The director’s luxury car crashed into an old man carrying eggs, which scattered everywhere. Annoyed, he got out of the car and replied, “How much are these rotten eggs worth?” Exactly three days later, he was fired from his job.

A sleek, black car quickly rounded a bend in a village, the brakes screeched, then crashed! — a battered motorcycle carrying two large baskets of eggs crashed onto the road. The eggs shattered, a horrifying mess of yellow and white eggs splashed into the midday sun.

The old man, over sixty, weak and thin, his hands and feet shaking, tried to get his motorcycle back up. His face was pale with regret and fear. Those baskets of eggs were the result of his hard work, having traveled dozens of kilometers since dawn to sell them for his wife’s medicine.

The car door opened, and a well-dressed man with an expensive watch on his wrist stepped out. His arrogant voice rang out:

“Susmaryosep! How are you driving? If my motorcycle gets scratched, can you afford to pay for it? How much are these rotten eggs worth?”

The entire neighborhood came out to watch. The old man bowed, his voice hoarse:

“Yes… just a few eggs from the province, young man. I was driving slowly, and suddenly your car turned…”

The rich man clenched his arm, grinned, and took out some banknotes from his wallet:

“Here, a few hundred thousand dong is enough to buy all these eggs again! Next time you travel, stay away from cars.”

Everyone around watched the scene, no one said anything, just felt sorry for the old man. He picked up each broken eggshell, gathered them up, and said nothing more.

…Three days passed.

On that third day, in a luxurious building in the city, the director was suddenly summoned to an emergency board meeting. He was still smiling as he adjusted his tie—thinking that another compliment or contract would be discussed.

But when he entered the room, a chill ran down his spine.

All the board members were there. And in the middle of the table, there was a thick folder—with a picture on the cover. A black car. A broken motorcycle. And an old man kneeling on the road, picking up the broken eggs.

“Do you know this scene very well?” the chairman asked coldly.

The director turned pale. “I—it was just a small accident. It’s been a long—”

“No,” the chairman interrupted. “That’s my wife’s father.”

The man seemed to be struck by lightning.

“Those eggs,” the chairman continued, suppressing his anger, “he was going to sell them to buy medicine for his wife who had a heart condition. He came home empty-handed, and that night… his wife was rushed to the hospital.”

The entire room fell silent.

“He didn’t die,” the chairman added. “But do you know what the old man said when asked who hit him?”

The director looked up, trembling.

“He said: ‘It’s okay… he must be rich. His time is more valuable than my eggs.’”

The chairman closed the folder.

“This company may forgive mistakes at work,” he said firmly, “but we do not accept heartlessness.”

A piece of paper was quietly placed in front of the director.

“You are effectively dismissed.”

That same day, the news spread throughout the industry. No company would hire him. The once luxurious car was sold. The friends who had once shared in his success—disappeared.

Meanwhile, in the village, an unnamed donor quietly paid all of the old woman’s hospital expenses. An envelope was left with a simple message:

“I’m sorry… your egg is more valuable than I knew before.”

And only then did the director understand—
that one question full of disdain,

could ruin an entire career.