Chapter 1 — Seventy-Eight Billion And The President Has No Heir

I was fired for refusing to sign a number that everyone knew was fake.

The head of the human resources department pushed a three-page report to me. The reason line says "restructuring the department", but below is the decision to hand over all cost control data to the person who was just transferred from the sales department. I have worked at Tan Cuong Logistics for six years, long enough to realize that a real cutback does not require many people behind the glass door.

“Ha An, please sign and rest peacefully,” Mr. Vinh said. “This has nothing to do with my expertise.”

I turned to the last appendix. A payment to Bac Nam Company was overstated four times. That supplier has no warehouse, only a registered address that coincides with the office of Le Minh Chau, the daughter of the person who holds the right to run the parent corporation.

“I did not sign to confirm the unreconciled data.”

Mr. Vinh looked through the door. The shadow of the head of the audit committee glided out of the hallway as if he had never been there.

“So I wrote the application myself.”

I signed the "disagree" box, gathered my old laptop, two small potted plants and a pencil case. No one walked me down the hall. The security guard only asked if he needed to call a car. I said no, then walked under the hot sun of Nguyen Huu Tho street.

I still have two hundred and ten thousand dong left in my wallet. Tonight is the deadline to repay the loan that my cousin My Duyen asked me to take out in my name. Minh Khang, my husband, took on additional maintenance shifts at the industrial kitchen to raise money. He still thinks I will find another job soon. I don't know how to say that I just lost both my job and my honor.

At the corner of the intersection there is a computer ticket counter. I bought one, chose the numbers related to the day my mother died and the first room we rented. It's just a stupid habit, a way to reward yourself after a bad day.

At night, Khang cooks noodles with eggs. I hid the report in the bottom of my bag, opened my phone to see the results. Each number appeared so slowly that I thought my network was frozen. I compared the first time, then the second time. Then call the switchboard and read the numbers again in a voice that no longer sounds like yours.

Jackpot prize: 86,400,000,000 VND. After taxes, I will receive more than seventy-eight billion.

Khang turned off the stove and looked at me.

“Are you crying?”

I wiped my face and smiled like someone who had just heard an absurd story.

“No. I just realized today might not be the worst day.”

The ticket lies in the palm of my hand. Outside the door, Ms. Duyen's delivery vehicle stopped. She called and asked me to sign a new loan.

I folded the ticket, for the first time understanding the feeling of being able to say "no" without fear of tomorrow.