Chapter 8 - The Corner Office
By August, Ethan’s office had been relocated to the thirty-first floor of the Northside Tower—one floor below Arthur’s executive suite.
It was a spacious, light-filled corner office overlooking the city skyline, but Ethan had refused to let the corporate decorators turn it into a sterile museum of wealth. On his bookshelf, alongside leather-bound volumes of corporate law and supply-chain logistics, sat a framed, cracked plastic flip phone and a small, ceramic bakery bag.
It was a quiet Friday afternoon when a soft knock sounded at his open door.
Ethan looked up from his dual monitors to see Marcus Vance standing awkwardly in the doorway.
Marcus wasn't wearing his security uniform anymore. He wore a cheap, ill-fitting tweed jacket, his hair uncombed, looking like a man who had spent the summer sleeping in his car and filling out dozens of unsuccessful job applications. The arrogant swagger that had defined him on the loading dock was completely gone, replaced by the broken posture of a man who had lost his kingdom.
“Ethan,” Marcus muttered, his eyes fixed on the plush carpet near his shoes.
Ethan didn't stand up immediately. He leaned back in his leather executive chair, resting his hands on the armrests, studying the man who had once mocked him for pushing milk crates.
“Marcus,” Ethan said evenly. “What are you doing on the thirty-first floor? Security usually escorts former personnel out through the lobby.”
“I... I heard you were heading the new community outreach logistics division,” Marcus stammered, swallowing hard, his voice shaking with humiliation. “I have a wife and two kids in middle school, Ethan. I need work. Any work. Even if it’s back on the loading dock. Even if it’s night shift pallet-breaking. I’ll take whatever you give me.”
Ethan sat in silence for several long seconds, watching Marcus squirm. A part of him—the eighteen-year-old kid who had stood shivering in the aisle six months ago while Marcus sneered—wanted to smile, wanted to enjoy the sweet, intoxicating taste of absolute revenge.
He could crush Marcus with a single phone call to building security. He could make Marcus feel every ounce of the smallness he had inflicted on others.
Instead, Ethan sighed, standing up from his desk and walking over to the floor-to-ceiling window.
“Marcus,” Ethan said quietly, looking out over the bustling city streets below. “Do you remember what you told me down on the loading dock? You told me that people who can't afford things don't belong in civilized establishments.”
Marcus winced, his face flushing a deep, miserable crimson. “I was... I was just following store culture, Ethan. I was an idiot.”
“Yeah, you were,” Ethan agreed without malice. He turned back around, walking over to his desk and picking up a business card from his holder, sliding it across the glass toward Marcus.
Marcus looked down at the card. It bore the name of a regional warehouse distribution center two hours outside the city—a facility owned by Pendelton Capital that specialized in second-chance hiring programs for ex-offenders and down-on-their-luck workers.
“Call that number on Monday,” Ethan instructed. “They’re hiring night shift inventory supervisors. The pay is decent, the health insurance is solid, and the manager out there doesn't carry a flashlight to intimidate teenagers.”
May you like
Marcus stared at the card, his lower lip trembling slightly. He looked up at Ethan, the last remnants of his pride finally dissolving into absolute gratitude. “Thank you, Ethan. I... I don't know what to say.”
“Don't say anything to me, Marcus,” Ethan said, turning back to his computer monitors. “Just treat the guys on the loading dock like human beings. Because you never know which one of them owns the building.”
