The office complex “Vershina” greeted me with the cool breath of air conditioners and the indistinct, measured hum of many voices blending into a single working chord. After the heavy autumn rain that had poured over the city since morning, my old, much-worn raincoat was soaked through, and my small umbrella had proved completely useless against the gusty wind that kept tearing it out of my hands. I involuntarily shivered as I stepped over the threshold, feeling drops of water run from my hair onto my face, and seeing how my shoes left unsightly wet marks on the perfectly polished marble floor. Not the best look for the first day at work, especially in such a respectable company as “Vershina,” one of the recognized leaders in logistics and freight transportation. I felt ill at ease, like a schoolgirl who’s late for an important exam.
The security guard at the imposing reception desk looked at me with a faint shadow of doubt, but the pass issued to me the day before in the HR department, with my not-very-successful photo, dispelled his silent suspicions. I lingered for a moment in the spacious lobby, impressive in its scale, with high ceilings and austere marble columns, feeling like a tiny particle in this well-oiled mechanism. The decision came instantly: not to go straight up to my new office meant for senior management, but first to observe, to feel the atmosphere of this place from the inside, to see my future colleagues in their natural environment, beyond official presentations and status meetings. That was exactly how I had always acted—first trying to understand the inner workings, the “backstage kitchen” hidden from outside eyes, and only then making balanced, thoughtful decisions.
“Excuse me, could you please tell me where I can get some coffee around here?” I addressed a young woman hurrying past with a modern tablet in her hands.
“The coffee point is on the second floor, at the very end of the central corridor,” she replied, casting me a quick, appraising glance, and immediately rushed off on her urgent business, her heels tapping out a sharp staccato on the marble.
I slowly went up the wide staircase, covered with a soft runner, and headed in the indicated direction. The office hum grew louder with each step, turning into a many-voiced chorus—employees were actively diving into the workday, discussing plans, exchanging opinions, calling clients. The coffee point turned out to be a small but surprisingly cozy room with several tables and deep, inviting armchairs that promised rest. A powerful, state-of-the-art coffee machine was blinking enticingly with multicolored indicators, promising a charge of energy.
To my quiet delight, the room was empty, and I decided to use this moment of solitude to make myself look at least relatively presentable. I took a compact comb from my bag, somehow smoothed down the hair tousled by the bad weather, and carefully blotted my face with a paper napkin. I certainly did not look perfect, but much better than a few minutes ago. Pouring myself a cup of strong, aromatic espresso, I settled with pleasure into one of the deep armchairs by the panoramic window, which looked out over the rain-soaked yet still beautiful city. The hot drink warmed my hands and slowly restored my sense of alertness and confidence.
I took out my smartphone and opened my work email to refresh in my mind the key points once again. The board of directors pinned serious hopes on my appointment—“Vershina” was going through far from the easiest of times after the unexpected departure of the previous leadership, and my main task was to gently but firmly lead the company out of this period of instability. In the attached files I found a fresh analytical summary for all departments and immersed myself in the figures, charts, and performance indicators, trying to catch the hidden trends.
A sudden noise in the corridor, an explosion of animated voices, distracted me from my deep reflections. The door to the coffee point swung open, and into the room practically floated an impressive, self-assured blonde in a perfectly tailored business suit the color of ripe Burgundy wine. She was accompanied by two young women, and on their faces there was the same respectful, even obsequious attention.
“And just imagine, he actually dared to say to my face: ‘Viktoria Olegovna, it’s physically impossible to do this in such a time frame!’” the blonde was speaking loudly, with those characteristic, well-practiced managerial intonations clearly meant for an audience. “And I told him in response, absolutely calmly: ‘My dear fellow, in this company it is I who decides what is possible and what lies beyond the bounds of reality.’”
