Chapter 3Your Future Belongs in My Trash Can

“Come in.”

I pushed the door open. Rich was smoking. Seeing me, he immediately stubbed the cigarette in the ashtray, his voice grave. “Dahlia told me you resigned.”

He poured me a glass of water himself. “I understand you’re unhappy with your pay. But you’re one of our veterans. The company invested in you for all these years. Walking out now is just bad form, isn’t it?”

That word, low, again.

I held the glass, looking at him. “Rich, I’ve been here for six years, I make sixty-six thousand. The intern who started three months ago makes one hundred and twenty thousand.”

Rich’s face froze, then he plastered on a look of paternal concern. “Yes, the salary thing was an oversight on my part. How about this: I’ll raise you again. Five percent. What do you say?”

Sixty-six thousand one hundred and fifty, plus five percent, was sixty-nine thousand four hundred and fifty-seven dollars and fifty cents. Less than seventy thousand. A fifty-thousand-dollar difference from a probationary hire.

I didn’t compromise. I went straight for the heart of it. “Rich, I’ve been with you for six years. When times were toughest, we didn’t even have a water cooler, and we had to bring our own toilet paper.”

“But you paid me two thousand more than the others then. Now the company is thriving. The smallest project I handle is worth five million dollars. Why are you unwilling to pay me the same as an intern?”

I stared at him, waiting for the answer that would finally kill my hope.

Rich cleared his throat, instinctively reaching for a cigarette. “Jenna, I didn’t want to say this, but since you’re pressing me, I’ll tell you: Because you’re a woman!”

“A woman?”

“Yes, a woman.” The fleshy jowls on Rich’s face began to tremble with sudden fervor. “I’ve done the research. Do you know the percentage of female leadership in the Fortune 500? Twenty-one percent! Some companies don't have a single one. What does that tell you? You women are inherently not the same as men.”

“But my performance has consistently been number one in the company,” I couldn't help but argue.

Rich scoffed. “So what? You’re about to marry Spencer, aren’t you?”

I was confused. “And?”

“And your value has cratered, hasn’t it?” Rich leaned forward, analyzing me like a faulty asset. “Look, once you marry Spencer, you’ll be a good wife. Once the baby comes, you’ll be a good mother. How do you balance family and career? The company hires you, and then you want vacation, maternity leave, and childcare leave. Who pays for the company’s loss?”

“Plus, the internet says women’s focus declines after marriage. You’re twenty-eight, almost thirty. In a few years, you’ll be in menopause. There are plenty of young people on the market. Why should I invest in you?”

My eyes had gone completely numb. I spoke calmly. “My performance is strong.”

“A woman with great performance? Who knows if she had to sleep her way into those numbers,” Rich muttered.

“I have high capability.”

“How capable can you be? Your boyfriend, Spencer, is the one who got the manager title.” Rich sneered.

“I’ve been with this company for six years, from the ground up. I have the deepest institutional knowledge.”

“That’s why I didn’t fire you,” Rich said, smiling. “I even gave you a raise. Five percent. That’s generous.”

I went silent, staring into the water glass.

Rich patted my shoulder, a gesture that made my skin crawl. “All right, stop being angry. I’ll round it up to seventy thousand. Forget the resignation. As long as you keep working hard, the company will take care of you.”

“Oh, and the signing ceremony with Summit Group is tomorrow, right? Prepare well. This is our biggest project of the year. Don’t disappoint me.”

The Summit Group was a client I’d cultivated for three years. They were famous in the industry for their corporate culture of “respecting women’s career rights and opposing workplace discrimination.” It was especially notable that their newly appointed CEO, Ms. Victoria Graham, was a successful woman who had herself suffered professional prejudice.

I looked up at Rich’s smug, smiling face. I stood up.

“Don’t worry, Rich,” I said. “I won’t disappoint you.”

Then, I turned and walked away.

The small voice recorder and the miniature camera, still recording in my jacket pocket, glowed faintly red.