Burning Truth

“It pisses me off.” Daniel took a sip of his drink. “Most of the promotions have already been handed out,” said Daniel. “Even that HR lady. Casey—Carol— or whatever. She got promoted too,” said Daniel. His gaze drifting to the gleaming chandelier lights reflecting on the polished floor of the venue. 

The vast space was adorned with green, red, and silver trees, twinkling lights, and every festive touch money could buy—courtesy of being one of the top tech companies in the world and hiring decorating professionals.

Jacob leaned in. “It’s about timing.”

Daniel scoffed. “More like politics. They’re handing out raises to everyone but us.”

Jacob smirked, his gaze on the shimmering lights. Jacob stood tall, his silver tuxedo and red tie featuring Santa on a beach with a margarita adding a playful touch to his polished look.

“Maybe they’re waiting to see who can handle the wait,” suggested Jacob. 

“Excuse me,” a man interrupted, extending his hand. “You’re Jacob, right? I’ve heard great things.”

Jacob shook his hand, wincing slightly. “Nice to see you, Danny.” The man smiled. “Cranberry vodka? Solid choice.”

The man left the bar just as abruptly, his deep-red tuxedo as striking as his model-like face and infectious smile.

“Who’s that?” Daniel asked, tone sour.

“I don’t know,” Jacob said, watching the man weave through the crowd. Glancing at his hand, he noticed faint cuts on his palm.

“Colleagues and associates,” a voice rang out as music faded.

Stephen, a pepper-haired man in his fifties, stood at the podium in a black tuxedo.

“As you know,” he began, “our success is thanks to those who came before and those who stand beside me today.”

Applause erupted as his gaze shifted toward retired employees and investors.

“There are a few more things to address before we conclude this glorious night,” Stephen announced.

Jacob scanned the venue, searching for the man who had spoken to him earlier.

“With progress comes change, and with change, growing pains,” Stephen continued.

Jacob left the bar, weaving through the crowd, the towering Christmas tree now an obstacle with its gold and red decorations shimmering under the chandelier.

“We have faced struggles over the years,” Stephen said, his smile inviting murmurs of agreement.

“But through it all, one woman has shown unwavering dedication to Norexa,” Stephen declared, his gaze softening.

Jacob circled the tree, his frustration mounting as it blocked his view.

“Through policy changes, attention to detail, and achieving the lowest turnover rate in our history, please congratulate our new COO.”

Jacob finally spotted the stranger leaning over someone at a table, speaking softly.

“Emily Hampton,” Stephen announced.

The crowd erupted in applause as Emily approached the microphone, her steps slow and deliberate. Stephen embraced her, but her arms hung stiffly at her sides.

“I…” Emily’s voice quivered as her gaze swept the room. “I know not everyone agrees with my promotion.”

The applause faded into silence.

“I know some of you think I don’t deserve it. But I worked hard—harder than you could imagine.”

The room remained still as she continued, her voice cutting through the air. “I was the first in, the last out. I heard what you said—about me manipulating sales, lying to clients. You think I didn’t know?” Tears streamed down her face as she wiped them away, smearing her mascara.

“But so what if I did?”

Gasps rippled through the crowd, tension breaking into murmurs.

Stephen moved toward her. “Emily,” he said, reaching for the microphone.

She stumbled backwards, colliding with a security guard who gently led her away as sobs wracked her body.

Chaos erupted, whispers growing into a low roar.

“Friends, colleagues, please.” Stephen’s voice rose above the noise. “Let’s bring it back.”

The room fell silent.

“I’m truly sorry for what happened,” he began. “We didn’t know Emily was struggling with her mental health.”

Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead as he forced a faint smile.

“As we close the evening, I want to honor someone who has been with Norexa since the very beginning—when it was just an idea and we couldn’t even afford rent.”

Jacob made his way toward the bar, his eyes scanning the room looking for the stranger.

Stephen’s voice carried on. “She was there when we sold our first piece of tech. She was there when we filled our first order, when we entered the top 100 high-tech businesses list, and when we finally reached number one.”

Jacob returned to his seat, now beside Daniel. His gaze flitted over the tables, restless and distracted.

“Where’d you go?” Daniel whispered. “Did you see what happened with Emily? I’ve never seen—”

Stephen’s voice cut through Daniel’s question. “I’d like to take this time to thank her for her incredible dedication. Please join me in celebrating 36 years of service.”

As applause rippled through the room, Jacob’s attention was drawn to the far side of the venue. He spotted the stranger again—the man in the deep red tuxedo. The stranger’s hand covered his mouth as he whispered something to a companion.

Without hesitation, Jacob rose and started toward the table, his eyes locked on the mysterious figure.

But before he could close the distance, Stephen’s voice boomed again. “And now, let’s give a warm welcome to… Marla Hernandez.”

The applause grew louder, and the crowd rose to their feet in appreciation. Jacob halted, momentarily losing sight of the stranger as Marla walked gracefully onto the stage.

