Simone waited too.
After an awkward silence, he frowned.
“Are you going to empty it?”
“Are you asking me to?”
The man seemed annoyed by the distinction.
“Yes.”
Simone smiled.
“I'll remember that.”
She continued walking.
He stared after her.
Simone did not know his name yet.
But she would.
By the time she reached the elevators, she understood one thing.
Claire Whitmore was not the problem.
She was a symptom.
And Simone was beginning to suspect she had purchased a company whose polished glass walls concealed something deeply rotten.
Simone stepped into the executive elevator carrying the cleaning caddy.
Three men were already inside.
None moved aside.
The first wore a navy suit and expensive watch.
The second stared at his phone.
The third carried a leather briefcase monogrammed with the initials D.R.
Simone pressed the button for the seventeenth floor.
The man with the briefcase looked up.
“This elevator is executive access only.”
Simone turned toward him.
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
She glanced at the illuminated floor buttons.
“There doesn't appear to be a sign.”
“You're maintenance.”
It was not a question.
Simone looked at the cleaning supplies in her hand.
“I understand why you might think that.”
The man sighed.
“Service elevators are around the corner.”
“I'm already here.”
The man stared at her.
One of the others gave a quiet laugh.
Briefcase Man frowned.
“What's your employee number?”
Simone smiled.
“I haven't memorized it.”
“You should.”
“I'll work on that.”
The other man laughed again.
Briefcase Man turned toward him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
The elevator reached the seventeenth floor.
Simone stepped out.
Before the doors closed, she glanced back.
“Have a good morning.”
None of them replied.
She walked toward a large open office filled with analysts, engineers, and project managers.
The contrast with the executive floor was immediate.
Upstairs, everything was marble, glass, and silence.
Here, desks were crowded.
Phones rang constantly.
People spoke across cubicles.
A printer jammed somewhere near the windows.
A young woman was standing beside it trying to pull out a sheet of paper.
Simone approached.
“Need help?”
The woman looked up.
She was Black, perhaps twenty-six, wearing rectangular glasses and a Meridian Axis identification badge.
TASHA GREENE — DATA SECURITY ANALYST
“Honestly? Yes.”
Simone placed the cleaning caddy beside the wall.
Together they opened the printer panel.
Tasha laughed.
“I swear this machine hates me.”
“Machines don't hate people.”
“You haven't met this one.”
Simone smiled.
They removed the jammed page.
Tasha looked relieved.
“Thank you.”
“No problem.”
She noticed the cleaning supplies.
“You're new?”
“In a way.”
“Facilities?”
Simone paused.
“Do you work differently with facilities employees?”
Tasha looked confused.
“No.”
Then she realized how the question sounded.
“Sorry. I didn't mean—”
“It's fine.”
Tasha looked toward the executive corridor.
“They changed cleaning contractors last month.”
“Did they?”
“Yeah. Half the old team disappeared.”
Simone's expression changed.
“Why?”
Tasha lowered her voice.
“Officially? Performance.”
“And unofficially?”
Tasha hesitated.
Simone smiled.
“You don't have to answer.”
“No. It's just…”
She glanced around.
“People talk.”
Simone waited.
Tasha continued.
“A few of the old cleaners complained.”
“About what?”
“Managers.”
Simone's attention sharpened.
“What kind of complaints?”
“Disrespect. Schedules. One woman said an executive yelled at her in front of clients.”
Tasha lowered her voice further.
“Another said somebody kept entering women's changing areas without warning.”
“Did HR investigate?”
Tasha laughed.
The sound contained no humor.
“HR?”
Simone remained still.
Tasha shook her head.
“Sorry. You must be new.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means nobody reports anything to HR unless they want it repeated to their manager.”
Simone felt something inside her tighten.
“Why would that happen?”
“Because Claire runs HR like an information network.”
“You know Claire Whitmore?”
“Everybody knows Claire.”
Tasha glanced toward the floor.
“Some people love her.”
“And others?”
“Know better.”
Simone studied the young analyst.
“Have you ever reported something?”
Tasha's expression changed.
The answer appeared before she spoke.
“Yes.”
Simone did not push.
“What happened?”
Tasha looked toward her desk.
“A manager kept making comments about my hair.”
Simone waited.
“At first, I ignored it.”
Tasha forced a smile.
“Then he touched it.”
Simone's eyes hardened.
“Without permission?”
“Yes.”
“What did HR do?”
“They told me he was trying to be friendly.”
Simone remained silent.
Tasha continued.
“They suggested I have a conversation with him about cultural differences.”
“Did they document the complaint?”
“I think so.”
“Were you given a case number?”
“No.”
“Written resolution?”
“No.”
“Follow-up?”
“No.”
Tasha laughed softly.
“I learned my lesson.”
“What lesson?”
“Keep your head down.”
Those words hit Simone harder than Claire's insults.
Because humiliation from one arrogant executive was ugly.
But a system teaching employees to remain silent was dangerous.
Before Simone could ask another question, a male voice called from across the floor.
“Tasha!”
Tasha immediately straightened.
A man approached.
Mid-forties.
White.
Gray suit.
Corporate badge.
GREGORY DALE — REGIONAL TECHNOLOGY DIRECTOR
He barely looked at Simone.
“Tasha, conference room. Now.”
Tasha nodded.
“I'll be there.”
Gregory glanced at the cleaning caddy.
Then at Simone.
“Can you take care of the break room after this?”
Simone looked at him.
“What needs to be done?”
“Coffee spilled everywhere.”
Tasha lowered her eyes.
Gregory continued.
“And somebody left food in the refrigerator again.”
Simone nodded.
“I'll take a look.”
Gregory walked away.
After he disappeared, Tasha whispered, “That's him.”
Simone turned.
“The manager?”
Tasha nodded.
The man who had touched her hair.
Simone watched Gregory disappear into a conference room.
“How long ago did you complain?”
“Seven months.”
“And he's still your supervisor?”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone ever apologize?”
Tasha stared at her.
“For what?”
Simone did not answer.
She picked up the cleaning caddy.
“Thank you for telling me.”
Tasha looked nervous.
“Please don't repeat that.”
“I won't use your name without permission.”
Tasha frowned.
That was not the answer she expected from a cleaner.
“Who are you?”
Simone smiled.
“Someone trying to understand this place.”
Then she walked away.
The break room was almost empty.
There was no major spill.
Only a small ring of coffee beneath the machine.
Simone stared at it.
Gregory had not asked her to clean because the room was dirty.
He had asked because he believed he could.
That distinction mattered.
She opened her phone and created a new note.
Observed: Employees classify staff by perceived status. Cleaning/facilities workers treated as automatically subordinate regardless of actual task assignment.
Then she added:
HR complaint process possibly compromised. Investigate Gregory Dale/Tasha Greene case.
A woman entered.
She wore an administrative badge and carried a lunch container.
She smiled at Simone.
“Hi.”
“Hello.”
The woman opened the refrigerator.
“You new?”
“Yes.”
“Welcome.”
No assumptions.
No orders.
No disgust.
Just welcome.
Simone smiled.
“Thank you.”
The woman extended her hand.
“Maria Alvarez. Executive scheduling.”
“Simone.”
“Nice to meet you, Simone.”
Maria looked at the cleaning supplies.
“If you're with the new contractor, can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
“Don't let people on twenty-three treat you badly.”
Simone almost laughed.
“Twenty-three?”
“The executive floor.”
“Yes.”