9. The Truth About Trust
9
THE TRUTH ABOUT TRUST
MACKENZIE
Another lesson learned as Corporate Culture Consultant? Never launch an anonymous employee feedback program unless you're ready to learn exactly how your coworkers feel about everything from the coffee machine to that time Brad from Accounting cried during the quarterly review.
After my dinner with Alex, work goes back to “normal.” Or some version of it, at least.
It’s only been two weeks since I launched the online survey and already the mailbox is full.
"These can't all be real complaints." I scroll through the latest batch of responses, each more colorful than the last. "Someone actually wrote 'the ping pong table is an instrument of capitalist oppression'?"
"That was probably Keith Frampton from DevOps." Lucia sorts through another stack of printed feedback forms. "He's been reading a lot of Marx lately."
We're camped out in my office, drowning in half a month’s worth of anonymous feedback from Drake Enterprises employees. Turns out, when you give people a truly anonymous way to vent, they really go for it.
"Oh, here's a good one." Lucia clears her throat. "'The meditation cushions give me existential dread. Also, Brian keeps stealing my lunch from the break room fridge. I know it's you, Brian. I saw you eating my lasagna.'"
"At least they're being specific." I add it to the spreadsheet I'm building. Two hundred and seventeen complaints about the meditation cushions so far. "Any actual useful feedback in your pile?"
"Actually, yes." She hands me a form. "Multiple reports of managers taking credit for women's ideas in meetings. Complete with dates and examples."
I scan the document, anger building. "Add it to the systemic issues folder."
"Already growing faster than Nonna's sourdough starter."
My phone buzzes – a text from Alex. No, from Mr. Drake. I need to stop thinking of him as Alex, especially after our "business dinner" a few nights ago, which had felt decidedly un-business-like by dessert.
DRAKE: Board meeting in 20. Bring the preliminary feedback data.
ME: Even the ping pong table manifestos?
DRAKE: Especially those. Gerald's a secret table tennis champion.
"You're smiling at your phone," Lucia observes. "Either Nonna found a new cannoli recipe, or your fake nemesis texted you."
"He's not my—" My protest is interrupted by more feedback forms sliding off my desk. "Help me sort these before the board meeting."
"You mean help you avoid talking about whatever happened at that dinner the two of you had?”
"Nothing happened." Which is technically true. We'd had a perfectly professional meal at a quiet restaurant downtown. If I'd gotten distracted by the way his hands moved when he talked about reforming corporate culture, or how his eyes crinkled when he really smiled... well, that was my problem.
"Sure." Lucia picks up another form. "That's why you came home looking like someone who just had their views on ethical business practices thoroughly compromised."
"My views are perfectly intact, thank you." I gather my tablet and notes. "Unlike my professional dignity if I'm late to this meeting."
"Speaking of professional dignity..." She holds up her phone, showing me the latest viral post from my alter ego:
@MizzByteMyAlgos: "TECH TEA TIME: What's worse than mandatory meditation? Mandatory meditation next to your Accounting Guy’s emotional breakdown corner. Some spaces should stay sacred, people. #CorporateZen #TearsAndTypeA"
"You're getting bolder with these posts," she warns. "Also funnier."
"I'm just aggregating industry observations." I straighten my jacket – emerald green today, because if I have to face the board, I'm doing it in power colors. "Besides, that post could be about any tech company."
"Right. Because every tech company has a Brad from Accounting who cries during quarterly reviews."
"You'd be surprised." I head for the door. "Hold down the fort and keep sorting. I need solid data for phase two."
"Phase two?" She calls after me. "What happened to the exposé?"
What indeed.
The board room is already full when I arrive, but Alex – Mr. Drake – stands when I enter, a gesture that makes Barbara Cho’s eyebrows hit her hairline .
"Ms. Gallo." He gestures to the seat beside him. "Ready to share your findings?"
No. Yes. Maybe. The data is solid, but my conviction about exposing Drake Enterprises' toxic culture is... complicated. Especially after that dinner.
"The preliminary results are... interesting." I connect my tablet to the display. "Two weeks of anonymous feedback has revealed several systemic issues."
"Such as?" Gerald Matthews looks like he's ready to dismiss everything before I even start.
"Well, for one, your middle managers are creating bottlenecks by hoarding information." I pull up my first chart. "Sixty percent of employees report being unable to do their jobs effectively because critical information gets stuck at the management level."
"That's standard corporate hierarchy," Barbara argues.
"No, that's standard corporate dysfunction." I swipe to the next slide. "You're literally paying people to not do their jobs efficiently because some managers think information is power."
"Ms. Gallo—" Gerald starts, but Alex cuts him off.
"Let her finish."
Our eyes meet briefly. He's wearing a tie that exactly matches my jacket, which is either a cosmic joke or evidence that his executive assistant has a sense of humor.
"The feedback also shows a clear pattern of gender bias in meetings." I force myself to focus on the data, not on how Alex's jaw clenches at this information. "Women's ideas being attributed to male colleagues, women being interrupted or talked over, women having to repeat suggestions multiple times before they're heard..."
"This is hardly unique to Drake Enterprises," Gerald dismisses.
"True." I smile sweetly. "But most companies don't have recordings of it happening. "
That gets everyone's attention.
