Gerald looked from the bucket to my face, and the color slowly left his cheeks. Diane stood and introduced me to the board: “Eleanor Prescott, founder and majority owner of Prescott Industrial Holdings.” Gerald stammered that there must be a mistake, because he had worked here six years and never once heard her name. I told him the truth. After my husband died, I stepped back from daily operations and let my managers run things, keeping my name off every memo. That was my choice, and it was exactly why I never met him.

Then Diane opened the folder. Two months earlier, the janitorial contractor’s supervisor, Rosa Delgado, had filed a complaint, saying Gerald screamed at her cleaners, docked their pay for tiny mistakes, and once made a woman scrub a floor twice while he watched. Diane’s audit, started because of that complaint, found worse. Gerald had billed $214,000 in luxury cars, a lake house, and family trips to company accounts. His dinner joke at my expense was not the reason we were here.

Gerald begged. He said he had a daughter getting married, a reputation, and a mortgage. I answered that every person he had mistreated also had a family. The board voted that morning to remove him, and Diane had security escort him out, while my bucket still sat on the table. He would repay every dollar, or the district attorney would receive the audit. Before he left, he whispered, “Please do not tell Olivia.” I told him she would hear it from me, honestly and kindly.

That evening, Olivia came to my cottage in tears, holding a store-bought pie. She apologized for the laughter, for the whispered warning, and for judging me by my car. I told her I would forgive her, if she learned to see people before their bank balances. Andrew held her hand. The wedding went ahead in my garden that spring, and Olivia’s father repaid every cent. On Monday mornings, I now visit the cleaning crew, and Rosa, their supervisor, always saves me a chair.