Undercover Heiress: Fired Me for Stealing My Own Company?

I found a Chanel bag left in the breakroom. Being nice, I snapped a quick photo and sent it to the company group chat on Snapchat: "Whose bag is this? I left it at the front desk." The owner replied in literally two seconds: "Did you go through my bag?! Are you freaking starving for cash? You got caught trying to steal from me, and now you’re acting like a Good Samaritan?" "We need to fire this thief immediately. Our company shouldn't be keeping parasites!" Forty people in the Snapchat group. Not a single person said a word. I looked at my desk and smiled. My family literally owns this entire conglomerate. I only took this job for the work experience. Since someone is begging for a reality check, I guess I'll play along. My keyboard clacked rapidly as rows of numbers filled the spreadsheet. A salary of $2,500 a month, barely $2,000 after taxes. That wouldn’t even cover half a tank of gas for my Maybach. My phone on the desk was vibrating like crazy. Brooke Davis was typing like her hands were on fire, spamming the Snapchat group with text after text, every single one loaded with exclamation marks. I could feel the sheer malice radiating through the screen. "Chloe Miller, did you lose your tongue? Too scared to admit you’re a thief?" "Everyone, watch your wallets. This girl has a history of sticky fingers!" "If you're this broke, don't come to an office. Go back to your trailer park!" "My bag costs $5,000. That’s more than you make in two months. Jealous much?" I glanced at the screen, my fingers never leaving the keyboard. Jealous of a $5,000 bag? If I picked any random clutch from my walk-in closet at home, it would be enough to buy every single bag in this office. But I didn't say anything. Not because I was holding back, but because I just couldn't be bothered. I kept working on my spreadsheet, my fingers moving even faster. Numbers don't talk back, and they don't lie. They are a million times more pleasant than Brooke. Finally, someone else in the group chat chimed in. Carter from Marketing added: "No wonder I lost a hundred-dollar bill last week. Don't tell me it was..." He left the sentence hanging, but the implication was loud and clear. It was a perfect piece of low-key slander, throwing dirt at me while leaving himself an escape route. Vanessa from Finance jumped in even faster, her typing speed matching her accounting skills: "I mean, she only carries those cheap canvas tote bags. Of course she’d lose her mind when she saw a Chanel. I wouldn't even dare to touch one at the mall, but some people just help themselves." The new intern, Hailey, probably trying to suck up to the older employees, added: "People from that kind of background just have no morals." I counted. Six people had spoken up. Three of them had personally received help from my dad's company. Vanessa’s kid was extremely sick last year, and the Miller Corporate Foundation approved a $10,000 emergency medical grant. She had literally cried and begged at the foundation’s office door, her sobbing echoing through the entire floor. Carter’s younger brother was currently working at Miller Logistics. My dad had personally bypassed the HR screening to slide him in. And Hailey? Her dad was the security chief at one of the Miller-owned shopping centers. Last year, I was the one who signed off on his double-month holiday bonus. Six people. Six ungrateful parasites. I let go of my mouse, leaned back in my chair, and stared at the ceiling for three seconds. There were over forty people in that chat. Not a single one stood up for me. Not even a simple "Maybe we should check the security cameras first." Well, this is human nature. I've seen it all. My dad has been in the business world for thirty years. I grew up listening to his dinner-table stories about how quickly people turn on you. My ears practically had calluses from those tales. But seeing it play out in real life was still pretty entertaining. It was like watching a documentary on wild animals.