BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

CHAPTER TWO: THE LAST INTERVIEW

She soon discovered something important about finding a job in the city.

Hope was free.

Experience wasn't.

By noon, she'd already heard:

"We'll call you."

"We're looking for someone with city experience."

"Your qualifications don't match our current needs."

And everyone's personal favorite...

"Thank you for your interest."

Nobody ever sounded interested while saying it.

By Joan's third morning in the city, she'd already learned that rejection came in many different voices.

She stepped out of yet another office building, forcing herself to smile politely at the receptionist who had just rejected her.

"You have a lovely day."

"You too," the woman replied automatically before immediately calling for the next applicant.

Joan sighed as the glass doors closed behind her.

"Well..."

She looked up at the bright blue sky.

"That's interview number..."

She frowned, counting on her fingers.

"...eight?"

"No."

She counted again.

"Nine."

She nodded to herself.

"I think I'm getting professionally rejected."

A businessman walking past glanced at her.

Joan smiled awkwardly.

"I'm talking to myself."

He quickened his pace.

"Fair enough."

She continued walking.

The morning crowd rushed around her as though everyone had somewhere important to be.

Men in crisp suits strode confidently across the sidewalks.

Women carrying laptops disappeared into towering office buildings.

Coffee shops buzzed with conversations.

Taxis honked endlessly.

Nobody seemed to notice the young woman carrying a worn folder that contained more hope than qualifications.

Her stomach growled.

Joan looked down at it.

"I know."

"It has been a difficult week."

The growl came again.

"I appreciate your honesty."

She stopped beside a small roadside food stall.

The smell of fresh meat pies drifted toward her.

Her stomach growled louder.

The vendor smiled.

"One?"

Joan reached into her purse.

Seventeen dollars and thirty-two cents had become eleven dollars and eighty-one cents after the boarding house, transportation, and the few meals she'd managed to afford.

She carefully counted the coins twice.

Then looked back at the price board.

One meat pie.

Three dollars.

She smiled apologetically.

"Maybe tomorrow."

The vendor nodded with understanding.

Joan walked away before her stomach could argue.

"You'll survive."

She whispered to it.

"It builds character."

Her stomach disagreed.

Loudly.

—

The next interview lasted exactly six minutes.

The interviewer barely looked up from Joan's résumé.

"You worked on a farm?"

"Yes."

"You've cleaned houses?"

"Yes."

"You've handled bookkeeping for your father's farm?"

"A little."

"You can type?"

"Yes."

The woman finally looked up.

"You have an unusual skill set."

Joan smiled.

"My father believed everyone should know how to do a little of everything."

The interviewer folded her hands.

"Unfortunately..."

She hesitated.

"You're overqualified to clean..."

Joan blinked.

"...but underqualified for everything else."

Silence.

Joan stared at her for a moment.

Then nodded thoughtfully.

"I've never been both too much and not enough at the same time."

The interviewer actually smiled.

"I'm sorry."

"So am I."

Joan stood.

"Thank you for seeing me."

As she reached the door, the interviewer spoke again.

"For what it's worth..."

"You have a good attitude."

Joan smiled warmly.

"My father always said attitudes are free."

She left before the tears gathering behind her eyes could betray her.

Outside, she leaned against the building and took a slow breath.

"Okay."

She whispered.

"That one hurt a little."

She quickly wiped her eyes.

"No crying."

She pointed at herself.

"We're saving that for major disasters."

A pigeon landed beside her shoe.

It tilted its head.

Joan looked down.

"What?"

The pigeon stared.

"I don't have food."

It continued staring.

"I barely have food."

The pigeon finally flew away.

"Even the birds are judging me."

—

By the fifth day, Joan had stopped counting the number of times she'd heard the words we'll call you.

Her purse felt painfully light.

She sat alone on a park bench and emptied its contents.

A few folded bills.

Several coins.

Her bus pass.

A photograph of her father.

She counted everything carefully.

Nine dollars and sixteen cents.

She let out a slow whistle.

"We're officially in trouble."

She picked up the photograph.

Her father smiled back at her exactly as he always had.

"You'd tell me to keep going."

She smiled faintly.

"Then you'd probably tell me to eat something."

Her stomach chose that exact moment to growl.

She laughed.

"Fine."

"You win."

She bought the cheapest loaf of bread she could find.

Lunch became two slices and a bottle of water.

