My employees put me on blast online, calling me a Scrooge for not giving out holiday gift baskets.

What the internet didn't know was that my company has one, single, unbreakable tradition for every holiday, every employee birthday: a crisp $1,000 Visa gift card. No exceptions.

As the whole internet was calling for my head, I decided to give them exactly what they wanted. I sent out a company-wide memo: "To honor our cherished holiday traditions, the gift card program will be discontinued this year. In its place, all employees will receive a festive holiday gift basket."

The memo dropped. The office exploded. A mob of my employees was suddenly camped outside my door, begging me to bring back the gift cards.

1

The holidays were just around the corner, and you could feel that festive buzz in the office air.

I had my assistant bring in the stack of gift cards. It was a thick brick of plastic and potential. This has been our thing since day one. Every major holiday, every birthday, you get a thousand bucks on a Visa card. Do what you want with it.

Chloe, our new marketing intern, poked her head up from her cubicle, a tiny wrinkle in her nose. She eyed the stack of cards in my assistant’s hands.

"Wait, a company this big doesn't even do holiday gift baskets?"

She said it just loud enough for the whole open-plan office to hear.

Sarah, a veteran on the team, immediately tugged on her sleeve. "Chloe, honey, the thousand-dollar gift card *is* the gift," she whispered. "It's way better than a basket of stale popcorn. You're new, you don't know."

Another colleague chimed in. "Yeah, I used last year's for a down payment on a new MacBook. Beats a branded mug any day."

"Oh, *really*?" Chloe drew out the words, her voice dripping with Gen-Z irony. "A card is a card, but a gift basket is a gesture. If you can't even be bothered to get a basket, it shows you don't care. The intentionality is missing, you know?"

The air went thick. Sarah and the other guy just kind of shrank back into their chairs.

Later that afternoon, a knock on my office door. It was Chloe, clutching a tablet. "Alex? Got a sec? I wanted to touch base about our corporate culture initiatives."

I nodded.

She stepped in, closing the door behind her, a practiced, professional smile plastered on her face.

"Alex, I just feel like, as an industry leader, we could really be leveling up our brand synergy when it comes to employee engagement."

"Go on," I said, leaning back.

"Take the holidays, for instance. The gift card is great, totally. But it feels a little… transactional. It’s missing that warmth, that sense of tradition. If we supplemented the card with a curated holiday gift basket for every employee, it would be a much stronger demonstration of the company's human-centric values."

I stared at her, trying not to laugh.

"Our tradition," I said slowly, "is to put the power of choice directly into our employees' hands. With a thousand dollars, you can buy a hundred gift baskets if you want. Or you can buy a plane ticket to see your family. Or fix your car. That, to me, is infinitely more 'human-centric' than forcing a box of peppermint bark on someone who hates peppermint."

The smile on Chloe's face froze.

"Alex, that's not what I meant. I'm talking about a dual-track approach. A simultaneous emotional and material incentive."

I cut her off. "I only know one thing. Putting real money in my employees' pockets and trusting them to use it for what they truly need is the greatest sign of respect I can show them."

She just stood there, speechless for a second, before forcing out a tight, "It was just a suggestion."

She turned and walked out, her footsteps just a little too loud.

I didn't think much of it. Just a new kid, eager to make her mark. When I started this company, we were working out of a garage. I couldn't pay those first few employees what they were worth, and I've felt indebted to them ever since. So, once we made it, I made sure our benefits were the best in the business. I wanted to build a place where people could make a good living with dignity.

I never thought that my own goodwill would be weaponized against me.

Just before five, I saw Dave, one of the older guys, sidle up to Chloe's desk. They were whispering.

"So? What'd the big boss say?" Dave asked.

Chloe scoffed. "Total dinosaur. He lectured me like I was a child."

Dave's eyes darted around. "Told you," he whispered back. "He's cheap. But you're right to push this, Chloe. It’s all about the experience, the *vibe*. You're doing the right thing."

Chloe's chin lifted. "Don't worry, Dave. I've got this."

I watched as she pulled out her phone. She took a few panning shots of her cubicle, the view out the window, and then she flipped the camera around to face her. Her expression instantly shifted. Her eyes glistened, her lip trembled, and she looked like she was on the verge of tears.

She started mouthing words to the camera, her face a perfect mask of sorrow.

A cold pit formed in my stomach. I had a very, very bad feeling about this.

That night, as I was scrolling through my phone, a notification popped up from TikTok. A video was going viral in my city.

The title: "Gen Z vs. a Scrooge CEO: He won't even buy us a holiday gift basket."

