Behind her, the frosted glass read PEOPLE & CULTURE, the letters still thin.
Chapter 11: Richard's Errand
The summons arrived at 1:12 PM, routed through the facilities supervisor, a weary man named Boyd who barely looked up.
"Twentieth floor. Operations. Richard Keller wants furniture moved before a meeting. Heavy stuff. Mind your back."
Victoria thanked him and took the elevator up. She had met Richard Keller in the lobby that morning, where he had directed her to sublevel two. He would not remember her face. Men like Richard remembered titles, not people.
His office occupied the southeast corner of the twentieth floor, glass on two sides, Chicago spread out below like a promise. Richard stood by the window, phone to his ear, gold watch flashing as he gestured. He wore his importance the way some men wear cologne, heavily and without noticing.
"Yes, yes, before three. It's handled." He ended the call and turned. His eyes passed over her, registered nothing, and moved on.
"Maintenance," he said. It was not a question. "Finally. The desk goes against the far wall. The credenza under the window. And that bookcase comes down to this corner. The visitor arrives at three, and this office needs to look the part."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Keller," Victoria said. "Would you like the bookcase emptied first?"
"Don't overthink it," he said. "Just move things. Carefully. The desk is walnut. If you scratch it, I'll have your job."
She went to the desk, set her stance, and pushed. It moved with a slow, honest resistance.
On the wall behind his chair hung a framed organizational chart, printed large enough to read from the door. She read it while she worked. Richard's own box was printed in bold, ringed in gold marker with a star. A dotted line ran from his box to Human Resources, where Sandra Miller's name appeared with a smiley face drawn in the same gold marker.
Interesting, Victoria thought. A dotted line. And a smiley face.
"You people ever think about the bigger picture?" Richard asked. He was watching the street below again. "Down here we move money and people. You move furniture."
"Down here?" she said.
"At your level." He turned and gave her the look she had been receiving all day, the one that measured a person and found them decorative. "No offense. Somebody has to do it."
"None taken," Victoria said. "The credenza next?"
"The credenza. Against the window. Mind the awards."
The credenza held a row of photographs in silver frames. One showed Richard mid-swing on a golf course, arm around Howard Bell, both grinning. One showed him accepting a glass trophy on a stage. One showed him at a steakhouse table with three vice presidents she recognized from the morning's elevators, their jackets off and their drinks raised.
She memorized all of it. The alliances. The vanities. The golf.
"The board chair has standards," Richard said suddenly. "Ellen Cho. She runs her boardroom like an inspection. Do you know who Ellen Cho is?"
"A name on the chart," Victoria said, tilting the credenza into place. "Two boxes above yours."
His laugh was short. "Funny. Try to be useful instead of clever."
"Yes, Mr. Keller."
"The visitor is the buyer's office," he said, lowering his voice as though the furniture might listen. "Matthews Strategic Capital. Six months of checklists. Howard is retiring, and the new CEO, whoever he is, will want people who understand this place. That is me."
"Whoever he is," Victoria repeated.
"A man's got a billion dollars in revenue to protect," Richard said. "They don't hand that to just anybody."
"They don't," she agreed.
She moved to the bookcase. On his desk, half under a leather blotter, sat a manila folder left open. It took one glance. A memo on Pinnacle letterhead: RE: Contractor concern, 21st floor, this morning. One line beneath: Resolved informally. No action required. Signed with a flourish: S. Miller, HR. And below that, in heavy blue ink, the initials R.K., with today's date.
Victoria committed it to memory. Sandra's hand. Richard's initials. Hours before any of it would matter.
"Bookcase to the corner," Richard said, checking his watch. "And then you're done. Some of us have real work."
"Of course," Victoria said. She shifted the bookcase into place and stepped back. The office looked sharper, she had to admit. Desk against the far wall. Credenza under the window. Awards gleaming.
Richard walked the room once, nodding. "Acceptable," he said. "That isn't protocol, by the way, rearranging without a work order, but I'll allow it. We have standards to keep."
She was already at the door. She had everything: the chart, the photographs, the smiley face, the initials in blue ink. She added the time to her notes as the door closed behind her. 1:34 PM.