Her companions laughed in unison, as if on an invisible cue, choosing just the right notes of approval. I went on pretending to be deeply absorbed in the documents on my phone screen, but out of the corner of my eye I watched the scene unfolding with genuine interest. The blonde—obviously that very same Viktoria Olegovna—moved gracefully to the coffee machine and pressed a button to start the brewing process.
“By the way, girls, have you already heard the latest news?” she continued, without turning to her companions. “We’ve been assigned a new CEO. Some Sofiya Belova from Yekaterinburg. They say she’s a young careerist, an upstart. She won some regional management competition, and the board members took the bait on the flashy packaging.”
I couldn’t help but feel a slight smile touch my lips when I heard my own surname. Viktoria was, without doubt, a well-informed employee, though not entirely accurate in the details—the competition had been at the federal level, and I really had made it to the finals, proving my competence.
“And they’re not going to touch our department in the reorganization, I hope?” cautiously, almost timidly, asked one of the young women, whom her colleague had called Lena.
“Lenochka, what are you talking about!” Viktoria Olegovna laughed with a shade of condescension. “Without my management this department would fall apart into its component pieces in just one week. Let this new broom just try to poke her nose into my domain with her ideas. I’ve given this company twelve years of my life, the previous director appreciated my worth, and this one…” She left the phrase hanging, letting out an expressive snort.
Interesting personnel layout, flashed through my mind. Viktoria clearly considered herself an irreplaceable and invaluable employee, the backbone of the entire enterprise. From the documents I had studied, I knew that she really did head the key sales department, and its revenue figures were indeed solid—but staff turnover in her division over the past year was off the charts, and complaints from major clients had been coming in with worrying regularity.
Viktoria and her retinue settled at a table in the opposite corner of the room, continuing to passionately discuss the latest corporate gossip and news. I put down my phone and got up to pour myself another shot of invigorating espresso. As I walked past their table, the lively conversation suddenly broke off, and a short pause fell. Three pairs of eyes stared at me with undisguised curiosity, appraising my soaked, unimpressive clothes and far-from-perfect hairstyle.
“Good morning,” I greeted them politely and pleasantly, trying to establish at least some sort of contact.
In response I received only barely noticeable, cold nods and an almost instantly fading interest. I clearly did not look like someone worth getting to know or chatting with—at least according to their established notions of corporate hierarchy.
When I returned with my hot, fragrant cup, I was mildly surprised to find that my cozy armchair by the window was now occupied by a fourth employee, who had joined Viktoria’s group in the meantime. My things—a modest leather bag and the still damp raincoat—had been carelessly, without so much as asking, dumped onto the neighboring chair like some useless junk.
“Excuse me, I was sitting in that armchair,” I said calmly, without a hint of aggression, as I approached their table.
“And what exactly follows from that?” Viktoria Olegovna slowly raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows, her gaze icy. “You got up, vacated the place, and Anna simply took it. As you can see, there are plenty of other free seats in the room.”
I glanced around—there really were several empty chairs left, but not a single armchair as comfortable and inviting as the one by the window.
“But my personal belongings were on the chair next to it,” I remarked gently but insistently, nodding toward my bag.
“Oh, come on,” cut in the woman introduced as Anna, lounging in my armchair with defiant nonchalance. “This isn’t a set of reserved seats in an expensive restaurant. There’s a simple principle here: first come, first served. Or, more precisely, whoever gets to the armchair first, owns it.”
In an ordinary everyday situation, I probably wouldn’t have made an issue of it or argued. But right now I was genuinely curious to see how far they were ready to go, how they would behave, and I decided to continue this involuntary dialogue.
“To be honest, I hadn’t finished my coffee and was planning to return to my seat,” I said quite firmly, though keeping my polite tone.
Viktoria Olegovna gave me a slow, openly contemptuous once-over, and irritation clearly showed in her look.
“Listen… who do you think you are, anyway? A new intern? Which department are you from, if it’s not a secret?”
“I really did start working at the company only today,” I replied evasively but truthfully.
