Chapter 2: The Devil Wears a Knockoff Suit

The fluorescent lights in Conference Room B hummed like angry wasps as our team filed in for the Monday morning "alignment session." I'd learned to dread these meetings—they were less about alignment and more about public execution, with Bits wielding the axe.

"Gentlemen. Ladies." Bits strode in wearing what looked like a designer suit, though something about the cut seemed off. The fabric pulled slightly at his shoulders, and the sheen was a bit too bright under the harsh office lighting. "I trust everyone had a productive weekend reviewing the client feedback."

The silence stretched uncomfortably. Beside me, Chloe Sharma shifted in her seat, her knuckles white as she gripped her coffee mug. She'd been working on the visual mockups for three weeks straight, pulling late nights to perfect every pixel. We all knew what was coming.

"Chloe." Bits's voice dripped with false concern. "Walk me through your design choices for the homepage banner."

She straightened, pulling up her laptop screen. "Well, based on the client brief, I focused on creating a clean, modern aesthetic that—"

"Stop right there." Bits held up a manicured hand. "Clean and modern? This looks like something a first-year design student would create for a community college project."

I watched Chloe's jaw tighten. Her design was brilliant—sophisticated, user-friendly, exactly what the client had requested. But Bits had a talent for finding fault where none existed.

"The color palette is pedestrian," he continued, warming to his theme. "The typography screams amateur hour. And don't get me started on the composition." He gestured dramatically at her screen. "How long did you spend on this? An hour? Two?"

"I've been working on this for three weeks," Chloe said quietly. "Following all the specifications you provided."

"Three weeks?" Bits laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Well, that explains everything. You're either incredibly slow or incredibly lazy. Which is it?"

The room went dead silent. I felt my fingers dig into my palms, fighting the urge to speak up. We'd all learned the hard way that defending a teammate only made Bits redirect his venom toward you.

"Neither," Chloe managed, her voice barely steady. "I can show you the iteration history, the client feedback incorporation—"

"Oh, spare me the excuses." Bits waved dismissively. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to start over. From scratch. And this time, maybe try actually putting some effort into it."

He turned to the rest of us. "This is what I'm talking about, people. Mediocrity. Complacency. The client is paying us premium rates, and we're delivering garage sale quality work."

My teammate Jake, a senior developer who'd been with the company for five years, cleared his throat. "Actually, the client seemed pretty happy with the initial concepts. They specifically mentioned—"

"Did I ask for your opinion, Jake?" Bits's eyes went cold. "Because last I checked, you're not exactly hitting your own targets. That database optimization you promised last week? Still waiting on that."

"It's been deployed since Friday," Jake said evenly. "I sent you the completion report."

"Don't get smart with me." Bits's face was starting to flush. "Your attitude problem is exactly why this team is underperforming. Maybe it's time to reevaluate whether you're the right fit for this position."

The threat hung in the air like toxic smoke. Jake went pale but said nothing more. Smart man. Fighting back only made things worse.

This was Bits's specialty—psychological warfare disguised as management. He'd single out one person per meeting, dissect their work in front of everyone, then use fear to keep the rest of us in line. It was masterful in its cruelty.

"Now," Bits continued, straightening his too-tight jacket, "let's talk about the quarterly targets. Corporate is breathing down my neck, which means I'm going to be breathing down yours."

He clicked to his presentation slide, revealing impossible deadlines and unrealistic expectations. I'd seen this routine before—set the team up for failure, then take credit when they somehow pulled through despite him, not because of him.

"I need solutions, not problems," he said, pacing in front of the whiteboard. "The client presentation is in two weeks, and everything—and I mean everything—needs to be perfect. One mistake, one glitch, one design flaw, and we all look incompetent."

We all look incompetent. Never I look incompetent. Always we. But when things went right, suddenly it became his successful project management and his team leadership.

"Questions?" Bits surveyed the room with predatory satisfaction.

Nobody spoke. We'd learned that questions were treated as challenges to his authority.

"Excellent. Meeting adjourned. Oh, and Chloe?" He turned back to her as everyone began gathering their things. "I need to see the new designs by end of day Wednesday. No extensions, no excuses."

Chloe nodded stiffly, closing her laptop with deliberate care. I could see her hands trembling slightly.

As we filed out, I fell into step beside her. "You okay?"

She glanced around to make sure Bits wasn't within earshot, then shook her head. "I don't know how much more of this I can take, Alex. It's like he gets off on humiliating people."

"He's a sadist in a cheap suit," I agreed quietly.

"Cheap suit?" She managed a small smile. "That thing probably cost more than my rent."

"Trust me, it's a knockoff. I've seen enough high-end tailoring to know the difference." I had no idea if that was true, but it felt good to diminish him somehow, even in a small way.

We walked to the break room, seeking the refuge of terrible coffee and stale vending machine snacks. Jake was already there, staring blankly at the coffee maker.

"That was brutal," I said.

"Par for the course." Jake poured his coffee with shaking hands. "He's been gunning for me ever since I questioned his timeline estimates last month."

"He can't fire you for doing your job," Chloe said.

Jake laughed bitterly. "Can't he? You think HR cares about what actually happened in that room? All they'll see is his performance review claiming I was insubordinate and missing deadlines."

The worst part was, he was right. Bits had cultivated relationships with the right people, presented himself as the hardworking manager dealing with a difficult team. When performance reviews came around, we were always the problem, never him.

"There has to be something we can do," I said, though even as I spoke the words, I knew how naive they sounded.

"Like what?" Jake shook his head. "File a complaint? He'll spin it as sour grapes from underperforming employees. Document his behavior? He's too smart to put anything truly damning in writing."

"What about recording him?" Chloe suggested.

"Illegal in this state without consent," Jake replied immediately. "Trust me, I've looked into it."

We stood in defeated silence, three skilled professionals reduced to whispered conversations in break rooms, like prisoners planning an escape that would never come.

That's when Jake's phone buzzed with a Slack notification. He glanced at it and groaned.

"What now?" I asked.

"Company-wide message. There's going to be a merger."

My stomach dropped. Mergers meant layoffs, restructuring, chaos. Everything Bits needed to position himself as indispensable while throwing the rest of us under the bus.

Jake read from his phone: "Exciting news! Synergistic Solutions will be merging with TechNova Industries to create a dynamic, forward-thinking organization. As part of this transition, we'll be implementing new systems and processes to ensure seamless integration."

"We're screwed," Chloe muttered.

But as Jake continued reading, something caught my attention: "All employees will be migrated to the new corporate directory system, with full organizational transparency and integrated communication platforms."

"Wait," I said. "Go back to that part about organizational transparency."

Jake scrolled up. "Yeah, it says here that everyone will have access to the complete org chart, including full names, contact information, and reporting structures. Something about 'fostering collaboration and breaking down silos.'"

For the first time in months, I felt something that might have been hope stirring in my chest. Full names. Complete transparency. After years of knowing our tormentor only as "Bits," we might finally learn who he really was.

And more importantly, where he'd come from.

"When does this go live?" I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.

"Next Monday," Jake replied. "They're doing the full rollout over the weekend."

I nodded, filing away the information. Monday couldn't come soon enough.

As we headed back to our desks, I caught Chloe looking at me with curiosity. "You seem almost... excited about this merger thing."

"Just interested in seeing how the new systems work," I said, which was technically true.

What I didn't tell her was that I'd been waiting nearly a decade to put a full name to a voice, to finally solve the mystery that had been buzzing in my pocket since college.

And if my growing suspicion was correct, Monday wasn't just going to bring organizational transparency.

It was going to bring a reckoning.