"Aidan Caldwell," she said, her voice flat, devoid of interest. "HR put you in my schedule because of some mandate about reviewing external candidates for the senior analyst role. But I'm looking at your employment gap. " She finally looked up. Her eyes tracked over him. They started at his slightly frayed collar, moved down his cheap tie, and settled on the shoes he had colored in with a marker.
A tiny, cruel smile touched the corner of her mouth. "You haven't held a primary market position in 5 years," Victoria said. "You've been working as a data entry clerk for a logistics firm, before that, driving a cab. Is this a joke? " "My wife was sick," Aidan said. His voice was quiet, neutral.
"Glioblastoma. The medical bills required immediate liquidation of my assets. The care required my time. She passed away last year. " Victoria sighed, tossing her stylus onto the desk. Tragic, really.
But, this is an investment bank, Mr. Caldwell, not a charity ward. We manage $80 billion in assets. The people on my floor work 100-hour weeks. They don't have time for sick wives, and they certainly don't have time to hold the hands of men who have forgotten how the game is played.
Aiden didn't move. I haven't forgotten how the game is played, Ms. Cross. I built the board you're playing on. The core risk assessment model your firm relies on, the heavily modified Monte Carlo simulation, that was my architecture.
Victoria laughed. It was a sharp, grating sound. You were a junior coder who worked under my father 10 years ago. You wrote some baseline code. We've iterated it a hundred times since you were pushed out.
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk, dropping all pretense of a professional interview. Let's cut the crap. You're broke. You're desperate. You walked in here hoping your sad story and a 10-year-old connection to my dead father would get you a handout.
She picked up his resume. It was printed on cheap copy paper. She held it over the brushed steel trash can next to her desk and let it drop. Finance is a blood sport, Victoria said, looking him dead in the eye. We don't hire poor men.
They bleed too easily. Security will show you out. Aiden sat in the silence for a long moment. He didn't flush with anger. He didn't shrink.
He slowly stood up, buttoned his mismatched suit jacket, and looked down at her. "You're You're about one thing, Victoria," Aiden said. His voice carried a strange, heavy gravity that made her blink. I am broke, but I didn't come here for a job. Then why are you here?
She snapped. I just wanted to see if you had changed, Aiden said softly. I wanted to look you in the eye before I pulled the pin. He turned toward the door. I'm not here to work for you.
I'm here to replace you. Victoria scoffed, turning back to her tablet. Get out of my office, you psycho. Aiden walked out. He didn't look back.