Dinner would be more bread.

She wasn't proud of it.

But she was still moving forward.

That had to count for something.

—

Late that afternoon, Joan wandered into a part of the city she'd never seen before.

The buildings became taller.

The sidewalks cleaner.

Luxury cars lined the streets.

Even the trees somehow looked expensive.

She slowed to admire the skyline.

Then she saw it.

The skyscraper rose above every surrounding building as though it had no interest in competing with them.

It simply existed.

Forty gleaming floors of glass and steel reflected the afternoon sunlight.

The company name stretched proudly across the entrance.

CARTER HOLDINGS.

Joan stopped walking.

"...Wow."

She craned her neck until she couldn't anymore.

"I think the top disappears into another country."

People in tailored suits flowed in and out through the revolving doors.

Everything about the place screamed success.

Joan looked down at her only interview outfit.

Then back at the building.

"I don't belong in there."

She turned to leave.

Stopped.

Turned back again.

"No."

She folded her arms.

"We've discussed this."

She pointed at herself.

"The worst they can say is no..."

She paused.

"...although it'd be nice if they didn't."

Taking one deep breath, Joan marched toward the entrance before she could change her mind.

—

The reception area was larger than her entire farmhouse.

Marble floors gleamed beneath crystal lights.

A massive company logo decorated the far wall.

Employees moved efficiently through the lobby without raising their voices.

Joan suddenly became very aware of her inexpensive shoes.

The receptionist smiled professionally.

"Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon."

Joan returned the smile.

"I... um..."

She cleared her throat.

"I'd like to apply for a job."

The receptionist glanced at her computer.

"We're currently hiring cleaning staff."

Joan's eyes lit up.

"I'd love to apply."

—

Thirty minutes later, Joan found herself seated across from three interviewers.

Two women.

One man.

The oldest woman adjusted her glasses.

"Joan Walker."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You've never worked for a corporation before."

"No."

"Never lived in the city."

"No."

"So..."

The younger woman leaned forward.

"Why Carter Holdings?"

Joan thought about it honestly.

"Because your building looked impossible."

Three pairs of eyebrows lifted.

She hurried to explain.

"I mean..."

"It looks like somewhere people build important things."

"I don't know if I'll spend my whole life cleaning."

"But if I'm going to start somewhere..."

"I'd like it to be somewhere that matters."

Silence filled the room.

The interviewers exchanged brief glances.

The man smiled first.

"That's... surprisingly sincere."

Joan scratched the back of her neck.

"I've discovered honesty is easier to remember than pretending."

The older woman flipped through Joan's application again.

"You've listed references from your hometown."

"They're all very kind people."

One corner of the man's mouth lifted.

"We called one while you were waiting."

Joan blinked.

"You did?"

"We spoke with Mrs. Harper."

Joan immediately groaned.

"Oh dear."

The younger interviewer frowned.

"Why 'oh dear'?"

"Because she talks."

The man chuckled.

"She certainly does."

He glanced at his notes.

"She described you as..."

He cleared his throat dramatically.

"The only girl I know who can clean an entire house while arguing with a broom and somehow make the broom lose."

The room fell silent.

Then all three interviewers laughed.

Joan covered her face.

"I was hoping she'd mention my work ethic first."

The laughter only grew louder.

Eventually, it settled.

Joan lowered her hands.

"So..."

She smiled sheepishly.

"Should I explain the broom?"

The older interviewer laughed again.

"I don't think that's necessary."

The man sitting in the middle closed Joan's file.

"I think we've heard everything we need to hear."

Joan blinked.

"...Already?"

The three interviewers exchanged a brief glance.

The younger woman leaned slightly toward the other two.

"She might actually work."

The older woman lowered her voice.

"She's determined."

"And she doesn't seem easily intimidated," the man added.

The younger woman glanced at Joan's application.

"She has no corporate experience."

"No," the older woman agreed.

"But she's worked hard her entire life."

The man considered that for a moment.

Then his eyes moved briefly toward the other two.

"What about Executive Maintenance?"

The younger woman raised her eyebrows.

"Floor Forty?"

The older woman nodded.

"We've been trying to fill that position for weeks."

"And everyone we've interviewed has turned it down," the man said.

"Or quit after hearing where they were being assigned."

The younger woman glanced at Joan.

"She doesn't look like someone who gives up easily."

The older woman smiled faintly.

