Up and Down the Corporate Ladder

by Zoe Storm

[Content warning: grief, mention of death]

 

---

 

I knocked on the door to Bronson’s office a few minutes before nine. He looked up from his computer and smiled at me. “Hello hi hello, Audrey! Please, do come in,” he said, waving me inside. “Why are you here, though? You should be at your desk.”

“You didn’t tell me where my desk actually is,” I replied.

His eyebrows knit together. “We didn’t, didn’t we? Guess we forgot. Well, that’s easily fixed: it’s the one out there, right in front of my office door.”

He pointed, and I turned around to look. I was immediately able to pin-point the desk he was pointing at: it only had a laptop, a desk lamp, and a telephone on it, none of the usual knick-knacks which usually gather as if out of thin air in an office environment were anywhere to be found. I nodded. “I’ll get to work, then.”

“Just one moment before you do,” he said, raising a finger; he picked up his phone, punched in a number, and held it up to his ear. “She’s here. Alright.”

I looked at him curiously. “What was that?”

“Oh, nothing, I was just calling HR. Miles will be right up.”

I blinked. “HR? Why? What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh, no, no no no, don’t worry,” Bronson said quickly, waving his hand. “You did absolutely nothing wrong. It’s just that when I contacted them this morning to ask them to give you access to the books – you remember we discussed that yesterday?” I nodded, and he nodded back. “Well, they reminded me that before giving anyone access to the books, they need to pass a test, no matter how experienced they are or how good their CV might be.”

“A test?”

“Yes, a test. It should be simple enough. Oh, here’s Miles.”

I turned around and took a step back to let Miles into the office. “Good morning, Audrey,” he said, smiling at me. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” I nodded. “Mr. Bronson was saying–”

“Oxley,” Bronson said, his lips creasing into a smile under his moustache.

“Yes, Oxley, sorry. Oxley was saying something about a test?”

“Yes,” Miles nodded. “Please take a seat.”

I complied as he placed a laptop down on Bronson’s desk, opened it, and typed in the password: displayed on the screen was a spreadsheet.

“I devised this a few years ago,” Bronson said. “After Samson moved to this building it grew significantly, and we were getting an influx of new hires here in Finances and Accounting. Some of those, I’m sad to say, were completely unable to handle even the most basic stuff, so I thought this up to see if they’re up to snuff. Miles administers it to everyone who is to handle financial stuff in any capacity.”

I nodded in acknowledgement. “Okay. So what’s the test?”

“It’s simple enough: you see these figures? Well, they should balance out. When you add them up, the sum should be zero. But it isn’t.” He scrolled all the way down the spreadsheet – it was quite long – and tapped the final cell at the bottom which, sure enough, didn’t read zero, but zero point oh five instead. “So here’s the test: find the mistake in the figures.”

I nodded again. “Simple enough,” I agreed.

Bronson nodded back and waved at the laptop. I quirked my mouth. “Do you have a calculator?” I asked. “And pen and paper.”

“Of course, of course,” Bronson said. “Here.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a calculator, a pencil, and a notepad, and he placed them beside the laptop.

“Thank you,” I said, and concentrated on the figures. I ran my eyes down the columns, punched in a few numbers in the calculator, wrote the results down on the notepad. Then I frowned: there was no mistake I could find – all the figures were correct and, by all rights, they should have balanced out. But they didn’t.

Hm. Maybe…?

I opened a new spreadsheet and copy-pasted the values from the first one into it; the raw values, not the underlying formulas. And sure enough…

“There’s no mistake in the figures,” I said.

“Why don’t they add up, then?” Bronson asked.

“Because the mistake is in the spreadsheet itself. Or, rather, it’s not a mistake: it’s a deliberate trick, to catch people off-guard.”

He quirked his mouth and looked at me intently, as did Miles. “Do tell,” Miles said.

