“My wife is being transferred to your department, and you’re going into retirement,” the new director smirked, not knowing I was expected at head office for his position
“Valentina Georgievna, start clearing out your office,” the new director said, tossing a thin, unnumbered sheet of paper onto the edge of my desk. “Svetlana is being transferred to your department, and it’s time for you to bring your career to a graceful end.”
“Oleg Stanislavovich, I haven’t written any resignation letter,” I said, removing my glasses from the keyboard. “And I haven’t handed over my office to anyone.”
“You will write it,” he replied, smiling as if he could already see my signature. “At sixty-one, a person should understand when it’s time to make way.”
Behind the glass partition, the department employees fell silent. The printer’s red light was blinking, and on my desk lay the month’s certificates and a glass of water. I looked at his smile and thought only one thing: he had started counting my last working day far too early.
“Svetlana will come to see you after lunch,” he continued, pointing at my monitor. “You’ll show her the contract register, the reports, and the approval procedure.”
“Svetlana is your wife?” I asked, picking up the sheet with two fingers. “Or do we have a new employee the HR department knows nothing about?”
“My wife,” he said firmly. “But for you, she is first and foremost the future head of the department.”
“Future according to what order?” I asked. “All I see is a sheet with no number, no date, and no HR signature.”
Oleg Stanislavovich narrowed his eyes. He had expected confusion, but instead he had received a routine work-related question.
“Don’t cling to formalities,” he said. “I am the branch director. My decision is enough.”
“For a conversation, perhaps,” I replied. “For transferring an employee and vacating a position, no.”
My deputy, Raisa, stopped at the door. She was fifty-four, holding the time sheets in her hands, and her face looked as if she had walked not into an office, but into someone else’s argument.
“Valentina Georgievna, should I come back later?” she asked. “I didn’t know you were in a meeting.”
“Come in, Raisa,” the director said instead of me. “It will be useful for you too to hear that changes are coming to the department.”
“What changes?” she asked, pressing the time sheets to her chest. “We’re closing the certificates right now.”
“All the more reason,” he said. “Starting Monday, you’ll help Svetlana get up to speed, and Valentina Georgievna will calmly formalize her departure.”
I placed his sheet on the desk and turned it toward Raisa. The paper contained a few lines noting Svetlana’s transfer and the transfer of the department head’s functions to her, but there were no official details.
“Raisa, look carefully,” I said. “This isn’t an order. It’s a draft of a wish.”
Oleg Stanislavovich tapped his finger on the desk. Not hard, but enough for the people behind the glass to notice the movement.
“You are now deliberately undermining my authority,” he said. “I came here to warn you in a humane way.”
“In a humane way, people don’t tell someone in front of their subordinates that they’re being sent into retirement without their own application,” I replied. “And they don’t promise a position to their wife without paperwork.”
Raisa lowered her eyes, but I could see she was listening to every word. Behind the partition, accountant Anna pretended to search for paper clips, although the box of paper clips was right in front of her.
“Valentina Georgievna, you’ve been sitting in one place too long,” the director said, glancing at my certificates. “The department needs a fresh mind.”
“Last quarter, the department closed 312 contracts without a delay,” I said. “And returned 2,400,000 rubles to the company on disputed certificates.”
“You measure everything by the past,” he said. “And I need the future.”
“The future begins with order,” I replied. “Not with finding the director’s wife a chair with a salary of 96,000 rubles and a bonus of up to 180,000 rubles.”
He sharply turned toward Raisa. He clearly didn’t like that the amount had been spoken aloud in front of a witness.
“You’re dismissed,” he said. “Leave the time sheets with Valentina Georgievna while she can still sign them.”
“Raisa will stay,” I said. “The time sheets concern the department, and this conversation now concerns the department directly.”
Oleg Stanislavovich took a step toward the door and looked at the employees behind the glass. Apparently, he wanted everyone to hear how he would put me in my place.
