Boss Fires Employee Stranded Overseas via Text, Not Realizing She Held the $12 Million Contract
«We’re cutting you loose. Your company card is cancelled. Figure out how to get home yourself, loser.»
I read the text message three times, standing in that Buenos Aires hotel lobby. The marble floor under my feet felt more solid than anything else in my life at that moment. My boss’s words glowed on the small screen in my hand, each letter a tiny knife.
I didn’t cry, and I didn’t throw my phone. I just stood there while people walked past me, speaking Spanish, dragging their luggage, and living their normal lives while mine was ending.
I typed back slowly, carefully: «Thank you for letting me know.»
Then I sat down on a cushioned bench near the entrance and tried to remember how to breathe. Let me go back. Let me tell you how I ended up here, thousands of miles from home, holding $40 in my wallet and a text message that basically said I was worthless.
My name is Rhea. I’m 32 years old. I have a six-year-old daughter named Ivy, who still sleeps with the stuffed rabbit I gave her when she was born. Her father left when she was two months old, saying he wasn’t ready to be a parent. So it’s just been us, me and Ivy, against everything.
I started working at Belmar Goods four years ago. They made luxury handbags, the kind that cost more than my monthly rent. I wasn’t a designer or anything fancy; I was a buyer coordinator. That meant I found people who could supply the materials we needed: leather, hardware, fabric, anything the designers asked for.
The job paid enough to keep us fed and housed, not much more. But I was good at it. Really good. I could talk to suppliers in different countries and make them understand what we needed. I learned bits of different languages, asked about their families, and remembered their children’s names. That’s how you build trust.
My boss was a man named Graydon, 46 years old. He always wore expensive watches and smelled like cologne that probably cost more than my weekly groceries. He got promoted to head of our whole division three years ago, though I don’t know how, as he barely understood what we actually did.
Graydon liked to remind me where I came from. «You’re lucky to work here,» he’d say when I asked for a day off to take Ivy to the doctor. «There are hundreds of people who’d take your place tomorrow.»
I’d smile and say, «I know. Thank you.» What else could I say? I needed that job. Ivy needed food, clothes, and school supplies. So I swallowed everything: every insult, every dismissal, and every joke he made about how I talked or how I dressed.
Two months ago, Graydon called me into his office. «We have a problem,» he said. «Our leather supplier in Argentina? The one who provides everything for our spring line? They’re threatening to walk away.»
«Why?» I asked.
«How should I know? You’re the one who talks to these people.» He said it like I was a translator, not someone who actually negotiated terms and built relationships.
«I’ll reach out to them,» I said.
I contacted the supplier that afternoon. His name was Eduardo, and he ran a family business outside Buenos Aires. Three generations making the finest leather I’d ever touched: soft, strong, and beautiful.
Eduardo was frustrated. «Your company treats us like we are machines,» he told me during our conversation. «Last month, they wanted to pay us less. This month, they want faster delivery. They never ask if we can do this. They just demand.»
«I understand,» I said. «Let me see what I can work out.»
I spent the next week putting together a proposal. Better payment terms, realistic delivery schedules, and a guarantee of consistent orders so Eduardo could plan ahead. Things that made sense for both sides.
Graydon barely looked at it. «Just go there,» he said. «Go to Argentina and fix this. Make them happy. That’s your job.»
«When?» I asked.
«Next week. You’ll be there for three weeks. Maybe a month. However long it takes.»
My heart dropped. «That’s a long time. My daughter…»
«Your daughter has family, doesn’t she? Friends? Figure it out, Rhea. This is your job.»
Ivy cried the night before I left. She held onto my waist and said, «Don’t go, Mommy. Please, don’t go.»
I knelt down and held her small face in my hands. «I have to go to work, baby. Just for a little while. Aunt Priya is going to stay with you. You love Aunt Priya.»
«But it’s my birthday soon,» she whispered.
I felt something break inside my chest. «I know. I’ll be back before your birthday. I promise.»
I didn’t keep that promise.
I arrived in Buenos Aires on a Tuesday. The city was loud, alive, and completely overwhelming. I took the cheapest taxi I could find to a hotel that Graydon’s assistant had arranged. It was fine, a little worn but clean.
I met Eduardo the next day at his workshop. It wasn’t in the city; I had to take a bus for almost an hour to reach it. The building was old but well-kept. Inside, workers were stretching and treating leather, and the smell was sharp and earthy.
Eduardo was 63 years old with gray hair and strong hands. His wife, Lucia, managed the administrative side. She brought me tea and pastries while we talked.
«Tell me what you need,» Eduardo said.
«I need you to keep working with us,» I said honestly. «But I also need you to tell me what’s not working for you.»
We talked for hours that first day about prices, schedules, and respect. That last word kept coming up: respect.
«Your boss,» Eduardo said carefully, «he speaks to us like we are nothing. Like our work means nothing.»
«I know,» I said quietly. «He speaks to me the same way.»
Eduardo’s wife looked at me with something like sympathy. «Then, why do you stay?»
«Because I have a daughter to feed,» I said. She nodded; she understood.
Over the next two weeks, I built something with Eduardo and his family. Not just an agreement, but a real relationship. We negotiated terms that worked for everyone. I explained what the company needed, and he explained what his workers could actually do. We found middle ground.
Eduardo started insisting on something unusual. «I want you to be the person we deal with,» he said. «Not your boss. Not anyone else. You.»
«I’m not in charge,» I said. «I’m just the coordinator.»
«Then we make you in charge of this arrangement,» he said firmly. «Every agreement goes through you. Every change must be approved by you. Otherwise, we don’t work with Belmar anymore.»
I didn’t understand why at the time. I thought maybe he just liked working with me better than Graydon. Later, I realized he saw something I didn’t see yet. He saw that Graydon was using me, taking my work and pretending it was his. Eduardo wanted to protect what we were building together.
Back home, Graydon would message me at odd hours. «Where are we with the contract? When is it signed? What’s taking so long?»
I’d explain that building trust takes time and that rushing would ruin everything. He’d respond with things like, «I don’t need excuses. I need results.»
Once, Graydon insisted on joining one of my conversations with Eduardo through an internet call. It was a disaster. Graydon interrupted constantly, made jokes that didn’t translate, and treated Eduardo like he was stupid.
After Graydon left the conversation, Eduardo said to me, «That man doesn’t respect anyone but himself.»
«I’m sorry,» I said.
«Don’t apologize for him,» Eduardo said. «You are not him.»
Ivy’s birthday came and went. I sent her presents and made a video message singing happy birthday. My sister Priya told me Ivy cried when she opened them.
«She just wants you home, Rhea,» Priya said.
«I know,» I whispered. «Soon.»
Finally, after three weeks, we had everything ready: a full agreement, terms that made sense, and a partnership that would bring Belmar Goods $12 million worth of materials over two years. Enough leather to fill their spring collection and beyond. Eduardo’s family would benefit, the company would benefit; everyone would win.