She wore an elegant green silk dress that shimmered under the lights. Smiling warmly, she hugged Stephen as he handed her the microphone. Stephen exited the stage, leaving Marla to face the expectant crowd.

“Thank you, Stephen, and thank you all,” Marla began, her voice calm and poised. The audience settled back into their seats. “Thirty-six years. It’s such a short time, really, when you think about it.”

Jacob edged toward the back of the room, scanning the tables for the stranger. When he glanced back at the stage, Marla continued speaking.

“I’ve seen so much during my time here,” she said. “Achievements I never thought possible. Accomplishments that make me proud to have been part of this journey. And, of course, I must thank Stephen—”

A hand landed on Jacob’s shoulder, sending a chill down his spine. He turned sharply and found himself face-to-face with the stranger.

The man stood casually, an arm now draped over Jacob’s shoulder, watching Marla onstage with the admiration of a proud parent at a child’s recital. A warm, woodsy scent—cologne with a hint of cinnamon—lingered in the air around him.

“Who are you?” Jacob asked, his voice low as he ducked out from under the stranger’s arm.

The stranger smiled, unfazed, and pointed toward the stage where Marla continued speaking.

“You may want to watch this,” the stranger said, his tone light and teasing.

Jacob turned sharply, only to feel an icy prick at the nape of his neck. His breath hitched as his body began to seize, and his muscles locking into place like stone. He stood frozen, his head tilted slightly toward the stage, and his eyes locked on Marla as though an unseen force demanded it.

“You don’t want to miss this,” the stranger hissed into Jacob’s ear.

On stage, Marla’s composed demeanor began to crack, her expression hardening with fury.

“—but you know what?” she spat, her tone sharp and unrelenting. “I gave everything to this company. And I mean everything. My nights. My weekends. My family. My health. And now…for what?” She flung her arms wide, her hands trembling.

The crowd stirred uneasily, whispers rippling through the room like the first signs of a storm.

“All of that,” Marla continued, her voice rising, “just so they can push me out for someone younger, someone cheaper.”

A gasp rippled through the audience, quickly followed by hushed murmurs.

“I mean, we all saw what happened to Emily, didn’t we?” Marla snapped. “They don’t care about anything—about anyone.”

Her gaze turned to the executives seated at the front tables. One by one, their polished exteriors faltered; they shifted uncomfortably, exchanging nervous glances.

“You don’t care about loyalty. You don’t care about people. All you care about is profit.” Her voice shook. “And I hope—with every ounce of me—I hope it all burns in your faces.”

Marla turned to the audience, her eyes burning with conviction. “And as for the rest of you… I’d really start questioning if Norexa is something you want your name tied to. If you think I’m lying, check the files—the ones I just posted before coming up here. They’re on our website, in your email inboxes, in the drop box, and on the printers.”

She hurled the microphone to the ground, the echo of its impact cutting through the stunned silence. Then, with a final, disdainful glare, she spat toward the executive tables before storming off the stage.

For a long moment, the room was eerily still as they followed Marla’s departure.

Jacob stood motionless, his body stiff and his throat dry. He tried to speak, to move, but nothing came. 

He was a silent witness, trapped in the chaos of the evening as it unraveled.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

The delicate sound of a fork tapping against a wine glass rang out. The whispers died away as every head turned toward the stage.

“My, my… such an eventful night,” the stranger said, now standing where Marla had been. He held a glass of crimson wine, swirling it casually in his hand. His voice carried a calm, almost playful menace unsettling the room. “Wouldn’t you agree, Stephen?”

All eyes shifted to Stephen, who sat frozen in his chair. His face had gone pale, his wide eyes fixed on the man on stage. His mouth hung open, trembling with the weight of words he couldn’t form.

Around the room, the guards who had been stationed at various posts now stood eerily still. They were motionless, their faces drained of expression, like statues carved from stone.

The stranger raised his glass in a mock toast, his smile sharp and knowing. “Shall we continue the festivities?”

The stranger took a slow sip of his wine, the firelight reflecting in his eyes as his wicked smile grew wider.

“I’d say it took quite a bit for some of you to finally be honest,” he said, his voice oozing mockery. He let the words hang in the air. “But… don’t some of you feel better now?”

Without warning, he sliced his hand through the air in a sharp, deliberate motion.

The room shifted.

The exit doors slammed shut with a deafening bang, the sound reverberating like a gunshot.

The chandeliers flickered once before plunging the hall into complete darkness.

Panic erupted.

Snap.

A sudden burst of light.

The Christmas tree in the center of the hall ignited in a blaze of deep red and orange, its flames flickering wildly. The fire devoured the tree with terrifying speed, illuminating the devastation: overturned tables, shredded decorations, broken ornaments glittering like shards of shattered dreams.

The room was a ruin—smoke billowed into the air, and the stench of burning pine mingled with the rising cries of terror.