“Then remember once and for all one unwritten rule,” said Viktoria in a didactic tone, raising an elegant finger with a flawless manicure. “Our company has a clear, time-tested hierarchy. I am the permanent head of the sales department, the right hand of the director himself. Well, the former director, to be precise. And these seats”—she gestured at the armchairs around their table—“are unofficially but firmly reserved for management. And ordinary staff usually sit over there.” She nodded meaningfully toward the plain, not-so-comfortable chairs by the far wall.
“I see,” I nodded, pretending to absorb the new information. “And is this important rule spelled out anywhere officially, in the corporate code, for instance?”
The women at the table exchanged mocking, knowing looks again.
“You’re something else!” laughed Lena. “You might say this is a matter of business etiquette. A basic show of respect for one’s seniors by rank.”
“Exactly,” Viktoria confirmed confidently. “Subordination—you’ve heard that word, haven’t you?”
I pretended to think about her words, though my thoughts were already elsewhere.
“You know, I’ve always believed that subordination should work both ways,” I said. “And respect, if we’re going to talk about it, should be mutual, not one-sided.”
With a theatrical sigh, Viktoria rolled her eyes, clearly losing the last of her patience.
“My dear, who do you think you are? Run along, before I call security. For all I know, you might be some random visitor who pretended to be an employee and slipped into restricted premises.”
Her companions tittered again, obviously enjoying the spectacle. Apparently, scenes of humiliation like this were a familiar form of corporate entertainment for them.
Right at that climactic moment, the door to the coffee point opened again, and a man in his middle years, in a perfectly cut dark suit, came into the room. I instantly recognized Dmitry Sergeyevich, the company’s financial director, with whom I had already had a detailed conversation at the final stage of the interview.
“Good morning, ladies,” he greeted them politely, though somewhat distantly, and then his gaze fell on me. The expression on his face immediately changed to one of close attention and respect. “Sofiya Aleksandrovna! So this is where you are. We’ve been looking all over the building for you. The board of directors is already gathering in the conference room, they’re just waiting on you.”
The look on Viktoria Olegovna’s face changed instantly and dramatically. She stared from me to the financial director as if she couldn’t believe her eyes or ears, trying to grasp what was happening.
“Sofiya Aleksandrovna?” she repeated in a shaky, subdued voice. “Belova?”
“Yes, that’s right,” I smiled gently, looking straight at her. “The new CEO of ‘Vershina.’ It’s very nice to finally meet my key employees in such a, shall we say, informal setting.”
The room fell into absolute, death-like silence, broken only by the quiet hum of the coffee machine. Anna practically jumped out of my armchair, as if she’d received an electric shock.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I didn’t think… please, sit back down, it’s your seat!” she babbled, nervously straightening her jacket and tugging at her skirt.
“Thank you for the offer, but I think I’m already expected at a very important meeting,” I said calmly, picking up my bag and the same wet raincoat. “I’m sure we’ll have an excellent opportunity to continue our conversation about corporate culture, rules of etiquette and, of course, subordination—under more official circumstances.”
At last Viktoria managed to find her voice, but her usually confident tone was now quiet and uneven.
“Sofiya Aleksandrovna, I… honestly, I meant nothing personal… I just… joked,” she said, clearly unable to find the proper, dignified words to explain the situation.
“This soaked-to-the-skin beggar has no right to sit in my armchair!” one of the young women suddenly blurted out, apparently deciding to go all-in to defend her boss. “You said so yourself just now, Viktoria Olegovna, we all heard it!”
I had already almost reached the door when I stopped and slowly, very slowly turned back. Viktoria turned even paler and looked at her overly zealous subordinate with undisguised hatred; the girl now seemed ready to sink through the floor from her own stupidity.
“I… I just made a bad joke,” Viktoria mumbled again, even more quietly. “It was an inappropriate joke, in reality I never…”
“You know,” I gently but firmly interrupted, “I’ve always believed that what truly reveals a person is not how they talk to those above them on the career ladder, but how they treat those whom they think don’t matter at all. It’s in situations like this that a person’s true, unvarnished character comes out.”
