The first person to insult me on my first day as CEO was my husband’s secretary.
She stood in front of the executive elevator, looked me over, and smiled as though she had already decided my value.
“Custodians and interns use the service elevator.”
For a second, I thought she was joking.
Then I noticed the employees behind her dropping their eyes.
I wore a plain beige dress and low heels. For six years, I had managed overseas projects where hard hats and laptops mattered more than designer bags. Apparently, headquarters had turned clothing into a caste system.
“I’m not a custodian,” I said.
“Then you’re an intern. Interns use the service elevator too.”
Her nameplate read JANG CHIN TONG — EXECUTIVE SECRETARY TO PRESIDENT SHIAO.
My husband’s office.
My husband’s secretary.
I had been married to Shiaoza for ten years and had never met her.
A woman near the elevator whispered, “Please. Just take the service elevator. Secretary Jang can make your life difficult.”
“Does it go to the sixty-eighth floor?”
“No. It stops at sixty-three.”
“So what do employees do?”
She hesitated. “Take the stairs.”
“Five floors?”
“Every day.”
Jang laughed. “If five flights are too much, maybe they don’t belong at this company.”
The employee flushed.
Something inside me went cold.
Three days earlier, the board had voted to place company operations under me. The formal announcement was scheduled for ten that morning. Shiaoza knew I was returning, but he had been strangely vague, claiming he was “buried in meetings.”
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