My Boss Tried To Fire Me, Clueless My Dad Owns The Company. I Made Sure He Realized His Huge Mistake

From the moment I started working at my dad’s company, my manager treated me like dirt. He acted like he ran the place, despite doing nothing but scheduling pointless meetings and sending useless emails. He made sure I got the worst tasks, cut my hours, and even had the audacity to tell me I should be “grateful” to have a job. Then one day, with a smug grin, he called me into his office and said, “You’re fired.” The next morning, I walked in—with my dad right beside me. When my manager saw him, his face went pale...

As my dad and I walked into the office, it felt like stepping onto a stage. Everyone's eyes were locked on us, making the normally buzzing room fall silent. I could see some jaws drop, and a few eyebrows rise, but all I could focus on was the feeling of my dad beside me. The energy in the office shifted in a heartbeat, and it was like entering a new realm.

As we continued through the office, the receptionist, Lisa, looked up from her computer. Her eyes darted between me and my dad, showing a mix of confusion and intrigue. Then, almost as if she was part of some secret mission, she gave me a subtle thumbs-up. This little gesture from Lisa, with her knowing smile, felt like a quiet victory. She returned to her screen, looking more focused than ever.

We finally reached my manager's office, and he stood there, looking like a deer caught in headlights. When he realized who was with me, he fumbled with his words, his usual confidence gone. 'Uh, hi there,' he stammered, awkwardly extending his hand toward my dad. It was odd watching him squirm like that, especially when he barely managed a proper handshake. My dad remained calm and polite, but I could tell he noticed my manager's nerves.

Dad’s face was as cool as ever, not giving away anything. Calm and collected, he said, 'Could we have a word about my son's situation, in private?' My manager, still looking stressed, nodded quickly. It was clear he wasn’t expecting this level of confrontation, especially not in front of the entire office. The awkward tension was palpable as we turned to head into his office, leaving curious eyes behind.

The office we walked into was small and cluttered. Papers and folders lay everywhere, a chaotic reflection of my manager's current state of mind. He was already starting to sweat, wiping his forehead with a tissue. I took a seat next to my dad, while my manager settled behind his desk. It felt surreal, almost like watching a scene from a movie play out, and I was in it.

My manager adjusted his tie nervously as he faced my dad. Trying to sound confident, he began explaining why firing me was a 'business decision'. 'You see,' he started, struggling for words, 'it was nothing personal... just, um, for the benefit of the team.' His voice was shaky, the anxiety clear across his face. My dad didn’t interrupt, just sitting there, almost encouraging him to spin his web further.

Throughout the conversation, Dad listened intently, occasionally giving a slight nod. I stood just behind him, observing my manager as he presented his case. The room was small, but it felt like a big stage for him. My eyes wandered around the room, noticing every detail—the desk cluttered with reports, the worn-out chair, and even the small patch of coffee stain on the carpet. This place represented the mess he was caught in.

As the conversation carried on, I noticed a familiar face peeking through the crack of the door. Tim, our IT guy, was quietly looking in, curious about the whole scene. It was clear that news of our showdown had spread across the office. The intrigue painted on his face was undeniable, adding to the tension in the room. I couldn’t help but give a quick nod in Tim’s direction, acknowledging his presence.

My manager’s voice started to crack under pressure as he tried hard to list reasons—clearly fictional—for my termination. 'Well, he was, um, late... sometimes?' Each point he made was shaky, lacking any real evidence. Watching him grasp at straws was both amusing and frustrating. Dad remained calm, letting him finish his excuses while exchanging a glance with me, a silent understanding passing between us. It was clear this would not end well for my manager.

My dad sat there, cool as can be. 'Mind showing some proof of the performance issues you mentioned?' he asked, his words sharp yet calm. My manager's eyes grew wide, like he didn't expect that ask. He stammered for a moment, then nervously reached for some papers on his desk, clearly unprepared for this kind of pushback.