The Ten Dollar Raise

Wilkins, an aging, diminutive clerk portrayed with heartbreaking vulnerability by William V. Mong, has spent two decades fossilizing behind a mahogany desk. He is the human embodiment of corporate inertia, suffering under the tyrannical thumb of a superior whose cruelty is matched only by his parsimony. The narrative operates as a grim dissection of the American work ethic gone sour, where loyalty is rewarded with contempt and the titular ten-dollar raise remains a tantalizing, receding mirage. However, the gears of the plot shift from Dickensian misery to a radical subversion of class dynamics when a serendipitous financial windfall—a stroke of luck that feels both earned and surreal—propels Wilkins from the ranks of the exploited to the seat of the exploiter. By acquiring the very firm that sought to crush his spirit, Wilkins orchestrates a meticulously crafted reversal of fortunes, forcing his former oppressor to taste the bitter dregs of subservience. It is a cinematic meditation on the corrupting and liberating powers of capital, framed through the lens of early 20th-century labor anxieties.