“I didn’t see it at first because I was looking at the numbers at two decimal points – at the penny. But here,” I pointed at the screen, “the spreadsheet calculates tax, which is a percentage, so it should go beyond the second decimal, to a tenth or a hundredth of a penny. This would normally be fine, since the spreadsheet adds everything together at the end even if the values aren’t visible, but here you’ve put a truncation function, which cuts the value at two decimal points, and here you didn’t. So in the end the figures look the same, but they aren’t the same, they differ very slightly, so they don’t add up.” I looked up at Bronson and Miles and smiled. “How did I do?”

Bronson exploded in a bubbling laugh. “Very good, very good! And it only took you what, five minutes?”

“Six,” Miles said, glancing at his watch. “But she was still much faster than average. She was faster than I was when I took this test.”

“Right, right, I remember,” Bronson nodded. “You were just about to pull your hair out, but in the end you figured it out, too. Well then, I don’t think there should be any problem with Audrey getting access to the company books. Right, Miles?”

“Right. I’ll see to it that you’re given access, Audrey,” Miles replied, smiling warmly at me.

I smiled back. “Thank you, Miles.”

He nodded, closed his laptop, and picked it up. “I’ll see you around,” he said, walking out of Bronson’s office.

“Well then, let’s get to work!” Bronson exclaimed. “You’ll be working directly with me this morning while I bring you up to speed with everything, then you’re on your own from this afternoon. But I think you’ll manage.”

-----

“…and if someone asks you to reschedule, you write down their name. Make a note somewhere. Rescheduling a meeting once is okay, twice is fine, three times is not fine. If they ask you to reschedule a third time, you refuse.”

“And if they complain?” I asked.

“You tell them to take it up with me,” Bronson said with a smile. “I’ll give them a good telling-to if they do.”

I nodded, smiling back. “Noted.”

“Good. And remember: when you’re on the clock, you speak for me and, more generally, Samson Enterprises. You must always give a good impression. Professional. But that doesn’t mean taking any unwarranted abuse: if someone gives you shit because of your age, your sex, or, heaven forfend, the colour of your skin, you smile, be entirely polite to them, and as soon as they’re gone you come tell me. I’ll handle it. Got it?”

“Got it. Thank you, Oxley.”

“You’re welcome, Audrey. Now–”

“Knock knock,” said a voice, accompanied by a simultaneous knocking on the office door. I looked up and saw a blonde woman, who looked to be about thirty, framed in the doorway. “May I interrupt?”

“Oh, Nessa!” Bronson exclaimed. “Of course, of course, what’s up?”

“Can I borrow the new girl for a while? I promise to return her in one piece.”

I frowned. “Borrow me? What for?”

“Nothing much, I thought I may take you to lunch so you can meet the Girls,” she replied, and I distinctly heard her pronounce the capital.

“Lunch? Is it already this late?” Bronson said, looking at his watch. “Apparently it is.”

Nessa nodded. “So what about it?”

“Of course, of course.”

“Thanks, Lee.”

I looked from her to him. “But we haven’t finished here.”

“No, we’re done, I only have a few more things to tell you, and they aren’t that important anyway. You go along, have fun,” Bronson said with a smile.

“Alright then,” I nodded; I stood up from my chair and, after waving Bronson goodbye, I followed Nessa down the hallway towards the elevators.

“Thought you might appreciate the rescue,” she said, turning towards me as we walked. “Lee is a good guy, but sometimes he hyperfocuses too much on work and doesn’t notice time passing.” She extended a hand towards me. “Audrey, right? Vanessa Carpenter, nice to meet you.”

“Audrey Woodward, yes. Nice to meet you, Vanessa,” I replied, shaking her hand.

“Oh, do call me Nessa. All of my friends do.” She stepped aside and motioned me inside the elevator; when I’d walked into it she stepped in behind me, and pressed the button.

The trip was remarkably brief: the elevator’s door opened again almost as soon as they’d closed, and I found myself stepping out on the thirtieth floor. I looked around, taking it in: it had been set up as an open space arranged around the structural core of the building, in the middle; there were no walls, and the floor-to-ceiling windows let a lot of light in, while at the same time showing a panoramic view of the City of London.

