I worked at Brew Haven, a cozy little café tucked between a bookstore and a florist. For nearly two years, I brewed lattes, served croissants, and made small talk with regulars. The pay was nothing special, but my coworkers were great, and I needed the job to pay rent.

Greg, my manager, was a different story. He had this way of pretending to be your buddy, but if something went wrong, he’d throw you under the bus without hesitation. He wasn’t mean, exactly, just the kind of guy who’d sell you out if it made his life easier.

One slow Tuesday afternoon, I was in the break room, unwrapping a turkey sandwich I’d made that morning. It was nothing fancy—just some deli meat, mustard, and wheat bread. I took a bite, scrolling through my phone, when Greg stormed in, gripping a crumpled receipt like it was a smoking gun.

“Did you pay for that?” he demanded, eyes narrowing at my sandwich.

I blinked at him. “Uh, yeah? I got it from home.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Don’t lie to me. I checked the register logs—no turkey sandwiches were sold today.”

I actually laughed, thinking he was joking. “Greg, it’s in a plastic bag from home. I brought it this morning.”

But he wasn’t joking. His face darkened. “I have proof you took food from the café.”

That’s when I realized he was serious. My stomach twisted, not with guilt, but with the surreal absurdity of the situation. I brought my own lunch every day because I couldn’t afford the overpriced food here. Why would I steal a sandwich?

He crossed his arms. “I’m going to have to let you go. Theft is theft.”

For a second, I just sat there, dumbfounded. Then something clicked. Just last week, I’d overheard Greg on the phone in the back office, grumbling about labor costs. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now it all made sense—especially since the café had just hired the owner’s niece, a college freshman with zero experience.

This wasn’t about a sandwich. This was about making room for her.

I set my food down, my appetite gone. “This is ridiculous, Greg, and you know it.”

He smirked. “Doesn’t matter what you think. Security footage backs me up.”

My stomach flipped. Was he lying, or had he actually found some way to frame me? Either way, it didn’t matter—this was a setup. He wanted me out, and he’d make sure it happened, no matter what.

Fine. If he wanted me gone, I’d leave—but not before making sure everyone knew exactly what he’d done.

I stood up, grabbing my sandwich. “Alright, Greg. Let’s go watch that footage together.”

His smirk faltered. “That’s not necessary.”

“Oh, but it is,” I pressed. “Because I know for a fact I didn’t take anything, and I’d love to see what this so-called proof looks like.”

A tense silence stretched between us. Greg shifted on his feet, eyes darting toward the door. He was bluffing, and now he knew that I knew.

“Look,” he said, his voice softer now, like we were negotiating. “Let’s not make this a big deal. Just take the termination and go.”

I smiled—an actual, genuine smile. “No.”

Then I walked straight past him and out into the café.

The lunch rush had just started, and a handful of customers were waiting for their orders. My coworkers—Emily, Jake, and Ryan—were scrambling behind the counter. The second I stepped out, Emily gave me a questioning look.

Greg was right on my heels, his voice low. “Don’t do this.”

I ignored him. “Hey, guys,” I called out. My coworkers looked up. “Apparently, I’m getting fired today.”

Emily frowned. “Wait, what?”

“For stealing a sandwich,” I said, holding up my sad little turkey sandwich like Exhibit A.

Jake snorted. “You bring your lunch every day.”

Greg let out a nervous chuckle. “Guys, let’s not—”

I cut him off. “And I just think it’s funny because I’m getting fired the same week the owner’s niece starts working here. Weird coincidence, huh?”

A hush fell over the café. Even the customers were listening now. Greg’s face turned redder by the second. “That has nothing to do with this.”

Ryan folded his arms. “Really? Because it sure looks like you’re making up a reason to fire her.”

Emily turned to Greg. “Can we see the footage?”

Greg’s mouth opened and closed. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed back into the office. A few seconds later, the door slammed.

Silence. Then one of the customers—a regular named Mrs. Patel—shook her head. “Disgusting. I won’t be coming here anymore.”

Another customer, a guy in a suit, nodded. “Same. This is shady as hell.”

I hadn’t expected that, but I wasn’t going to argue. I turned back to my coworkers. “Look, I don’t want to get you guys in trouble. I just thought you should know.”

Emily put a hand on my shoulder. “We appreciate it. And honestly? If Greg’s pulling crap like this, I don’t want to work here either.”

Jake pulled off his apron. “Yeah, screw this.”

Ryan did the same. Within minutes, all three of them were untying their aprons and tossing them on the counter. Greg was still holed up in his office, and none of us cared enough to wait around for him to come back.

As we stepped outside, the late afternoon sun felt warmer than usual. I exhaled, letting go of the tension in my shoulders.

“Well,” I said, biting into my sandwich. “Anyone up for finding new jobs together?”

Emily laughed. “As long as we don’t end up somewhere with another Greg.”

Jake grinned. “Agreed.”

But our search didn’t last long. One customer filmed the whole thing and it went viral. The owner saw the video and, let’s just say it wasn’t his cup of tea. By next morning, Greg and his little niece were fired, and our brave group was back in business.

Some battles aren’t worth fighting. But this one? That was absolutely worth it.

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