His HR director, Greg Harmon, barely glanced up from his tablet. “No one important, sir. Jasmine Carter. Her résumé is… decent, but her presentation is embarrassing. She doesn’t have the polish for a company at this level. We’ve already chosen Brooke Whitman—Senator Whitman’s daughter—for the position.”
A wave of irritation surged through Ethan. He remembered his own family’s beginnings—the story of his grandfather arriving with nothing but a battered suitcase and a dream. When had his company become an exclusive club for the elite, blind to real talent?
“I want her file,” Ethan said, holding out his hand.
Greg blinked, confused. “Brooke’s?”
“No. The woman you just rejected for being poor.”
As Ethan read, something like a smile barely touched his mouth. Perfect grades. Brilliant recommendations. And a life of struggle written between the lines: scholarships, part-time jobs, caring for a sick mother. This woman wasn’t just capable—she was a fighter. And his company, packed with soft executives who’d never known real hardship, desperately needed someone like her.
“Call her,” Ethan said, handing the folder back. “Tell her to come tomorrow.”