On my first morning as the company’s new CEO, I expected many things.
A formal welcome.
A few nervous introductions.
Perhaps even a congratulations from the employees who had spent years working for the company I was now responsible for leading.
What I did not expect was to be stopped at the executive elevator by a woman who looked me up and down and decided, within seconds, that I did not belong there.
“Interns and custodians use the service elevator,” she told me.
She said it loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear.
I looked at the elevator behind her, then back at the woman standing in my way.
“I’m not a custodian.”
She gave me a dismissive look.
“Then you’re an intern.”
She folded her arms.
“Interns use the service elevator, too. That’s company policy. If you can’t understand something that basic, maybe you shouldn’t be working here.”
Her name was Jang Chin Tong.
And apparently, she was used to people obeying her.
What she did not know was that three days earlier, the company’s board had unanimously appointed me as its new CEO.
The official announcement was scheduled for 10 a.m.
Until then, I was simply a woman standing in an expensive corporate headquarters wearing a simple beige dress.
To Jang, that was enough.
She had no idea who I was.
And, more importantly, she had no idea what was about to happen at 10 a.m.
But before that announcement came, something caught my attention.
A watch.
A very specific watch.
A white, limited-edition watch shining beneath the hallway lights on Jang Chin Tong’s wrist.
My stomach tightened the moment I saw it.
I knew that watch.
I knew its design.
I knew how difficult it had been to find.
Only ten had been made in the entire world.
And that exact watch was supposed to be a birthday gift for my mother-in-law.
A $60,000 gift.
A gift my husband, Shiaoza, had promised to buy for his mother.
Suddenly, the elevator was no longer the most important thing happening that morning.
“This Is the Executive Elevator”
