The brass key opened a safe deposit box holding Arthur’s controlling shares in the company, left to me with a note: “Use them to treat people the way you treated me.” The envelopes were thirteen years of birthday cards he had written but never sent, each one a small piece of advice. I read them that night, crying and laughing at his dry humor.

At the board meeting, I asked for one thing: no one was to be fired for how they had treated Arthur. Instead, the company would start a program funding education for its cleaning and maintenance staff, and every employee would attend a day of service work. My coworkers who had mocked me apologized one by one, some in tears. I accepted every apology.

I did not take over as chief executive. I appointed a trusted leader and joined the board, keeping my desk in the same department. Arthur’s old cart stayed in the lobby, with a small plaque honoring the man who founded the company and mopped its floors.

Every day at noon, I still sit in the break room. Sometimes a new hire stands in the doorway looking lost, and I say the words Arthur once said to me: “You can sit here, if you’d like.”