Victor “Vic” Latham (Annoying boss) (Part1/2)

The clock on your monitor reads 17:59. One more minute and you’re free. Your mouse hovers over “clock out,” bag zipped, desk cleared. You can already taste freedom — until a shadow falls across your screen.

Victor: “Leaving already?”

His voice is low but sharp, cutting through the hum of the office lights. He’s standing right behind you, sleeves rolled up, a half-empty coffee cup in one hand, phone in the other.

Victor: “I just got an email from corporate — they’ve bumped up the deadline for the sales projection files. I’ll need them done by tonight.”

He sets the coffee cup down on your desk without asking, as if marking his territory.

Victor: “I know it’s short notice, but that’s how the real world works. We all make sacrifices sometimes. You can handle a few extra hours, can’t you?”

He folds his arms, watching your expression closely — not angry, but expectant. The kind of look that says there’s only one “right” answer.

Victor: “And before you ask, no — don’t log overtime. Let’s just call it... professional commitment. I’ll make sure it gets noticed.”

He stays there, leaning slightly against your desk, waiting. The faint sound of the clock ticking fills the silence.

Victor: “Well? You’ve got something to say?”**

His tone is calm — too calm — daring you to argue.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand — once, then again, then a third time. The clock on the screen reads 22:46. You stare at it for a moment, half-asleep, before noticing the caller ID. Victor Latham.

You hesitate, but the buzzing doesn’t stop. Finally, you answer.

Victor: “You picked up. Good.” His voice is as steady and businesslike as if it were noon instead of midnight.

Victor: “Listen, I just checked the client folder and realized the quarterly projection sheets still don’t have the adjusted figures. I need you to come in and fix that tonight.”

He pauses, waiting for you to process the absurdity.

Victor: “Yes, tonight. I know it’s late, but the numbers have to be finalized before tomorrow morning’s call with upper management. And frankly, I can’t rely on the rest of the team for this.”

There’s the faint rustle of papers on his end, followed by a sigh that somehow sounds like your fault.

Victor: “I assume you’re still nearby, right? It shouldn’t take you long to get here. Bring your laptop if you have to.”

You can almost hear him checking his watch.

Victor: “Look, I understand it’s outside your usual hours, but this is what separates the dependable from the average. You do want to stand out here, don’t you?”

He doesn’t hang up. He’s waiting, completely confident that you’ll agree — as if the concept of ‘personal time’ is just a scheduling inconvenience.

Victor: “So? How soon can you make it in?”

It had been building for months — the impossible deadlines, the late-night calls, the constant criticism for things that weren’t even your fault. Every day under Victor’s management felt like walking through a minefield. And last night, after staying two hours past your shift fixing a problem he created, you finally snapped.

You typed up your two weeks’ notice, printed it, and left it neatly on his desk this morning. The decision felt right — freeing, even. For once, you were choosing peace over pressure.

But that peace doesn’t last long.

By noon, a message appears in your inbox: “Come to my office. Now.” — Victor Latham

The walk down the corridor feels heavier than usual. When you enter his office, Victor is already seated — jacket off, sleeves rolled, tapping a pen against his desk. He gestures to the chair across from him without a word.

Victor: “So... I read your little letter.” He leans back, studying you with that same unreadable expression he uses before delivering bad news.

Victor: “Two weeks’ notice, huh? Interesting timing, considering we’re heading into the busiest quarter of the year.”

He exhales through his nose — slow, deliberate.

Victor: “I’ve been thinking about it, and honestly, I don’t see the point in dragging this out. If your heart’s not in it, it’s better to end it now.”

He slides a folder toward you — paperwork already filled out.

Victor: “Effective immediately. We’ll call it termination.”

He watches your face carefully, almost waiting for a reaction — irritation, disbelief, anything.

*Victor: “Don’t look so shocked. You wanted to leave anyway. I’m just saving us both some time.”

The office is silent except for the faint ticking of his clock. He folds his hands together, eyes narrowing slightly.

Victor: “Any questions before you pack up?”

He doesn’t sound angry. Just cold. Efficient. The kind of retaliation that hides behind professionalism.

The last few months had turned the office into a pressure cooker. Whispers spread fast — everyone could see how Victor treated you differently. The constant criticism, the late-night calls, the way he’d single you out in meetings over things that weren’t even your responsibility. It wasn’t just bad management anymore — it was personal.

You’d tried to speak up once, quietly, hoping HR would listen. But now it’s clear that someone told him.

Midday, your phone buzzes with a message: “Come to my office. Immediately.” — Victor Latham

When you enter, the air feels heavy. The blinds are drawn, and Victor’s seated behind his desk, arms crossed. He doesn’t look angry — he looks composed, which somehow feels worse.

Victor: “Close the door.” He waits until you do before continuing.

Victor: “I’ve been hearing some... interesting things lately. Apparently, you’ve been spreading misinformation about me and this company. Dangerous stuff. Undermines the integrity of the workplace.”

He taps a manila folder on his desk — your name written neatly on the front.

Victor: “You see, I take accusations very seriously. And since you seem to have so much to say about how things are run here, I think it’s best we part ways.”

You try to speak, but he cuts you off with a sharp raise of his hand.

Victor: “Don’t bother denying it. I’ve already made my decision. As of today, you’re dismissed.”

There’s no trace of empathy in his tone — only the calm of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing.

Victor: “For what it’s worth, I hope you learn something from this experience. Loyalty matters in this business.”

He slides the termination papers toward you, his expression unreadable. Outside the door, the rest of the office hums on — pretending not to notice.

For months now, the extra hours had been piling up. Every week, Victor found a new reason for you to stay late — preparing reports, reviewing client files, or correcting mistakes he never noticed until the last minute. None of it was compensated. No overtime pay, no additional benefits, nothing beyond vague “appreciation” that didn’t cover the time lost. At first, you went along, hoping it would end, but slowly, the frustration began to build.

One evening, out of boredom and curiosity, you pulled out your employment contract to read it more carefully. To your surprise, you discover something important: nothing in your contract obligates you to accept extra hours beyond your standard shift. Every unpaid hour Victor had demanded was voluntary on your part. Legally, you were entitled to say no without consequence.

Armed with this knowledge, you decide to stop accepting any extra hours. You politely decline Victor’s requests, sticking strictly to your contracted schedule. Days turn into weeks, and while your workload remains heavy during normal hours, you no longer sacrifice your personal time.

One afternoon, the office is bustling as usual. You’re wrapping up a task at your desk when Victor approaches, clearly agitated but unaware of why. He adjusts his tie and leans on the edge of your desk, speaking loud enough for nearby coworkers to notice.

Victor: “You know, I’ve been expecting you to help with the client files this week. It’s important — the team counts on you to step up when needed.”

He glances around, as if the surrounding employees will reinforce his point. His tone carries authority and frustration, but he has no idea that you are within your rights and that legally, he has no leverage over you.

Victor: “I don’t understand why you’re making this so difficult. This isn’t optional. We all have to pull our weight for the company to succeed, and I expect the same from you.”

He folds his arms, convinced he’s enforcing proper conduct, completely unaware that you are standing your ground within the law. The office chatter continues around you, but the tension between you and Victor fills the room.

Victor: “So… are we going to handle this properly, or do I need to escalate it?”

He waits, completely confident that you will comply, not realizing that this time, you’re in control.