Rain kept pounding the towering glass windows of the Caldwell Group headquarters, as if the sky itself were mourning the injustice that had just happened downstairs. Jasmine Carter, her hands rough from years of work and her heart squeezed tight with disappointment, picked up her résumé from the polished walnut desk. The woman across from her—flawless in a pearl-gray tailored suit—didn’t even bother to look her in the eye as she delivered the verdict.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Carter. Your profile doesn’t align with the image we’re trying to project at this company.”
The sentence hung in the office’s cold air, heavy with a cruel subtext Jasmine understood perfectly. It wasn’t her degree—earned with honors after endless nights without sleep. It wasn’t her experience, her recommendations, or the fact that she spoke both French and Spanish in addition to English. It was her clean but simple white blouse bought at a discount store three years ago. It was her navy skirt, the frayed hem she had carefully stitched the night before. It was her shoes—worn thin from walking miles to save bus fare.