Pak Budi slid a second paper forward. It was a copy of the release form. And there, in the signature box, was a scrawled "Arya P." A forgery. A clumsy one.
The Unopened Envelope
"Pak Arya, Pak Budi requests your presence. Meeting Room C. Bring your access card." Pak Budi slid a second paper forward
But Arya knew the truth: The company didn't need evidence. They needed a scapegoat. And a 15-year veteran with a high salary was an easy target.
Nomor: 087/HR/XI/2024
He took a deep breath. He pulled out his phone. He didn't call a lawyer—not yet. First, he called the one person who had the real log from the secondary system: the night security guard, a retiree who owed Arya a favor for saving his grandson's internship.
He ignored it. He had a batch of raw materials to inspect by 9 AM. But five minutes later, Ms. Ratna appeared at his cubicle. She wasn't smiling. A clumsy one
Arya walked back to his cubicle in a trance. The envelope felt heavy in his hand. His coworkers avoided his eyes. The security guard hovered behind him, waiting to escort him out.
"Pak, this is a mistake. The last batch passed every test. I have the logs—" Bring your access card
Outside, the Jakarta heat hit him like a wall. He sat on a concrete planter and opened the letter again. He read the final paragraph, the one that offered a sliver of hope: "Selama masa penonaktifan, Saudara akan menerima 50% (lima puluh persen) dari upah tetap setiap bulannya, terhitung sejak tanggal surat ini dikeluarkan, hingga terdapat keputusan final dari hasil investigasi." Half pay. No work. No office. Just waiting.
Arya looked up at the 27th floor. Through the tinted glass, he could see the silhouette of Pak Budi standing by the window, sipping coffee.