Chapter 1: The Chair She Moved


The job applicant pulled an empty chair aside just as the older man reached for it.
"The cleaning crew waits outside."
His hand paused above the back of the chair.
He was a 66-year-old Black man with a graying beard, a deeply lined face, a brown work jacket, and a weathered document folder tucked beneath his arm.
The applicant, a 29-year-old white woman with straight blonde hair and a fitted black pantsuit, placed her handbag on the chair she had moved away.
She turned her attention back to the resume resting on her lap, as though their conversation had ended.
Around them, other candidates sat quietly in the brightly lit office lobby, with the interview-room door visible just past the row of chairs.
The older man glanced toward the door and tightened his grip on the folder.
"I'm here for the interview."
The young woman looked up at his jacket and offered a brief, doubtful smile.
She tapped the top of her handbag, deliberately keeping the chair occupied despite already having a seat beside it.
He lowered his hand to his side and remained standing where he could watch the interview-room entrance.
The door swung open.
A 40-year-old Black woman with neatly pulled-back hair, a calm expression, and a navy suit stepped into the lobby.
Her gaze shifted immediately from the older man's folder to the handbag sitting on the vacant chair.
She walked over and lifted the handbag by its handles.
The applicant glanced up, surprised that someone had touched her belongings.
The woman in the navy suit returned the bag directly to the applicant's hands, freeing the chair with one simple movement.
"He's interviewing you."
The applicant immediately straightened her back, looking between the staff member and the older man's face.
He opened his battered folder, revealing a fresh copy of the very resume she had been reviewing on her lap.
The gap between her polished appearance and her earlier dismissive behavior suddenly became impossible to ignore.
He balanced the folder against his palm and examined the first page.
She started reaching for the chair, attempting to slide it back into its original position before she had moved it.
Her handbag shifted awkwardly against her knees as she leaned forward.
The older man raised his eyes from her resume, and she struggled to arrange a different expression before he had finished reading the one she had already shown him.
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That smile is going to cost her everything.
Will she try to talk her way out of it — or is it already too late?
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