On My First Day as CEO, My Husband’s Secretary Called Me an Intern. By Sunset, I Learned the Company—and My Marriage—Had Been Built on a Lie.
The first person to insult me on my first day as CEO was my husband’s secretary.
She stood in front of the executive elevator, looked me over, and smiled as though she had already decided my value.
“Custodians and interns use the service elevator.”
For a second, I thought she was joking.
Then I noticed the employees behind her dropping their eyes.
I wore a plain beige dress and low heels. For six years, I had managed overseas projects where hard hats and laptops mattered more than designer bags. Apparently, headquarters had turned clothing into a caste system.
“I’m not a custodian,” I said.
“Then you’re an intern. Interns use the service elevator too.”
Her nameplate read JANG CHIN TONG — EXECUTIVE SECRETARY TO PRESIDENT SHIAO.
My husband’s office.
My husband’s secretary.
I had been married to Shiaoza for ten years and had never met her.
A woman near the elevator whispered, “Please. Just take the service elevator. Secretary Jang can make your life difficult.”
“Does it go to the sixty-eighth floor?”
“No. It stops at sixty-three.”
“So what do employees do?”
She hesitated. “Take the stairs.”
“Five floors?”
“Every day.”
Jang laughed. “If five flights are too much, maybe they don’t belong at this company.”
The employee flushed.
Something inside me went cold.
Three days earlier, the board had voted to place company operations under me. The formal announcement was scheduled for ten that morning. Shiaoza knew I was returning, but he had been strangely vague, claiming he was “buried in meetings.”
He did not know the board had finalized my title as Chief Executive Officer.
Neither did his secretary.
I moved toward the elevator.
Jang blocked me again.
“This is for executives.”
“I heard you.”
“Then why are you still here?”
“Because I’m going upstairs.”
Her face tightened. “Don’t dirty the elevator.”
I pressed the button.
When the doors opened, I stepped inside.
Jang followed.
“You’re finished,” she said. “I’ll have your internship canceled before lunch.”
I watched her reflection in the mirrored wall.
“Since when does an intern’s future depend on whether she obeys the president’s secretary?”
“Everyone under President Shiao passes my inspection.”
That told me everything about the culture my husband had allowed to develop.
On the executive floor, Jang loudly repeated what had happened. Within minutes, strangers warned me that offending her was equivalent to offending President Shiao.
“He trusts her more than anyone.”
“He spoils her.”
“She’s his right hand.”
One woman whispered, “Apologize before he finishes his meeting. He can make sure you never work in this industry again.”
Then I noticed the watch.
White ceramic. Diamond markers. A tiny silver crescent above the six.
Only ten existed worldwide.
A month earlier, I had asked Shiaoza to buy that exact limited-edition watch for his mother’s birthday. I had been stuck in Boston closing a deal, and he promised to handle it.
Now it circled Jang Chin Tong’s wrist.
The elevator suddenly seemed irrelevant.
She caught me looking and raised her hand.
“You like it?”
“Where did you get it?”
Her smile softened almost affectionately.
“President Shiao gave it to me.”
Ten years of marriage shifted inside my head.
Late dinners. Weekend conferences. Urgent balcony calls. His phone always face down. His constant reassurance: “Don’t overthink it.”
Jang misunderstood my silence.
“Oh. I understand. You’re after him.”
I stared at her.
