The Sower of Storms

A troublemaker and a villain, who goes about with a corrupt mouth … who plots evil with deceit in his heart—he always stirs up conflict. Therefore disaster will overtake him in an instant; he will suddenly be destroyed—without remedy. Proverbs 6:12, 14-15

On the eighth floor of “Da Vinci Design,” Marcelo was an artist. His art, however, was not programming or design, but discord. He was a master of the quiet calamity.

His mouth was rarely overtly wicked. He preferred the subtle poison of insinuation.

“Did you hear what Julia said about your project?” he would whisper to William, knowing that Julia had said nothing at all. He would approach one group, listen to a conversation, and then recount it to another, always with a small, malicious distortion.

His wickedness was in the details, in his body language. He would wink at a colleague at the end of someone else’s presentation, a complicit signal of contempt. He would shuffle his feet with theatrical impatience when a “rival” spoke in a meeting. He would make signs with his fingers, small gestures of mockery that only his initiates understood. In his heart, he devised evil all the time, finding a dark pleasure in starting small fires and watching the chaos.

He went about sowing strife. The marketing team, once united, was now divided into factions that barely spoke to each other. A promising project was sabotaged because Marcelo convinced the programmer that the product manager was trying to steal his credit. Trust, the most valuable currency in any work environment, was in ruins, and he was the counterfeiter.

His motivation was simple: he believed that in an environment of chaos, where everyone was busy defending themselves, his own path to the top would be easier.

The calamity, when it came, was sudden, without warning, and without remedy.

The company implemented a new internal communication system, more transparent and with all conversations archived. Marcelo paid it no mind; he was a master at covering his tracks, at speaking between the lines.

His mistake was underestimating the frustration he himself had created. Two of his victims, William and Julia, whom he had pitted against each other, finally decided to talk. As they compared stories, Marcelo’s web of lies became clear. Instead of a direct confrontation, they did something smarter. They gathered evidence. Ambiguous emails, testimonies from other colleagues who had been poisoned by his words.

They took the dossier, silently, to the HR director.

On a Thursday morning, Marcelo arrived at work, whistling. He had just planted a new seed of discord, insinuating that one colleague’s bonus was larger than another’s. He sat at his desk, prepared his coffee, and was called into the director’s office. He entered, confident, perhaps expecting a promotion.

Inside the room were the director, the head of HR, William, and Julia. On the table, a stack of printouts of his own conversations and emails.

There was no discussion. There was no chance for manipulation. The evidence was irrefutable. He was broken in an instant. The arrogant winking gave way to a shocked pallor. His feet, which he once shuffled with contempt, now seemed nailed to the floor.

He was fired on the spot, escorted by a security guard to his desk to collect his things. The man who lived on whispers was now the center of a heavy, accusing silence. Everyone watched him, not with pity, but with a bitter relief.

As the elevator doors closed, Marcelo realized the terrible truth. He had sown storms for others, believing he would be safe in his shelter. But in the end, the calamity he had so often devised came for him, and there was no salvation, no mending, no remedy for the ruin he had built with his own hands.

(Made with AI)

This story is part of my book Everyday Wisdom

https://books2read.com/u/3knogL