffee. When she saw him come in, her hand trembled, spilling hot water onto the counter.

“You okay?” Chen Mo asked.

“I’m fine.” Xiao Lin wiped the spill with a paper towel. “Just… a little nervous.”

“About what?”

“You’re meeting him at three in the conference room,” Xiao Lin said. “You’re going to lay your cards on the table, aren’t you?”

Chen Mo didn’t deny it. He poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the counter. “What are you afraid he’ll do?”

Xiao Lin paused for a few seconds. “I don’t know. But I’ve known him for years—he never goes down without a fight.”

“I know.”

“He’ll fight back,” Xiao Lin said. “He’ll find a way to make himself look like the victim.”

“Then let him look like the victim,” Chen Mo said. “As long as the evidence is real, the victim is fake too.”

Xiao Lin looked at him, her expression complicated. “Aren’t you afraid?”

“I am,” Chen Mo said. “But afraid or not, I still have to do it.”

He set down his cup and walked out of the break room. His inner voice: I’m not the only one who’s afraid. He’s probably starting to be afraid too.

At 2:50 p.m., Chen Mo walked into the conference room. He didn’t turn on the lights. The curtains were half-drawn, light slanting through the gap and falling across the long table. He placed the manila envelope on the table, then sat down, watching the door.

At 2:55 p.m., the door pushed open.

Li Zonghan walked in, wearing a crisp suit, his tie perfectly knotted. When he saw Chen Mo sitting in the shadows, the corner of his mouth lifted. “You asked me to come—don’t tell me it’s just to see me in a suit.”

“Sit down.” Chen Mo pointed to the chair across from him.

Li Zonghan didn’t sit right away. He walked to the window, pulled open the curtains, letting sunlight pour into the room. “Better with light—makes things clearer when we talk.”

Then he sat down across from Chen Mo, folded his hands on the table. “Alright, what do you want to talk about?”

Chen Mo opened the manila envelope, pulled out several sheets of paper, and slid them across the table.

Li Zonghan glanced down. His expression didn’t change. “What’s this?”

“The purchase order you signed with Hongyun Machinery three years ago,” Chen Mo said. “It has your signature and the business manager’s from Hongyun. But you know this document is fake—you forged the procurement items and prices, and pocketed the difference into your own account.”

Li Zonghan was silent for a few seconds, then laughed. “Chen Mo, you think a few sheets of paper are enough to threaten me?”

“These aren’t ordinary paper,” Chen Mo said. “They’re the originals. The ones you kept in your safe.”

Li Zonghan’s smile froze. His fingers tightened slightly, but his voice stayed steady. “You broke into my office?”

“No,” Chen Mo said. “But I have a scanned copy.”

“Scans can be forged.”

“Originals can be forged too,” Chen Mo said. “But the signature on this document—that’s your own handwriting. Hand it over to forensics, and they can match the handwriting.”

Li Zonghan was silent for a few seconds, then said, “What do you want?”

“You resign voluntarily,” Chen Mo said. “Write your resignation letter today, and leave Mingyang Technology.”

Li Zonghan stared at him, his eyes sharp. “You think I’ll agree?”

“You will,” Chen Mo said. “Because if you don’t resign voluntarily, this document will end up on the general manager’s desk, then the Labor Bureau, and finally the District Prosecutor’s Office. Embezzlement, forgery—you know the sentences for those charges.”

Li Zonghan didn’t speak. His gaze flickered between Chen Mo and the document.

Then, suddenly, he reached out, trying to grab the paper.

But Chen Mo was faster—he pulled it back and slipped it into the manila envelope. “I’ve already made backups. Grabbing this one won’t help.”

Li Zonghan’s hand stopped mid-air. His expression finally changed—no longer the calm smile, but something grim. “You’ve been planning this from the start?”

“Yes.”

“You joined Mingyang Technology just to come after me?”

“Yes.”

Li Zonghan’s fist clenched. “Who the hell are you?”

“Someone you framed,” Chen Mo said. “Three years ago, you forged documents and made me take the fall. I got fired. You thought it would never come out.”

Li Zonghan’s breathing quickened. “You have no proof.”

“Now I do,” Chen Mo said. “And I also have evidence of you conducting private interviews with temp workers, evidence that the temp agency you brought in—Supai Human Resources—was underpaying wages, evidence that you abused your authority to exploit subordinates. All of that combined is enough to send you to prison.”

Li Zonghan leaned back in his chair and was silent for a long time.

Then he laughed. Not a triumphant laugh, but one tinged with exhaustion and resignation. “Do you know why I did it?”

“No,” Chen Mo said. “And I don’t want to know.”

“But you should,” Li Zonghan said. “Because back then, I needed money. My daughter was sick—she needed surgery. The company wouldn’t lend me the money, so I had to…”

“That’s your problem,” Chen Mo cut him off. “You don’t get to fill your hole with someone else’s life.”

Li Zonghan’s expression froze. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“You have two choices now,” Chen Mo said. “One: you resign voluntarily, and I promise this evidence won’t be made public. Two: you don’t resign, and I’ll hand it all over to the general manager, the Labor Bureau, and the District Prosecutor’s Office—your pick.”