"That's what I was thinking."

The man closed the folder.

"Then I think we've made our decision."

He looked toward Joan.

"Miss Walker..."

Joan straightened immediately.

"We'd like to offer you a position.”

For a second, Joan simply stared.

"I'm sorry."

She frowned slightly.

"I think I misheard you."

The younger interviewer smiled.

"No."

"You heard correctly."

"You've been hired."

Silence.

Joan looked from one interviewer to another.

Then back again.

Her eyes slowly widened.

"I..."

She laughed once.

A tiny, disbelieving laugh.

"I actually got the job?"

"You did."

The tension she'd been carrying for five days finally broke.

Her shoulders sagged.

"Oh..."

She whispered.

"Thank you."

The words came out much softer than she'd intended.

"Thank you so much."

The older interviewer slid several papers across the table.

"Report tomorrow morning at nine."

"You'll attend orientation first."

"After that, you'll be assigned your work area."

Joan accepted the documents with both hands as though they were something fragile.

To her...

They were.

They were rent.

Food.

Another chance.

They were hope printed on company letterhead.

The man stood.

"My name is Ryan Foster, by the way."

He extended his hand.

"Welcome to Carter Holdings."

Joan shook it.

"It's nice to meet you."

Ryan smiled.

"You know..."

"It's almost lunchtime."

"If you don't have other plans, I'd be happy to show you around the building."

Joan froze.

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

Ryan noticed immediately.

"...Did you just become suspicious of me?"

"A little."

He laughed.

"I promise I'm not trying to sell you anything."

"I've lived in the city for five days."

Joan admitted.

"My survival instincts are still developing."

Ryan laughed.

"Fair enough. I'll try not to look suspicious."

Joan stared at him.

"That sounds exactly like something a suspicious person would say."

Ryan laughed.

"Okay. Fair."

Joan smiled.

"I'll take my chances."

—

The employee cafeteria was far larger than Joan expected.

Conversations filled every corner.

People lined up with trays while others hurried back toward elevators carrying coffee.

Ryan pointed toward the serving area.

"Employee meals are subsidized."

"They're surprisingly affordable."

Joan silently thanked heaven.

Her remaining money might survive another day.

As they sat down with their meals, Ryan began pointing out different departments.

"Marketing occupies Floors Twelve through Fourteen."

"Finance is on Seventeen."

"Legal's on Twenty."

Joan listened carefully.

Everything felt enormous.

Like a tiny city inside one building.

"I think I'd still get lost."

Ryan smiled.

"You probably will."

"I got lost for my first month."

Before Joan could reply...

A chorus of groans echoed through the cafeteria.

Phones chimed almost simultaneously.

One employee looked at his screen.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

Another covered her face.

"No..."

"Not today."

Within seconds, nearly everyone nearby had pulled out their phones.

Ryan sighed.

"That can't be good."

He unlocked his own phone.

Joan watched his expression change.

First curiosity.

Then resignation.

Then acceptance.

"...What happened?"

Ryan turned the screen toward her.

An email.

From: CEO Office

The message was brief.

«The Henderson Project failed today's review.

Correct every outstanding issue.

Updated proposal due within seventy-two hours.

No extensions.

— Mason Carter»

Around the cafeteria, complaints erupted immediately.

"I knew this was coming."

"Seventy-two hours?"

"We're never sleeping again."

"My kids are going to forget what I look like."

"No, my wife already has."

Laughter mixed with groans.

Joan looked around in confusion.

"Is he always this strict?"

Ryan shrugged.

"When deadlines matter..."

"Yes."

One employee leaned over from the next table.

"Strict?"

"He isn't strict."

"He's terrifying."

Another woman joined in.

"I'm telling you..."

"The man's at least seventy years old."

A younger employee snorted.

"Seventy? Then how old is his dad?"

"My cousin says he wears a mask."

"Masks?"

Someone farther away laughed.

"Please."

"He's probably three people pretending to be one CEO."

The entire table burst into laughter.

Another voice called out.

"I heard he's eight feet tall."

"You said last month he was five feet tall."

"He slouches."

The cafeteria erupted again.

A man from another table shook his head.

"I heard he's a vampire."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Neither does a CEO nobody has ever seen."

More laughter.

Someone pointed toward the ceiling.

"For all we know..."

"Floor Forty isn't even an office."

"It's probably a secret laboratory."

"No."