“If I may have your attention, please,” the stranger announced, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.

Screams echoed as the employees’ chairs jerked violently, dragging across the floor with a sinister screech. They twisted and turned, rearranging themselves into rigid rows, all facing the stage. Those who resisted were slammed back into their seats with brutal force, the air knocked from their lungs.

Jacob’s chair moved of its own accord, gliding toward the stage and locking him in place beside Stephen, Larissa, and Richard. His body remained paralyzed, his gaze fixed on the inferno consuming the Christmas tree.

“Let’s make a toast,” the stranger said, raising his glass high. His wicked grin, lit by the dancing flames, seemed to stretch impossibly wide.

“To truth,” he began, his voice dripping with venom. “To the lies we tell ourselves to rise above. To the reckoning that drags us back down.”

He drained his glass in one long gulp and hurled it into the fire. The flames roared in response, bursting upward in fiery orange plumes, and spewing embers into the suffocating air.

“Richard.” The stranger’s voice dripped with mockery as he turned to the trembling man. “The genius, they call you.”

Richard sat paralyzed awaiting his sentence.

“How many production numbers did you fake?” the stranger demanded, his voice quiet. “How many worked overtime, pushed to their breaking point, because you lied about quotas? How many lost everything because of your fabricated losses?”

The fire roared, casting a fiery tableau of Richard’s sins: falsified reports printed with glowing red “APPROVED” marks. Faces of exhausted workers flickered in the flames—employees breaking down, families torn apart under the weight of financial ruin.

A roar of anger erupted from the employees, their voices rising in rage. Richard broke down, sobbing uncontrollably, his body trembling in his chair.

“Larissa,” the stranger said, his tone sharp as a blade. “The loyal number two. The fixer of people. Or so you claimed.”

Larissa sat frozen, her wide eyes betraying her terror.

“People came to you, trusting you, seeking help,” he sneered. “But instead of lifting them up, you used their pain to climb higher. You even taught Emily to do the same. Why?”

The flames surged again, twisting into grotesque visions of Larissa’s betrayals: cutting benefits with a smile, denying promotions to anyone who displeased her, pocketing bonuses meant for the workers.

“Look at her!” the stranger bellowed, pointing an accusatory finger. “This is the woman who fooled you. This is the woman who lied to you—who cheated you. This is the woman who deceived you.”

Tears streamed down Larissa’s face as the crowd turned on her, shouting and hurling accusations.

“And now…Stephen,” the stranger said, turning to him with a soft, chilling tone. “The leader. The owner. The visionary.” Each word carried a hiss of malice.

Stephen sat motionless, his face pale and glistening with sweat. Beads trickled down his temples, following the curve of his neck.

“Shall we show them what your vision truly costs?” the stranger whispered, his words a venomous promise.

He waved his hand, and the employees’ chairs jerked again, forcing their horrified occupants to face the blazing tree.

The flames twisted unnaturally, curling and contorting into vivid shapes.

Stacks of falsified documents appeared in the fire, pages etched in glowing embers. Forged signatures flickered into view, followed by images of secret bank accounts overflowing with stolen funds.

The fire twisted again, forming a scene of Stephen shaking hands with investors, their smiles cold and calculating. Behind them, a hospital wing flickered into view—empty beds, grieving families, and the hollow eyes of children whose medical needs had gone unmet. 

Gasps and muffled sobs filled the air as the employees watched in stunned horror.

The stranger turned back to Stephen. “Shall we continue?”

“He took millions from you,” the stranger announced, his voice resonating through the room like a thunderstorm. “You gave of yourselves—worked long hours, late nights. You missed moments with your families, sacrificed your lives, all to be robbed and deceived…while Stephen grew rich off your toil.”

The room descended into chaos once more. Employees screamed, sobbed, and clawed at their restraints, only to be violently slammed back into their chairs by the invisible force holding them captive.

The stranger raised his arms high, and the room fell silent in an instant. The suffocating air reeked of smoke, fear, and malice.

“And now…” the stranger said, his gaze shifting to Jacob.

Jacob sat motionless, his body still locked by the unseen power.

“But you,” the stranger continued, his tone softening, almost kind. “You’re… different.”

The invisible bonds released Jacob, and he gasped for air, his chest heaving as he fell to the floor.

“The man,” the stranger announced, turning to the audience, “is no sheep. He did not follow blindly like all of you. He asked questions. He resisted. Though it cost him promotion, he did not betray himself, as you did.”

The flames surged one final time, consuming the Christmas tree in a blinding inferno. When the fire dimmed, the stranger was gone—vanished without a trace, leaving behind the smoldering wreckage of the room.

Jacob stood slowly, his breath steadying as the employees turned to him, their eyes desperate, clinging to him as though he were the only solid ground left in the ruins.

A shiny red Christmas bauble lay at his feet. Words seared into its fragile surface, glowing faintly in the dim light:

”The truth burns.”