A middle-aged man in a blue suit arrived after her and got escorted straight to the VIP lounge.
A younger man in loafers and no tie was greeted by name and offered bottled water, then sparkling water, then coffee.
Two women in marketing badges passed the front desk and went quiet when they saw Olivia sitting off to the side. One glanced at her, then at the receptionist, then kept walking like she had learned a long time ago that silence was safer than solidarity.
Employees moved through the lobby in a stream of pale shirts and dark jackets.
Mostly men.
Mostly white.
Mostly the same haircut.
The sort of sameness no company ever noticed when it came wrapped in confidence.
At 10:46, Leonard Harrison’s assistant finally appeared.
She was young, exhausted-looking, and carrying three devices at once.
“Ms. Johnson?” she asked.
Olivia stood.
The assistant avoided eye contact as she led her down a hallway lined with framed magazine covers praising Teranova’s innovation, speed, and leadership.
No women on the covers.
No Black faces either.
Just Leonard, over and over, aging in expensive suits like a man being rewarded for taking up space.
Olivia was led not to the executive boardroom but to a smaller room with no windows and a table too narrow for real respect.
Leonard Harrison sat at the far end, looking at his phone.
Three other executives were already there.
All white.
All male.
All wearing some version of the same gray suit.
One of them suppressed a yawn when Olivia walked in.
Leonard didn’t stand.
Didn’t smile.
Didn’t apologize for the wait.
He flicked two fingers toward a chair like he was granting a favor.
Olivia sat.
She had spent over twenty years in finance.
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