Another employee shook his head confidently.

"It's definitely haunted."

"I heard he communicates with ghosts."

"Ghosts would probably answer faster than Marketing."

Joan couldn't help laughing too.

"This place is unbelievable."

Ryan smiled.

"You'll fit in."

Joan looked at the email again.

Mason Carter.

She'd expected a CEO to be intimidating.

She hadn't expected one to be invisible.

She glanced around the cafeteria.

"Wait..."

"Has nobody actually seen him?"

Silence.

Several employees exchanged uncertain looks.

Finally, Ryan answered.

"Honestly..."

"None of us knows."

"You've never seen him?"

"No."

"What about company meetings?"

"He sends emails."

"Video calls?"

"No."

"Phone calls?"

"No."

"Just messages and emails."

Joan frowned.

"So..."

"Nobody knows what the CEO looks like?"

A woman carrying coffee stopped beside their table.

"Nope."

"My friend has worked here eight years."

"Still hasn't seen him."

Joan stared.

"Eight years?"

The woman nodded.

"Eight."

Another employee leaned over.

"I heard his own secretary has never seen him."

Joan looked at Ryan.

"Seriously?"

Ryan nodded.

"Even Sandra."

"Who's Sandra?"

"His executive secretary."

Joan's eyebrows lifted.

"She works directly with him?"

"She coordinates almost everything."

"Then she must know him well."

Ryan laughed.

"That's the strange part."

"What?"

"Even Sandra has never seen Mason Carter."

Joan stared at him.

"For seven years?"

"Seven."

"How does that even work?"

"Emails."

"Messages."

"Documents are left in his office."

"He reviews them after everyone leaves."

"Then he lets her know when they're ready to collect."

Joan slowly shook her head.

"You're serious."

"I wish I wasn't."

For the first time since entering Carter Holdings, Joan felt genuine curiosity.

Not fear.

Curiosity.

How could someone run one of the biggest companies in the country...

Without anyone ever seeing him?

She glanced toward the elevators.

Somewhere above...

Far beyond the ordinary offices...

Beyond the busy departments and endless meetings...

Was Floor Forty.

A place everyone talked about.

Yet nobody seemed to understand.

—

After lunch, Ryan escorted Joan to Human Resources to complete the last of her paperwork.

A cheerful HR manager handed Joan her employee badge.

"Congratulations."

"Your assignment begins tomorrow."

She scanned a document.

"Oh."

"Your assignment is Executive Maintenance."

She handed Joan another document.

"Your immediate supervisor will explain the schedule."

Joan accepted it.

"Executive Maintenance?"

"What floor is that?"

The HR manager smiled.

"Floor Forty."

Something about the room seemed to change.

Standing nearby, another cleaner who had been collecting supplies slowly turned around.

She looked at Joan.

"You're cleaning Floor Forty?"

Joan smiled.

"I think so."

The woman's expression changed into something between sympathy and amusement.

"Good luck."

Joan blinked.

"...Why?"

The cleaner adjusted the box in her arms.

"You'll understand tomorrow."

Then she walked away.

Joan stared after her.

"Understand what?"

No answer.

Ryan scratched his chin.

"I suppose you'll meet Sandra."

"Who's Sandra?"

"The executive secretary I mentioned earlier."

“Oh.”

Joan nodded.

"The one who coordinates everything on Floor Forty?"

“Exactly.”

Joan smiled.

"So she works directly with Mr. Carter?"

"In a way."

Joan glanced toward the elevators.

The doors opened.

Then closed again.

Somewhere above them was the floor everyone avoided.

Floor Forty.

And tomorrow, she would be there.

—

An hour later, Joan stepped outside Carter Holdings with her employment papers safely tucked inside her folder.

The afternoon sun reflected brilliantly against the towering glass building.

She smiled.

"I did it."

For the first time in days...

She wasn't wondering how she'd survive tomorrow.

Tomorrow...

She had somewhere to be.

As she turned to leave, her eyes wandered upward.

Past the bustling lobby.

Past the endless rows of office windows.

Higher.

Higher still.

Toward the unseen top floor.

Floor Forty.

Joan adjusted her folder under one arm.

"Well..."

She smiled.

"Tomorrow should be interesting."

She had no idea what waited behind those doors.

But she was going to find out.

Tomorrow, Joan Walker would step onto Floor Forty.

And nothing about her life would be ordinary after that.