Dmitry Sergeyevich discreetly cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention and easing the tension a little.
“Sofiya Aleksandrovna, we really do need to head to the meeting,” he reminded me in a calm, businesslike tone. “Time is, unfortunately, pressing.”
“Of course, let’s go,” I nodded to him and, as I finally stepped out of the coffee point, added over my shoulder: “Have a wonderful day and a productive workday, everyone. And by the way, the coffee here is truly excellent, I recommend everyone grab a cup.”
As we walked with the financial director down the long, bright corridor toward the conference room, he leaned toward me and said quietly, almost in a whisper:
“Please accept my sincerest apologies for that unpleasant, awkward episode. Viktoria Olegovna… she is, admittedly, a valuable and experienced specialist in her field, but her temperament is indeed difficult, and her ambitions sometimes go over the top.”
“Please don’t apologize,” I smiled again, this time more openly. “To be honest, I’m even somewhat glad that things turned out exactly this way. Now I have a completely clear, unembellished picture of the real state of affairs in the company and certain features of its corporate culture.”
A few hours later, after a lengthy but highly productive meeting with the heads of all key departments, I finally made it to my new office. It was spacious and bright, with panoramic windows overlooking the city center and expensive, functional furniture, but it felt somewhat faceless and lifeless, like a room in a good but soulless hotel. The previous director had left nothing personal here—no family photos in frames, no souvenir trinkets from trade shows, not even a favorite coffee mug. It was as if he had known from the start that he wouldn’t be staying in this position for long and there was no point in settling in.
I carefully arranged my few personal items, turned on the computer, and paused for a moment, watching the monitor come to life. The company really was in urgent need of serious, well-thought-out changes, and the issue was not only the economic indicators or graphs in the reports. First and foremost, it was necessary to change the very atmosphere within the team, to eradicate the toxic, destructive culture of permissiveness for some and humiliation for others which, judging by the morning incident, had already sunk deep roots.
There was a quiet but confident knock at the door, and almost immediately, without waiting for an answer, Viktoria Olegovna appeared on the threshold. She looked composed and resolute, like someone determined to defend her position to the very end.
“May I come in?” she asked formally, though she had already crossed into the office.
“Of course, Viktoria Olegovna, please do,” I gestured toward the chair across from my desk. “Have a seat.”
She sat down, nervously lacing her slender, impeccably manicured fingers together on her knees.
“Sofiya Aleksandrovna, I came to once again offer my deepest apologies for this morning’s misunderstanding,” she began in a polished, official tone. “It was an unfortunate, inexcusable miscommunication. If I had even imagined who you were…”
“And that, essentially, is the main problem, isn’t it?” I gently but insistently interrupted. “The way we treat the people around us should not depend at all on their position, status, or place in society.”
Viktoria pressed her lips together, a small crease of tension appearing on her forehead.
“I agree with you unconditionally, it was extremely unbecoming and unprofessional on my part. But I assure you, I am not the kind of person I may have seemed today. I just… am going through a difficult period, there’s a lot of stress, constant uncertainty connected with the change in leadership…”
“I understand perfectly,” I nodded, keeping my tone calm. “And I genuinely value the fact that you found the strength to come to me and have an open conversation. That undoubtedly speaks to your maturity as an experienced manager.”
She relaxed a little, her shoulders dropping, though her gaze remained wary.
“Thank you for your understanding. I really hope that this unfortunate incident will in no way cloud your objective assessment of my work and professional qualities. I am truly devoted to the interests of the company and have always put the success of the common cause first.”
I opened the folder of reports that I had carefully reviewed earlier that morning in the coffee point.