The thumbnail was Chloe's face, a single, perfect tear rolling down her cheek.

2

I tapped play.

The video opened on a shot of my closed office door. The text overlay read: "Mustered up the courage to fight for our holiday benefits."

Cut to a superzoom on Chloe's face at her desk, looking heartbroken. Text: "Was told I was ungrateful and didn't understand the 'real world'."

The video used clips of my voice from our meeting, but it was distorted, slowed down, and edited to make me sound like a cold, heartless monster.

The video ended with her looking directly into the camera, her voice cracking.

"I don't need a thousand dollars," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "I just wanted a small basket of cookies, you know? Just to feel a little holiday spirit from the company I work so hard for. Is that… is that too much to ask?"

The comments section was a war zone.

【What kind of monster doesn't give out holiday baskets? Is this company even real?】

【OMG girl drop the company name, we'll review bomb them into oblivion!】

【This is what happens when Boomers are in charge. Time for Gen Z to burn it all down!】

I just laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. A thousand-dollar gift card had somehow become "nothing."

The next morning, I'd barely sat down at my desk when Chloe and Dave walked into my office. Dave had his hands shoved in his pockets, feigning reluctance.

"Alex, look," he started, trying to play peacemaker. "Chloe's heart was in the right place. Nobody meant any harm. We all just want this to be a great place to work, you know? Build a real sense of community. Everyone's talking about it now… maybe you could just… meet them halfway?"

Chloe stood beside him, arms crossed, radiating smugness.

She held up her phone. "Alex, this isn't just me anymore. This is what *everyone* wants."

"The company policy," I said, my voice flat, "is not going to be changed by a temper tantrum on social media."

Chloe let out a short, sharp laugh.

"The gift card is compensation. The basket is culture. They're two different things. And if you can't see the difference, Alex, I'm sure the internet would be happy to explain it to you." It was a direct threat. "The video only has a few million views right now. If you don't do something, I can't guarantee what happens next."

She was blackmailing me.

Just then, my assistant burst through the door, her face pale.

"Alex, you need to see this. Chloe's TikTok is on the front page of Reddit. The hashtag #CorporateScrooge is trending nationally."

I refreshed my phone. There it was.

But what truly made my blood run cold was when I scrolled through the list of "likes" on her video. Right there, near the top, was a profile picture I knew all too well.

It was Mike. An engineer who'd been with me for years. Last month, his father was diagnosed with cancer. I personally approved a $10,000 advance on his salary, no questions asked, and the company held a fundraiser that I matched dollar-for-dollar. I'd visited his dad in the hospital.

And now, here he was, silently giving Chloe's video a little red heart.

Chloe saw the look on my face. A slow, cruel smile spread across hers. She tapped her screen, showing me the view count climbing in real-time.

"So, Alex," she said, her voice dripping with fake sincerity. "Do you still think this is just *my* request?"

As if on cue, the phone on my desk buzzed. It was the front desk.

"Alex, the main line is getting flooded with calls. People are just screaming at us. A couple of our partners have called, too, asking if we're in the middle of some kind of scandal."

A full-blown media firestorm, ignited by an intern and a goddamn holiday gift basket.

I looked at Chloe's triumphant face and Dave's pathetic, two-faced concern. And suddenly, I just felt… tired.

Give them an inch, and they'll take a mile. I'd given them so much, they'd forgotten who they were.

3

Overnight, my company became public enemy number one.

Our name, my LinkedIn profile, even a picture of me from a college fundraiser were plastered all over the internet. My DMs and voicemail were overflowing with hate. People called me a parasite, a monster, and hoped my company would go bankrupt by Christmas.

My head of PR, looking like she hadn't slept in a week, handed me an emergency action plan.

"Alex, we have to issue a press release immediately. We explain the $1,000 gift card policy, attach screenshots of past years' transfers. We can get this under control."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. That was my first instinct, too.

"And when we release that," I asked her, "will it look like an explanation? Or will it look like a guilty man making excuses?"

She paused, then sighed. She knew I was right.

I thought the truth would be enough. I thought people were smarter than this.

I was wrong.

I refreshed the TikTok one more time. A new comment had been pinned to the top. The user was anonymous, a gray avatar and a string of random numbers.

【LOL nice try with the damage control. I work at this company. What $1000 gift card? I've never seen one. All we wanted was a little holiday cheer and this guy is too cheap to even do that.】

The comment was getting thousands of likes a minute. Below it, a flood of other "internal employees" chimed in.

"YEP, I can confirm. The gift card is a total lie."

"Our boss is so cheap, last year's raffle prize was expired protein bars from his garage."