“Nice place, huh?” Nessa said, looking at my expression. “I guess you hadn’t been here before.”

I had, actually, but not as Audrey, so I replied, “No, I haven’t,” shaking my head.

“The entire floor was reserved as a rec room for the Samson Enterprises staff,” she explained, guiding me away from the elevators and towards one of the windows. “We can have lunch here, bring our own or buy something. I guess old man Elmer really wanted the best for his employees.”

It was my mum’s idea, actually, I thought, but I obviously couldn’t say that, so I just nodded.

“And here we are!” Nessa continued, waving towards a table around which five other women sat. “These are the Girls.”

The Girls smiled and waved, and introduced themselves in turn: Tricia, Hana, Libby, Maisie, and Charlie. “I’m Audrey, nice to meet you all,” I said. “And thanks for the invitation.”

“Of course,” Libby said, standing up and grabbing a chair from a nearby table. “Come on, sit down, let’s get to know each other. Starting with: what are you having for lunch?”

“I… don’t know?” I replied. “I really hadn’t thought about it, I thought I might buy a bagel or something.”

“What did you eat for breakfast?” Maisie asked.

“A coffee and a toastie, at Nero.”

“And for dinner last night?”

“Lentil curry.”

“You’re getting a salad, then,” she said. “And no objections: a balanced diet is important.”

I giggled. “Okay, a salad it is, then.”

Leaving Hana and Charlie to keep our seats – they’d brought their own lunches – we moved to one of the stalls which had been set up near the middle, where we bought our food (I got a salad); then we returned to the table, sat down, and started chatting. Surprisingly, I found myself enjoying just talking with other girls, just talking and gossiping and what not. Well, they did most of the gossip at that point; I didn’t have anything to share in that regard just yet.

“So where do you live, Audrey?” Hana asked.

I chewed a mouthful of tomato and swallowed before answering, “Harrow.”

“Oh, that’s pretty far,” Tricia commented. “It must take you what, an hour to commute?”

“About that,” I nodded. “Plus twenty minutes or so from the station to my flat.”

“Why not somewhere closer, then?” Charlie asked.

“Can’t afford it. Or, rather, I could afford it, but I wouldn’t be able to save anything,” I explained, thinking back to my cover story. “I don’t have that big of a safety net, especially since my parents died not that long ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Condolences,” Hana said, and all the other girls nodded and murmured in agreement.

“Thanks,” I said.

“But still, two whole hours a day on the Tube? I don’t know how you do it, I would be afraid of getting felt up in the crowd,” Maisie said. “It’s bad enough here at work already.”

I gave her a look. “Oh? Is there something I should be careful about?” I queried.

“Yeah, there is,” she said, and she lowered her voice. “You see, some men here in the office can get a bit… handsy. It’s not that bad if you know who they are and avoid being alone with them, but it is something you should be careful about.”

I quirked my mouth. “Oxley doesn’t look like the type to do that.”

“Ah, no, Lee’s one of the good ones. He’s like a man-shaped Labrador Retriever, absolutely good and pure,” Nessa said, waving her hand. “And Gupta’s the same.”

Charlie nodded in agreement. “The one you really got to watch yourself from is–”

Tricia shushed her with a gesture. “Incoming,” she hissed. “Three o’clock.”

I was sitting to Charlie’s right, so her three o’clock was right behind me; I turned around just as a shadow loomed over me, and I looked up at Leon Duncan, the CFO. He was looking down at me from his full six-foot-three height, his stocky build clearly outlined by the suit he was wearing, the light coming from the windows reflecting off his shaved head. “Good afternoon, ladies,” he said. “Enjoying lunch?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Duncan,” the Girls chorused.

“May we help you?” Nessa added.

“Oh, no, no,” he said, waving his hand. “And I’m sorry for disturbing you during your lunch break, I just wanted to get a good look at the new girl.”