“You know, I’ve already had a chance to familiarize myself with your department’s key performance indicators over the past few years. The revenue level is, undeniably, quite impressive, but there are some other, rather alarming aspects,” I said, turning a page to show concrete figures. “For example, I am concerned about staff turnover in your division. Over the last calendar year you’ve had seventeen people leave—that’s almost half of the entire sales department.”
“I’ve always been and remain a demanding, even strict manager,” Viktoria lifted her chin with her usual defiance. “Not all employees can withstand such a high pace of work and corresponding level of responsibility. But the final results, as they say, speak for themselves.”
“And what can you say about the increased number of complaints from our key clients?” I pointed at the relevant chart in the report. “According to the statistics, their total number has grown by almost thirty percent in just the last six months.”
“The overall market situation is extremely difficult right now, competition has intensified, clients have become much more capricious and demanding,” she replied with a small shrug, as if shifting part of the responsibility away from herself. “But we are actively working on solving this problem, implementing new approaches.”
I closed the folder and looked her straight in the eye, trying to convey my genuine interest.
“Viktoria Olegovna, I appreciate your frankness and openness. So allow me to be absolutely frank with you as well. I am not going to make any personnel decisions based solely on personal sympathies or, conversely, antipathies. As a leader, I care about only two things: the highest level of professionalism and concrete, measurable results.”
“I understand,” she nodded, and I caught a flicker of hope in her eyes.
“But I want to clarify: results are far from being only the dry revenue numbers in quarterly reports. They also include the healthy atmosphere in the team, the loyalty of our regular clients, and, not least, the impeccable reputation of the company in the market. All of this is something you and I will have to work on together, as a team.”
Viktoria listened attentively without interrupting, and I could see something changing in her gaze.
“You will have exactly one month to independently, without external pressure, analyze the current situation in your department and prepare for me a comprehensive, detailed plan of the changes you consider necessary,” I continued clearly and distinctly. “I would especially like to see a strong emphasis on concrete measures for retaining valuable staff and radically improving the quality of customer service. In exactly one month we will meet here again, discuss your plan, and make a well-considered decision about our further cooperation.”
She clearly hadn’t expected this turn, but as an experienced fighter she quickly pulled herself together.
“I will prepare the most detailed and thoroughly thought-out plan for you,” she said firmly, without the slightest hint of doubt, rising from the chair. “And I will prove in deed that I deserve to remain part of this team and to work under your leadership.”
“I have no doubt about that,” I smiled back at her, and this time my smile was completely sincere. “Oh yes, and one more small but important point. Starting tomorrow, a new rule will be introduced in the company, mandatory for everyone: the coffee point is hereby declared a territory completely free of any hierarchy. There are no bosses and subordinates there, only colleagues who work together and respect one another. Would you personally make sure that all the employees in your department are properly informed of this new policy?”
Viktoria paused for a moment at the door, then unexpectedly laughed—openly, genuinely, with none of her usual arrogance or defensive mask.
“All right, that’s very well thought out,” she admitted, and for the first time her voice carried real, lively respect. “Lesson learned, I can assure you. I’ll personally see to it that everyone is informed, you can be absolutely certain.”
When the door closed behind her, I went back to the panoramic window. The rain had long since stopped, the sky had cleared of heavy clouds, and the cool, rain-washed city was now bathed in the soft rays of the setting autumn sun. There was still a great deal of difficult, painstaking work ahead, but the very first, most important step had already been taken. Sometimes, to set in motion the process of deep, genuine change, you don’t need loud declarations, radical firings, or harsh orders. It’s enough simply to be in the right place at the right time—even if that place is an ordinary armchair in a coffee room, and at first you’re taken for a random, insignificant visitor.
And in the quiet of the office I suddenly understood clearly that the greatest influence we have on others comes not from decrees with official seals, but from quiet actions and personal example. Kindness shown to someone considered “nobody” is worth more than all the titles in the world. And it is from such tiny, almost invisible grains that the solid foundation is formed on which something truly great can be built—something that will live and thrive even after you move on. And in this lies the greatest reward for any leader