The lies were spreading faster than I could read them.

I stared at that anonymous comment. I knew who it wasn't, but I also knew it could be almost anyone. That was the last straw. If Chloe lit the match, these people—my people—were the ones pouring gasoline on the fire.

Flashes of memory shot through my mind. Eating cheap pizza on the floor of our first office during a late night. Renting out a whole restaurant for an employee's 30th birthday. Taking up a collection when someone's house flooded and giving them two weeks of paid leave to deal with it.

I had never, not once, short-changed a single person who worked for me.

And in return, I got a dagger in the back from the entire staff. They happily took my generosity, then turned around and twisted the knife. The "work family" I thought I had built was nothing but a self-congratulatory joke.

My PR manager was getting anxious. "Alex, if we don't say something in the next hour, we lose control of the narrative completely."

I waved my hand, pushing her action plan across the desk.

"Don't worry about it."

My voice was terrifyingly calm.

"We're not clarifying anything. I want you to draft a new memo."

My assistant, who had been standing by the door, looked horrified. "Alex, are you sure? Won't that just—"

"Do it," I cut her off.

I stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the street. A news van was parked out front.

A bitter smile touched my lips. I didn't lose to Chloe. I lost to my own stupid, naive belief in people's decency.

From this day forward, I, Alex, was done being a patron. I was just a boss.

I picked up my phone and buzzed my assistant.

"Notify all staff. All-hands meeting tomorrow morning, 9 AM sharp, in the main conference room. The agenda is the final resolution on this year's holiday benefits."

There was a hesitant pause on the other end.

"Alex… are you… giving in?"

"No."

I stared down at the street below, my voice as cold and hard as the glass in front of me.

"It's a reckoning."

4

The next morning at 8:50 AM, the main conference room was already packed. Standing room only. I don't think we'd ever had perfect attendance for anything.

The air was electric with a giddy, triumphant energy. You could hear whispers and suppressed laughter from every corner.

Chloe and Dave sat in the front row like conquering heroes, surrounded by a court of admirers. Dave was holding court. "See? I told you guys! Alex is all bark and no bite. You just have to show a little solidarity!"

Chloe had a victorious smirk plastered on her face. She even had her phone propped up on a little tripod, live-streaming the whole thing. The title of her stream was glaringly obnoxious: *Justice Prevails Over Greed! Watch a CEO learn his lesson!*

At 9:00 AM on the dot, I walked in.

Every single eye swiveled to me. I could feel their collective gaze—a mix of mockery, curiosity, and a faint glimmer of fear in a few.

I walked to the podium at the front, ignoring the presentation I'd prepared, and simply placed my phone on the lectern.

First, I faced the crowd. And I gave them a deep, formal bow.

"I'm sorry."

The room erupted in a wave of murmurs. On Chloe's livestream, the comments flew by: 【HE'S APOLOGIZING!】 【GEN Z WINS AGAIN!】

I straightened up.

"I'm sorry that my stubbornness made me lose sight of our shared cultural values," I continued, my voice resonating with sincerity. "And I'm sorry that my poor handling of the situation has brought such negative attention to our company."

"For that," I said, looking them all in the eye, "I apologize."

A few people started clapping, hesitantly at first, then with more confidence. Dave was the first on his feet. "That's our Alex! He knows when he's wrong!" A few others joined the cheer. "Way to go, Alex!"

Chloe proudly panned her camera across my face, as if she were showing off a trophy she'd won at the county fair.

I waited for the applause to die down. Then, my tone shifted.

"To embrace the spirit of the season, and to show the utmost respect for our cherished traditions, I have spent the entire night re-evaluating our holiday benefits. And I have decided to make a significant adjustment."

You could have heard a pin drop. They were all leaning forward, waiting for me to announce the grand prize: the gift cards *and* the gift baskets.

I looked at them, my eyes lingering for a moment on Chloe's expectant, glowing face. Then, I dropped the first hammer.

"Effective immediately, to ensure our focus remains on tradition and not on transactional rewards, we will be permanently discontinuing the company's long-standing policy of issuing holiday gift cards."

The silence in the room was so total, it was like a physical thing. It was the sound of a hundred jaws hitting the floor at once.

I didn't give them time to recover. I moved on to my final announcement.

"In its place, and to express our deepest gratitude, every employee will receive a personally selected, beautifully curated, company-branded 'Holiday Cheer' gift basket."

I paused for dramatic effect, letting the words hang in the dead air.

"A gift that truly expresses our commitment to the holiday spirit. Valued at forty-nine ninety-nine."