“I’ve already thought about that. In the morning, I’ll drop him off at a private daycare near the company, and I’ll pick him up in the afternoon. I’ll try to organize everything.”
Zolani nodded.
“Okay. You start on Monday. And don’t dress like a slob so you don’t embarrass anyone.”
With that, he stood up and went to the bedroom, leaving me alone in the living room.
I quickly wiped away my tears, but they weren’t tears of humiliation. They were tears for the first successful step.
“Zolani, you’re the one who opened the door to the tiger’s cage for me,” I thought. “You think I’m a meek little sheep, but you don’t know that I’ve entered to unmask the wolf in sheep’s clothing that you are.”
The following Monday, I dropped Jabari off at a private daycare two blocks from the company. My heart broke seeing him cry, clinging to me. I promised him,
“Jabari, be good and wait for Mommy. Mommy is going to work and will come back for you. Mommy promises to give you the best life ever.”
I purposely chose my oldest clothes, a yellowish-white shirt and faded black pants. I put my hair up in a bun and didn’t wear makeup. Looking at myself in the mirror, I was the perfect image of a country bumpkin.
I had to maintain that image.
Entering the company, my heart pounded uncontrollably.
It was the same receptionist as the other day. Seeing me, she was surprised.
I forced a smile.
“Hi. Starting today, I’m coming here to work. Mr. Jones got me a position doing cleaning.”
The girl’s eyes widened and her expression changed from surprise to pity. It was obvious she had already heard something. Of course the story of the director on the verge of bankruptcy whose wife had to come to work for free to help pay the debts must have been a touching tale Zolani had invented to tell the employees.
Zolani came out of his office, and he wasn’t alone. Next to him was Zahara.
That day she wore a tight wine-red designer dress that enhanced her curves, wavy hair, flawless makeup, and expensive perfume. The two of them, side by side, looked like a successful couple straight out of a glossy Atlanta magazine, and I, in the corner of the office, looked like a maid.
Zolani cleared his throat and clapped to get attention.
“Staff, I want to introduce you to Kemet, my wife. As you all know, our company is going through some difficulties.”
He began his dramatic speech.
“Kemet, to share the burden with her husband, has offered to come and help us. She’ll handle the small tasks in the office like serving coffee, making photocopies, and cleaning. If you need anything, you can ask her.”
All eyes turned to me. There was curiosity, pity, and a little contempt.
I lowered my head.
“I count on your help,” I murmured.
Then Zolani turned to his mistress.
“Zahara, you are my assistant and the most resourceful person here. Can you give Mrs. Jones her initial instructions? As for a workspace, she can use that small table in the archive corner.”
Zahara smiled sideways, a smile whose meaning only I understood. The smile of the winner.
She approached me, her red dress dazzling. She extended a hand with nails painted bright red.
“Hello, I’m Zahara, the director’s assistant. It’s a pleasure to work with you from now on. If you don’t understand anything, you can ask me. Don’t be shy.”
The way she emphasized “with you,” the way she said “director’s assistant”—it was all provocation.
I took a deep breath, extended my rough hand, and squeezed her soft one.
“Thank you. I’ll try to do my best.”
My job began.
Just as Zolani said, I was nothing more than a maid. In the morning, I had to arrive before everyone else to clean the desks and fill the water coolers. When everyone arrived, I had to serve coffee and tea to each person.
Zolani and Zahara were the first to be served.
“Kemet,” Zahara called, sitting with her legs crossed at her desk. “My coffee today has to be a good espresso. I don’t drink just anything.”
“Kemet, photocopy these documents. Twenty copies of each. And hurry up, Director Jones has a meeting in ten minutes.”
Zolani was even worse. He made sure to be cold and distant with me in front of everyone. He treated me like a low-level employee. He didn’t hesitate to call Zahara into his office and slam the door shut. Sometimes, when I went to bring water, I heard their laughter inside.
I had to wait at the door. Once Zahara came out with slightly swollen lips and a misaligned collar. She looked at me defiantly.
I clenched my teeth and endured. Every humiliation I suffered today would turn into a stab I would give them later.
I had to endure.
I worked in silence—cleaning, serving. I acted clumsy and slow on purpose so they would despise me even more.
But I wasn’t just cleaning. My eyes were observing everything. My ears were listening to everything. I paid attention to who was friends with whom, who spoke ill of whom, and my main target was the accounting department, where the head accountant, Mrs. Eleanor, worked.
The office wasn’t large. It had about a dozen employees. Accounting was in a corner with three people: a recent graduate named Mia, an accountant named Dennis, and the main manager, Mrs. Eleanor. She was about forty, a robust woman with a perpetually serious expression and few words. She was the oldest employee, having been there since the company started.
At first, I felt a little confused. I remembered Zolani telling Zahara, “The accounting manager is a trusted person.” If Mrs. Eleanor was Zolani’s confidant and was helping him falsify the books, I wouldn’t have a chance. But I decided I had to get close to her.
I used my old tactic—sincerity and a poor-little-me demeanor.
Every morning, in addition to coffee for Zolani and Zahara, I prepared a cup of herbal tea for Mrs. Eleanor.
“I noticed you’re coughing a bit. Drink this to soothe your throat,” I said softly.
Mrs. Eleanor looked at me in surprise, but accepted with a nod.
“Thank you.”
At lunchtime, everyone went out to eat at nearby sandwich shops and diners. I stayed in the office, bringing a Tupperware from home—white rice, some steamed vegetables, and a fried egg. I did it on purpose.
