First night. Michel pushed his cart through the executive floor, every surface a monument to his former life. The conference room where he'd pitched the Kellerman account gleamed under fluorescent lights, the ghost of his PowerPoint still burning behind his eyes. The break room where they'd celebrated his promotion with grocery store sheet cake. Sandra's office, dark now, where everything had ended eleven weeks ago.
His uniform hung loose—navy blue polyester, "Brennan Industries Custodial" stitched above the pocket where his name used to be embroidered in executive thread. The cart's wheels squeaked, announcing his presence to empty offices that had once held his voice.
"You're new." The voice belonged to Elena, a woman his mother's age with kind eyes and calloused hands. She pushed her own cart with practiced efficiency, gray hair pulled back, moving like someone who'd learned to make peace with midnight. "I'm on floors 3 through 5. You got the executive levels—lucky you." Her smile said she knew exactly who he used to be.
"Just grateful for the work," Michel said.
"Mm-hmm." Elena studied him like she was reading his whole story in the way he held the mop. "Coffee break's at 2 AM. Real coffee, not that corporate swill. My thermos, your story. Deal?"
Over lukewarm Folgers, Michel found himself talking to Elena like he hadn't talked to anyone in months. The break room they'd commandeered looked different from this angle—older, shabbier, the expensive art on the walls just rectangles watching nothing. She'd raised four kids alone after her husband's accident, put them all through school cleaning these offices.
"Started here in '03," she said, hands wrapped around a chipped mug. "My oldest was David's age. Now he's an engineer. My youngest just made partner at her firm." Pride lit her face brighter than the city lights below. "They tried to buy me better jobs, easier work. I told them no. This job fed them, clothed them, put them through school. Why would I be ashamed of that?"
"You know what I learned?" Elena continued, watching the city lights below. "Dignity ain't in the job title. It's in showing up. Going home tired but honest. Teaching your babies that work is work, and all of it matters."
Michel's throat tightened. "My kids... they gave me their piggy bank money. Quarters and dimes. Everything they had."
"Then you're rich," Elena said simply. "Richer than whoever's sitting in your old office playing with spreadsheets. They gave you their hearts. You give them your example. Fair trade."