He extended a hand towards me, and I took it. “Hello, sir. Audrey Woodward.”

“Of course. Leon Duncan. It’s such a pleasure, Miss Woodward,” he said, gripping my hand a bit tighter before letting it go. “We saw each other briefly yesterday, but I wanted to greet you properly. I’ve heard you’ve passed the accounting test this morning.”

“I did.”

His lips curled into a slight smile. “So you’re a smart girl, besides being pretty. Very good,” he said, with a glint in his eye that made me shiver. “I look forward to working with you.”

“She won’t be working with you, Mr. Duncan,” Nessa said. “She’s Mr. Bronson’s secretary.”

Duncan shrugged. “Same department. Again, sorry for bothering you. Have a good lunch.” He nodded his head and walked away.

I watched him go until he disappeared from sight into an elevator, then I relaxed and let out the breath I hadn’t realised I was holding. “Holy shit,” I whispered. “Holy fucking shit. That was…”

“Unpleasant?” Charlie said. “Yeah, we’ve all been through it.”

“Unpleasant is putting it mildly. He was looking at me as if I was a piece of meat, but one he wants to put on the grill and eat up? If that makes sense? He was positively salivating.”

Nessa nodded. “Yeah, we know. Like Charlie said, we’ve all been through it.”

“Just keep your head low and try not to be alone with him, and you’ll be fine,” Hana said.

I nodded and went back to my lunch as the conversation resumed around me. I made a mental note, though: I would have to talk about this with Aunt Lara when I got the chance.

-----

I stepped out of the Tube station and stretched. Once again, it was late, later than I would’ve liked; but I’d stayed at the office past the normal clock-out hour – once I’d been done working for the day, I’d spent some time using the access to the company books I’d been granted to start looking for clues. I hadn’t found anything yet, but I was confident I would find out who the embezzler was in time.

Like the day before I was too tired to do any proper shopping, but I did pop into the Co-op near the station to grab some necessities, which would last me the three days I had left until Saturday. Then I started walking home along what, after four times’ back and forth, I’d begun to think as my usual route, which made me pass in front of The Curry House, and there I hesitated.

Truth be told, I didn’t nearly have the energy to prepare myself something for dinner, so maybe I could stop there and grab some take-out? But, on the other hand… curry for dinner two days in a row?

Well, why not?

I stepped into the store; “Hello,” the woman behind the counter said. Then her eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh, hello! Back so soon?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “I really liked the curry last night, and I’m way too tired to make dinner anyway, so…”

“Oh, that’s good. I have chickpea curry tonight, if that’s to your liking.”

I nodded. “Yeah, chickpea curry sounds fine.”

“To go?” she asked, giving me a look.

“Yes. I have to get home and put this stuff in the fridge,” I said, lifting my shopping bag to show her.

The woman hmpf-ed. “Alright. But you know I disapprove, love.” She grabbed a take-out container and a ladle and started to work. “Oh, by the way, I realised I hadn’t introduced myself yesterday. I’m Shanti Narang.”

I nodded. “Nice to meet you, Shanti. Audrey Woodward.”

“Woodward. Woodward, Woodward,” she mused, switching from the ladle to the rice spoon. “Knew a gal with that name once. She lived around here, it was probably… forty years ago, I wanna say? Thirty at the very least. She looked a bit like you.”

“Huh. Funny coincidence.”

“Yeah. Anyway, here you go,” Shanti said, handing me the bag with the curry in it.

“Fourteen fifty-nine like yesterday?” I asked.

“Let’s make that fourteen fifty,” she replied.

I handed her fifteen pounds. “Keep the change,” I said with a smile.

“Thanks, love. Have a great night.”

I nodded at her, stepped out of the store, and made my way home.

The curry was good, but like the one I’d eaten the previous evening, it felt like there was something missing from it, even after I’d heated it up; once again, I couldn’t quite put my finger on what, exactly.