Karen Ceo Fired Me For Taking Sick Leave.. Forgot I Own The Source Code!
“Three days’ prior notice.”
“I didn’t know three days ago that my heart would decide to audition for a drum solo,”
I said.
I told her I sent HR the doctor’s note.
She made it sound like she had bitten into a lemon.
“HR works for me, not for you. You’re setting a bad example. All these young guys look at you and think they can just stay home whenever they feel a little tired,”
she said.
“I literally have a note from a cardiologist,”
I said.
“This is not just a little tired.”
“You sound fine to me,”
she replied.
“You could sit in a chair and work. You seniors think the world owes you something because you’re old. If you’re not back in the office tomorrow, I will see it as abandonment of your job.”
My wife, listening from the other couch, mouthed,
“What did she say?”
I shook my head.
“I’m following the doctor’s orders,”
I said.
“If you want to talk about labor law, we can talk in writing. Send me an email.”
“Fine,”
she said.
“But don’t be surprised by the consequences. We cannot keep paying people to lie in bed.”
Click.
I stared at the phone for a while. I was angry but also weirdly calm.
I’d seen enough bad managers to know that replying in anger never helped. So I wrote an email summarizing the conversation, attached the doctor’s note, and CC’d HR and the founder.
“I will obey my doctor’s orders and stay home for the prescribed period,”
I wrote.
“I’m available by phone for emergencies as long as it doesn’t go against his instructions.”
I pressed send, made some tea, and tried not to think about work. Two days later, a courier showed up at my door with a letter: a termination notice.
The letter stated that I had abandoned my duties and refused to obey reasonable management instructions, and that my employment was terminated for cause effective immediately. They froze my accounts and took away my access; the whole package.
There was a second letter asking me to immediately hand over all company property including source code and any intellectual property developed during my employment. It also asked to confirm in writing that all rights to the software belong exclusively to the company.
My wife read it twice and her face just got redder.
“They cannot do this, can they?”
she asked.
I read it again, feeling more tired than angry now. Then I opened the drawer where I kept my old contracts and pulled out the original one, the one everyone had forgotten about.
I read the clause that I had negotiated years ago, the one no one cared about because we were all friends back then.
“In the event that the licensee terminates the consultant work without cause or fails to pay the agreed maintenance fees for a period exceeding 30 days, the license to use the software shall automatically terminate upon written notice by the licenser,”
the contract stated.
“Upon termination, the licensee agrees to cease all use of the software and any derivative works unless a new agreement is reached with the licenser,”
it continued.
I read it about five times.
So basically, they had just fired me for cause for taking sick leave because Karen decided that ignoring labor law was a reasonable management instruction. But in any actual legal sense, that was not cause.
And they had quietly stopped paying the maintenance fee a while ago because Karen decided,
“We don’t pay for things we already own.”
I had let that slide for a bit because I didn’t want to fight with the founder. I’d reminded accounting once or twice, but it was always “Next month, sorry.”
Now suddenly, I was abandoning my job. My wife looked over my shoulder at the contract.
“So what does this mean?”
she asked.
“It means,”
I said slowly,
“that if I want to be petty, I can end their license to the software completely.”
“You can?”
she asked.
“I’m the licenser,”
I said.
The code lives on my server. The repo they use as a mirror and all their environments use license keys issued by my system.
I have never transferred ownership of the code itself. They’ve been using it under license for years.
My wife raised an eyebrow and asked,
“And what are you going to do?”
At that moment, my phone buzzed. It was an email from HR.
“We require you to sign the attached document confirming that all intellectual property developed during new employment belongs to the company. Please return it by tomorrow.”
The attached document basically tried to rewrite history and forced me to sign everything to them for free as part of my exit. That is when the idea walked in, pulled up a chair, and made itself comfortable.
I remembered Karen’s voice saying,
“If you’re not back in the office tomorrow, I will see it as abandonment of your job.”
She had given me an ultimatum and I had complied with my doctor’s orders instead of hers. And now they wanted me to comply by giving up my IP for free.
She wanted everything neat and simple. Fine, I would comply literally.
The License Collapse and Final Compliance
I poured myself a fresh tea, sat down at my laptop, and started writing emails. They were not angry emails or threats, just compliance.
First, I replied to HR and CC’d the founder and the investors.
“Dear HR, thank you for your message and the attached document. As per our existing consultant and license agreement dated this date, intellectual property rights to the software remain with my company and the client has a license to use it under the terms of that agreement,”
I wrote.
“Therefore, I cannot sign a document that contradicts an existing contract without proper negotiation and compensation. However, I will of course comply fully with all existing contractual obligations and follow the exit procedures outlined therein. Best regards, OP,”
the email concluded.
Then I drafted another email, more formal, from my little company’s email address.
“Dear Company Name, this is formal notice under clause X of our license agreement. Maintenance fees have not been paid for a period exceeding 30 days and my status as consultant has been terminated without cause as per labor legislation,”
it began.
“Unless payment is received and a new agreement is reached within 30 days of this notice, the license to use the software will terminate and you’ll be required to cease use in accordance with the agreement. I remain available to discuss a new licensing arrangement. Best regards, OP, Director,”
the notice warned.
I sent that one to the official company email and CC’d the founder, HR, Karen, and the investors. That was the malicious compliance seed.
I didn’t shout, I didn’t hack anything, and I did not lock anyone out. I simply followed the contract that Karen had not bothered to read when she decided to clean up my “special treatment.”
Over the next weeks, things got interesting. First came the angry call from Karen herself.
“You cannot send things like that to investors!”
she practically screamed.
“You’re making us look unprofessional.”
“Well, that’s a legal notice from my company to a client,”
I said calmly.