"Several employees submitted audio clips from virtual meetings," I explain, enjoying the way Gerald's face pales. "Would you like to hear the greatest hits compilation? I particularly enjoy the one where Sarah from Engineering has to repeat her solution four times before Brad realizes it's brilliant and presents it as his own."
"That won't be necessary," Alex says quickly. "I think we get the point."
"Do we?" I turn to face him fully. "Because this isn't just about hurt feelings or political correctness. This is about efficiency, productivity, and talent retention. Every time a good idea gets ignored because of the speaker's gender, every time a manager creates an artificial bottleneck, every time someone has to waste energy navigating toxic workplace dynamics – that costs you money."
The room falls silent except for the soft sound of Barbara typing furiously on her tablet.
"What do you recommend?" Alex asks, and something in his voice makes me look at him sharply. He's watching me with an intensity that should be illegal in professional settings.
"Full transparency overhaul." I pull up my proposal. "Flat information structure. Open documentation. Clear attribution protocols for ideas and contributions. And..." I take a deep breath, "a complete audit of meeting dynamics, focusing on gender-based interruptions and idea attribution."
"Absolutely not," Gerald sputters. "The liability alone?—"
"Is nothing compared to the liability of maintaining discriminatory practices," Alex finishes. "Do it."
"Alex," Barbara warns, "the shareholders?—"
"Will be thrilled when our productivity metrics improve." He stands, buttoning his jacket. "Ms. Gallo, my office. We need to discuss implementation details. "
I follow him out, very aware of Gerald's glare burning holes in my back.
In his office, Alex closes the door and immediately loosens his tie. "That went well."
"Did it? Because I think Gerald's plotting my murder."
"Gerald plots everyone's murder. It's his hobby." He drops into his chair. "The audio clips?"
"Exist." I perch on the edge of his desk because all the visitor chairs are covered in reports. "And they're damning."
"Like the salary data?"
"Worse." I meet his gaze. "These aren't just numbers, Alex. These are real people being systematically undermined."
He doesn't comment on my use of his first name. Instead, he stands, moving to the window. "You really think a complete overhaul is necessary?"
"I think..." I choose my words carefully, "that half measures won't fix this. Real change requires real commitment."
"Like having dinner with your nemesis to discuss strategy?"
My heart definitely doesn't skip at the memory of Alex Drake’s hand wrapped around mine as he helped me into the car outside of the restaurant. "That was a business dinner."
"Was it?" He turns, and suddenly the office feels very small. "Because I remember also letting ourselves get a little personal, too. It wasn’t just all shop-talk.”
“That was research." I grip the edge of his desk. "Know your enemy, remember?"
"Is that what I am?" He echoes my words from days ago. "Your enemy?"
"You tell me." I stand, needing to move. "One minute you're backing my proposals, the next you're questioning my methods. One day you're firing me, the next you're hiring me back. One night you're having dinner with me?—"
"And the next I'm wondering why the anonymous blogger started posting about Drake Enterprises' toxic culture right around the time you started changing it."
The world stops.
Rewinds.
Plays back in slow motion.
"What are you implying?" My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
He steps closer, and I catch a hint of his cologne – something expensive and subtle that definitely shouldn't be this distracting.
"I'm not implying anything, Mac." The way he says my nickname sends warmth down my spine. "I'm just noting an interesting correlation."
"Correlation isn't causation." I back up, hitting his desk. "Any statistician will tell you that."
"True." He's close enough now that I can see the glittering gold shimmer in his green eyes. "But any CEO will tell you that patterns matter."
"And what pattern are you seeing exactly?"
His hands land on the desk on either side of me, caging me in. "One that suggests you might be more invested in changing Drake Enterprises than your job title indicates."
I should leave. Should maintain professional distance. Should definitely not be noticing how his perfectly tailored shirt pulls across his shoulders, or how his proximity is making it hard to think.
"Careful, Mr. Drake." I manage to keep my voice steady. "That sounds dangerously close to an accusation."
"Not an accusation." His voice drops lower. "An observation."
"About?"
"About how someone who supposedly hates everything I stand for keeps looking at me like..."
"Like what?"
The tension between us crackles like a live wire .
A knock at the door saves us both.
"Mr. Drake?" Emma's voice carries through the wood. "The TechVibe CEO is on line one."
Alex steps back, and I can breathe again.
"We're not done with this conversation," he warns.
"Yes, we are." I grab my tablet, heading for the door. "We have real problems to solve. Whatever you think you've figured out about me... let it go."
"I'm not very good at letting things go, Ms. Gallo."
"Then maybe that should be your next personal growth project."
I escape before he can respond, my heart pounding. In my office, I find a new stack of feedback forms on my desk and Lucia gone to lunch.
My phone buzzes – a text from my sister:
LUCIA: I screwed up. Showed Nonna a pic of Drake and now she wants to know if your "handsome boss” has any food allergies. Also, she's making a pile of food again because you missed Sunday dinner.
I ignore it, pulling up my blog draft instead:
"TECH TRUTH: Sometimes the hardest part of changing a system isn't identifying the problems – it's admitting that the solutions might come from unexpected places. #PlotTwist #CorporateCulture"
I stare at it for a long moment before deleting the whole thing.
Some truths are better left unposted.
For now.