Li Zonghan looked at him, his eyes complex. “If I resign voluntarily, will you really let it go?”

“I won’t pursue it,” Chen Mo said. “But what you did is already recorded. If you do it again, that evidence can be brought out anytime.”

Li Zonghan was silent for a long time. Then he stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to Chen Mo. “I need a little time.”

“You have one hour,” Chen Mo said. “I want your resignation letter on my desk by five o’clock.”

He stood up, picked up the manila envelope, and walked out of the conference room.

As the door clicked shut, he heard a dull thud behind him—Li Zonghan’s fist hitting the wall.

Chen Mo didn’t look back.

He walked into the warehouse, closed the door, and sat down on a stack of cardboard boxes. His phone vibrated. A message from Old Zhou: “How’s it going?”

“He’s still hesitating,” Chen Mo replied.

“Think he’ll resign?”

“Yes,” Chen Mo typed. “He doesn’t have another option.”

“Watch out—he might do something desperate when cornered.”

“I know.”

Chen Mo turned off his phone, leaned against the boxes, and closed his eyes.

At 4:50 p.m., Chen Mo’s phone vibrated. The caller ID showed Li Zonghan.

“I’ve written it,” Li Zonghan said, his voice hoarse. “My resignation letter.”

“Where is it?”

“On the conference room table.”

“Good.”

Chen Mo hung up and walked into the conference room. On the table lay a white envelope, with three characters on it: “Resignation Letter.”

He opened the envelope and pulled out the letter inside. Only a few short lines:

“I, Li Zonghan, due to personal reasons, hereby resign from my position as Deputy Manager of the Production Department at Mingyang Technology, effective immediately. Thank you for the company’s years of cultivation.”

Below that, his signature, and today’s date.

Chen Mo put the letter back in the envelope and walked out of the conference room.

He stopped by the HR department, knocked on the door, and handed the envelope to the HR supervisor. “Deputy Manager Li’s resignation letter.”

The HR supervisor took the envelope, a surprised look on his face. “He resigned?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Personal reasons.”

The HR supervisor was silent for a few seconds, then nodded. “I understand.”

Chen Mo turned and walked out of the HR department.

When he reached the main entrance of the company, he saw Li Zonghan standing under the canopy, his suit jacket draped over his arm, his tie slightly loose.

“You won,” Li Zonghan said, his tone calm.

Chen Mo didn’t speak.

“But you’ll never know why I did it back then,” Li Zonghan said, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “It wasn’t for the money—that was just an excuse. I did it because I was jealous of you.”

Chen Mo’s brow furrowed.

“You’d been with the company three years, top performer every year. Everyone said you deserved the deputy manager position more than I did,” Li Zonghan said. “I just wanted to make you disappear, so I could feel better about myself.”

He looked at Chen Mo, his eyes carrying a complex emotion. “You’re right. I’m a bastard.”

Then he turned and walked toward the parking lot.

Chen Mo stood there, watching his back fade into the distance. His inner voice: A bastard is a bastard. The reason doesn’t matter.

He turned and walked back through the Mingyang Technology gates.

The next morning, the general manager announced Li Zonghan’s resignation at the morning meeting. A low murmur spread through the conference room, but no one said anything publicly.

Only Zhang Wenxiang, when he met Chen Mo in the hallway, nodded at him. “Thank you.”

Chen Mo didn’t reply. He walked into the warehouse and continued sorting through quotation sheets.

At 2:00 p.m., his phone vibrated. The caller ID showed Old Zhou.

“Mission’s over,” Old Zhou said. “Come back tomorrow for debrief.”

“Got it.”

“I’ve already prepared the next assignment,” Old Zhou said. “Target is a finance manager at a listed company.”

Chen Mo hung up and looked out the window. The sun was bright, shining on the warehouse floor.

He turned off his phone and went back to sorting the quotation sheets.

At quitting time, Chen Mo walked out of the Mingyang Technology gate. Xiao Lin was standing at the entrance, holding an envelope.

“This is for you,” she said.

Chen Mo took the envelope and opened it. Inside was a handwritten card that said: “Thank you.”

He stared at those two words for a few seconds, then slipped the card into his pocket. “No need to thank me.”

“You’re leaving tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

Xiao Lin was silent for a few seconds, then extended her hand. “Take care.”

Chen Mo shook her hand. “You too.”

He turned and walked toward the MRT station. The setting sun stretched his shadow long.

His phone vibrated. A message from Old Zhou: “I’ve sent the file for the new assignment. Take a look.”

Chen Mo opened the email and saw a new personnel file. The photo showed a middle-aged man in a suit, his expression stern.

At the bottom of the file was a note: “Be careful with this one—he’s tougher than Li Zonghan.”

Chen Mo turned off his phone and walked into the MRT station.

The train arrived. He found a seat by the window. Outside, the city lights began to flicker on.

He opened his phone and tapped the encrypted folder. Inside, the scanned forged documents of Li Zonghan were still there.

He pressed the delete key.

A confirmation window appeared: “Are you sure you want to delete these files?”

He pressed “Confirm.”

The files disappeared.

Chen Mo turned off his phone, leaned against the window, and closed his eyes.

Tomorrow would be a new day.