Arthur leaned forward, picked up the wet rag, and tossed it to Derek. “And regarding your employment…” he whispered, pointing to the door. “You forgot to clean up…”

Derek doesn’t move. His mouth opens but no words come out. The room is silent—so silent I can hear the distant hum of the vending machine down the hall. His cocky grin evaporates. The color drains from his face, replaced by a slow, creeping realization that he’s just humiliated himself in front of the most powerful man in the company.

Arthur—Mr. Blackwood—clasps his hands on the table and glances around the boardroom. “Please, be seated,” he says to the executives who are still standing in stunned silence.

Derek lingers by the door, still gripping his leather portfolio like it might save him.

“You too, Mr. Walters,” Arthur says, motioning to a chair. “Sit.”

Derek swallows hard and stumbles into the nearest seat, his eyes flicking around the room like a man searching for a lifeboat.

Arthur looks at him, unblinking. “I suppose you’re wondering why I clean the lobby floors instead of sitting in this chair every day.”

No one dares respond. Derek shifts uncomfortably, tugging at his tie.

“I built this company from scratch,” Arthur continues, his voice calm and even. “Forty years ago, I was the one mopping the floors—not because I had to, but because I needed to understand what kind of business I wanted to build. One where respect travels in all directions.”

He turns to Derek. “This morning was a test.”

Derek’s eyes widen. “A… test?”

“Yes,” Arthur replies, his voice sharpening. “A test of character. I’ve been stepping back from day-to-day operations. I’m grooming a new leadership team. People who not only drive results, but uplift those around them. People who understand that leadership isn’t measured by the weight of your watch or the price of your suit—but how you treat someone who can do absolutely nothing for you.”

Derek opens his mouth again, fumbling. “I-I didn’t know who you were.”

“That’s the point,” Arthur says quietly.

Another silence falls. No one in the room wants to look at Derek. Especially not now.

“I’ve read your numbers,” Arthur continues. “You’re good at selling. But so is a snake oil salesman.”

A few board members shift in their seats, exchanging glances.

“You see,” Arthur says, standing now, towering despite his limp, “I’ve worked with ruthless men before. Men who think fear is the same as respect. But fear fades. Loyalty doesn’t.”

He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a slim envelope. “Here’s what I think of your leadership potential.”

He tosses the envelope onto the table. It lands in front of Derek, who hesitates before opening it. Inside: a single piece of paper with one sentence.

“Your services are no longer required.”

Derek’s lips move, as if he wants to protest, but no sound comes. His hands tremble as he folds the paper back into the envelope. The boardroom remains frozen.

Arthur turns to the head of HR, a composed woman named Marissa. “Please escort Mr. Walters out. Make sure he collects his things.”

“Yes, sir.”

Marissa stands and gestures toward the door. Derek rises stiffly, as if every bone in his body has turned to stone. No one says goodbye. No one thanks him. The door closes behind him with a hollow thud.

Arthur exhales slowly and looks at the room. “Now, let’s get back to business.”

I sit at the reception desk, still stunned, replaying the scene in my head over and over like a movie. The man I’d seen every day for the last two years pushing a mop and wiping glass doors is actually the founder and owner of the company. And he’d just taught the most brutal lesson I’ve ever witnessed.

A few minutes later, the boardroom doors open again. Arthur walks out, nodding politely to the executives still murmuring behind him. He limps toward me.

I shoot up from my chair. “Mr. Blackwood, I—I didn’t know—”

He smiles warmly. “You don’t need to call me that. Arthur’s just fine.”

“But—should I call someone? Do you need a driver? Security? I mean, do you—”

He chuckles. “I just need a quiet place to finish my coffee.” He glances at the small break room behind me.

“Of course,” I say, stepping aside.

Arthur pauses at the door and turns to me. “You’ve been here a while, haven’t you? Five years?”

“Six,” I say quickly. “In March.”

He nods. “I’ve noticed how you treat people. Every intern, every courier. You’ve got something this place needs.”

I blink. “Me?”

“You. Come see me in my office tomorrow. Let’s talk about where you really belong.”

My heart stutters. “Yes, sir—uh, Arthur.”

He smiles again, that same gentle smile I’ve seen a hundred times behind a mop handle, and disappears into the break room.

The rest of the day feels like walking through a dream. The story spreads like wildfire. Executives talk in hushed tones, the staff stares at the break room like it’s become hallowed ground, and Derek’s name is scrubbed from the directory before the hour’s out.

By the time I gather my things that evening, the air in the office feels different. Lighter. Like some toxin has been drained from the building.

I step into the elevator, still trying to process what happened. But one thing is crystal clear now: in this company, you never know who you’re dealing with. The janitor might be the billionaire. The receptionist might be next in line. And the cocky VP might be shown the door before he even learns the first rule of real leadership.

As I leave the building, I see Arthur outside, locking his bicycle to the rack. He catches my eye and nods. There’s no security detail, no black car, no entourage. Just a man who built an empire and never forgot where he started.

I nod back.

And for the first time in years, I feel like I’m finally heading somewhere that matters.