The original poster (OP) was a seasoned IT professional working for a mid-sized company that had recently been acquired by a larger corporation. With the merger came chaos: new systems, new policies, and a new payroll provider. OP had set up direct deposit with the new system, but when payday arrived—no money. His account showed zero activity.
Concerned, OP contacted HR. They brushed him off, saying it was probably a delay. But days passed, and still no deposit. When he pressed harder, they admitted the error: his banking info had been entered incorrectly. Worse, they said the funds were “locked” and couldn’t be reissued until the next pay cycle—weeks away.
OP was furious. He had bills to pay, and this was their mistake. HR refused to escalate, and the payroll company claimed their hands were tied. So OP did what any tech-savvy, wronged employee might do: he got even.
As the lead systems administrator, OP had deep access to the company’s infrastructure. He didn’t sabotage anything—but he did initiate a full security audit. He flagged every outdated certificate, every unpatched vulnerability, and every misconfigured server. Then he locked down access to critical systems until compliance was met.
Suddenly, executives were panicking. Internal tools stopped working. Email servers glitched. The company’s operations slowed to a crawl. OP calmly explained that these were standard security protocols—and that he couldn’t lift the lockdown until all issues were resolved.
It took days. During that time, OP’s missing paycheck was miraculously “unlocked” and deposited. HR begged him to restore access. He did—after documenting every fix and making sure his own systems were bulletproof.
Then he gave notice.
His revenge wasn’t loud or destructive. It was surgical, professional, and devastatingly effective. He didn’t break rules—he enforced them. And in doing so, he reminded the company that when you mess with someone’s livelihood, you risk your own.
