Chapter 2 - The Glass Corner and the Whispers
By Monday morning, my life had upended itself with the speed of a freight train.
Instead of sitting in a cramped cubicle or reviewing draft schedules in the basement archives, I found myself walking into a corner office on the thirty-eighth floor. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows offered a breathtaking panorama of downtown Columbus. A sleek mahogany drafting desk sat beneath the natural light, and a stack of high-priority project files rested neatly on the corner.
Word had traveled through the grapevine faster than wildfire.
By noon, the entire design department knew that Alexander Alder had personally plucked an unknown freelancer out of the junior interview pool and installed her in the executive wing.
When I stepped into the communal breakroom to grab a cup of coffee, the chatter around the water cooler abruptly died.
Standing by the counter was Brooke Landry—the woman in the ivory suit who had mocked my clothes in the reception area just days earlier. Now, she wore a forced, fragile smile, her eyes darting nervously toward my shoes before looking up at my face.
"Emily," Brooke murmured, stepping aside like a courtier yielding to royalty. "I... I wanted to apologize. For the other day. I didn't realize you had... connections."
I poured my coffee, taking a slow sip before looking at her. "Connections, Brooke? My father was a construction foreman. I didn't get this desk because of a family name; I got it because my father taught me how to load a bearing wall."
Brooke flushed crimson. "Of course. I just meant... well, everyone is talking about how close you are with Mr. Alder."
"Mr. Alder is my employer," I replied calmly. "And if you spend less time inspecting people's skirts and more time refining your spatial calculations, maybe you'll earn a corner office too."
Before Brooke could formulate a retort, the breakroom door swung open and Vanessa Cole walked in, holding a tablet under her arm. Her expression was carefully neutral, but the humiliation of Friday’s boardroom dressing-down still lingered in the tight set of her jaw.
"Emily," Vanessa said, clearing her throat. "Mr. Alder has requested your presence in the executive suite. He wants you to review the blueprint drafts for the Westside Community Center initiative."
I set my coffee mug down. "Tell him I'll be right there."
As I walked down the carpeted hallway toward the private elevator, I could feel the weight of a hundred pairs of eyes following me. They thought I was a fluke, an overnight success story born of nepotism or sudden luck.
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They didn't know about the lonely nights in my kitchen. They didn't know about the cold winter mornings when my mother and I shared a single heater while I sketched housing models by candlelight.
Let them whisper. My father taught me that a building isn't judged by how shiny its glass is on day one, but by how well it stands when the foundation is tested.