Mrs. Eleanor also usually brought a Tupperware. I glanced at hers and saw it was equally simple.
I approached to chat.
“Mrs. Eleanor, enjoy your meal. My food isn’t much, but I brought some pickled okra my mother sent me from Florida. Would you like to try some?”
I offered her a small jar.
Mrs. Eleanor looked at me, and her gaze softened a bit.
“You have a difficult life, taking care of your son and also coming to work here with the company lately…” She sighed.
I took the opportunity, my eyes filling with tears.
“Mrs. Eleanor, is the company really doing badly? I’m so worried. Zolani comes home constantly irritated. Sometimes he doesn’t even come home. I’m so scared. What if the company really goes bankrupt? I don’t know how my son and I will survive.”
I wanted her to see that I was trustworthy and at the same time stupid, without any knowledge of accounting.
And I started to notice the tension between Mrs. Eleanor and the Zolani–Zahara duo.
Zahara, being the director’s mistress, frequently went to the accounting department to give orders.
“Mrs. Eleanor, why is this budget taking so long? Director Zolani is waiting.”
“Eleanor, my advance for representation expenses hasn’t been approved yet. Don’t you know I’m busy?”
Mrs. Eleanor, being older and a veteran employee, felt insulted by a bold young woman who treated her that way. She would turn red with anger, but swallow her pride.
“I know. You can leave. When it’s ready, I’ll call you,” she would answer coldly.
I was nearby cleaning a table and saw everything. After Zahara left, Mrs. Eleanor muttered under her breath,
“A self-important brat who thinks she’s somebody. What a lack of respect.”
I knew it. My opportunity was there.
Mrs. Eleanor was not Zolani’s confidant. She worked for him because he paid her, but she despised him and his mistress. She despised the way Zolani treated me, his lifelong wife.
A few days later, I stayed late at the office. I told Zolani that Jabari had a fever and I had left him with a neighbor. I had to stay to finish cleaning.
Zolani nodded. He was also in a rush to leave—obviously with Zahara.
The office was left only with Mrs. Eleanor and me.
Mrs. Eleanor looked at me with pity.
“Men… their careers are always first. Don’t think about it too much. Come on, eat,” she said, opening her Tupperware.
She didn’t say anything else.
Her computer restarted, but instead of opening the Excel file with the supposed losses, it opened a different file named GOLDMINE.xlsx.
Mrs. Eleanor had forgotten to close it before restarting.
My heart pounded uncontrollably. I looked toward the door. She was still in the coffee area, fixing herself some tea.
Trembling, I grabbed the mouse and clicked on the file.
It opened.
My God.
My vision blurred.
They weren’t loss reports. It was a completely different world. Signed contracts, the real values received, money transfers to an account in the name of a company called Cradle and Sons LLC.
I remembered—Cradle was Zolani’s father’s last name. This was the subsidiary company he had created to divert assets.
The result wasn’t a fifty-thousand-dollar loss, but a net profit of over two million dollars.
I started shaking.
I quickly looked for a USB drive in Mrs. Eleanor’s drawer. I knew she usually kept one there, but it wasn’t there.
Darn.
I heard her footsteps approaching. I quickly minimized the GOLDMINE file and left the screen showing the loss report.
It was just in time.
Mrs. Eleanor entered with a cup of coffee.
“What a drag,” she sighed.
She sat down and reopened the Excel file with the losses, continuing to work as if nothing had happened. She didn’t know what I had seen.
Or was it on purpose?
The file name—GOLDMINE—the forgetting to close it, the leaving to get coffee. I wasn’t sure, but I knew one thing.
I had found the treasure. I knew where it was. I just needed one more chance, a chance to copy it.
I looked at the computer and memorized the file path. I would buy a USB drive that night. Tomorrow, I would act.
That night, on the way home, after picking up Jabari, I stopped at a small electronics store in a strip mall. I bought the cheapest USB drive I could find, a black 16GB one. I hid it carefully in my bra.
I couldn’t sleep all night, my heart pounding. I had seen the treasure, but how would I get it? I couldn’t count on luck a second time. I couldn’t expect Mrs. Eleanor to randomly go get coffee again. I had to create my own opportunity.
I thought intensely. I needed a reason for her to step away long enough for me to copy that GOLDMINE file. The file had to be heavy. It contained all the real financial data for several years. A few seconds wouldn’t be enough.
The next morning, I arrived at the company with a plan. I had prepared a small bottle of water hidden in my cleaning bucket.
I continued with my tasks—cleaning, serving coffee, observing like a predator.
Zahara seemed tired that day. She didn’t give me as many orders as usual. Zolani was constantly on the phone. He seemed worried about something.
Only the accounting department remained quiet at lunchtime.
Now was the time.
People started leaving for lunch. As usual, Mrs. Eleanor brought her Tupperware. Zahara, who was complaining of fatigue, stayed slumped at her desk and didn’t go out to eat. Zolani had already left.
It couldn’t be with Zahara there. I couldn’t act. I had to wait.
Patience, Kemet.
Half an hour later, Zolani returned by car, stopped abruptly at the door, and walked in. He saw Zahara slumped over and approached, looking worried.
“What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?”
Zahara pouted.
“I’m tired. I think my blood sugar is low.”
Zolani, distressed, said,
“Well, let’s go get some chicken noodle soup. I’ll take you to get some so you feel better.”
Zahara nodded.
Zolani helped her up and glanced at me.