“Fine,” he said louder. “There will be a general meeting after lunch, and I will announce the staffing decision in front of everyone so there won’t be any rumors.”
“In front of everyone, then,” I replied. “Just prepare the basis for it.”
“The basis is my directive,” he said. “And I don’t advise you to put on a performance.”
“I’m not putting on performances,” I said. “I’m collecting facts.”
He held his gaze on my desk, as if searching for what exactly I could have collected. Then he smirked, left his sheet on the edge, and walked out.
Raisa did not close the door immediately. First, she looked into the corridor, then turned to me.
“Valentina Georgievna, is it true?” she asked. “He’s bringing his wife into our department?”
“He intends to,” I replied. “But there’s a big difference between ‘intends to’ and ‘has the right to.’”
“Can they really remove you like that?” she asked. “Without an application?”
“They can’t, if there is still order left in the company,” I said. “And there is.”
I opened the incoming correspondence tray and took out an envelope with no external markings. Inside was an invitation to a service meeting with head office and a copy of my report on risks at the branch.
“Head office called me,” I said. “They asked me to assess how the new director is beginning his work.”
Raisa slowly sat down on the chair. She was still clutching the time sheets as if they could protect her from someone else’s decision.
“You knew he was being checked?” she asked. “And he just humiliated you in front of everyone.”
“He didn’t know he was checking himself,” I replied. “And he tried very hard.”
“What should the department do?” Raisa asked. “People are already whispering.”
“Work,” I said. “Close the certificates, check the time sheets, and don’t hand over any documents to anyone without a written basis.”
Raisa nodded, but the worry did not leave her face. She picked up the time sheets, then placed them back on the desk.
“And if his wife comes before the meeting?” she asked. “Do we let her access the register?”
“No,” I replied. “We have no order, no vacancy, and no HR directive.”
After she left, the department seemed to split into two parts: hands kept working, while eyes watched the door. The phone rang, the printer crackled, someone brought certificates, but there was expectation in every movement.
Svetlana arrived closer to midday. I knew who she was right away, although I had only seen her briefly in reception before.
She wore a light-colored suit, carried a white handbag and a thin notebook. She entered without knocking, but stopped on the threshold as if she had decided to pretend she was asking permission after all.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “Oleg asked you to show me the current contracts and the accounting program.”
“Good afternoon,” I replied. “I have no order regarding your transfer.”
Svetlana smiled. The smile was polite, but her eyes were already trying my office on for size.
“The order will come,” she said. “Oleg wouldn’t just say something for no reason.”
“Then we’ll talk when there is an order,” I replied. “Until then, the contract register will not be handed over to you.”
“You’re putting me in an awkward position,” she said. “I didn’t come here to make a scene. I came to prepare for work.”
“The person who promised you a position without paperwork put you in an awkward position,” I said. “I am simply not violating procedure.”
Raisa stood by the desk with the time sheets, pretending to compare surnames. I saw how she listened to every word.
“Do you enjoy power over people?” Svetlana asked. “Is that why you’re clinging to this office?”
“I enjoy it when someone else’s family plans aren’t called staffing decisions,” I replied. “Those are different things.”
Svetlana turned pale, but kept her voice steady. She adjusted the handle of her handbag and took a step toward the door.
“I will tell Oleg Stanislavovich that you refused to cooperate,” she said. “Let him decide for himself.”
“Tell him more accurately,” I replied. “I refused to hand over official materials to a person who holds no position in our department.”
She left quickly, leaving behind the scent of expensive perfume and even more silence. A few minutes later, my work phone rang.
“Why did you put my wife in an awkward position in front of people?” Oleg Stanislavovich asked without greeting me. “This is starting to look like sabotage.”
“I didn’t hand documents over to her without an order,” I said. “That looks like following procedure.”
“After the meeting, procedure will be different.”
“Will you show me the order?”
“Don’t talk to me as if I’m an auditor,” he said. “I am your director.”
“Then act like a director,” I replied. “Not like a husband who urgently needs to place his wife somewhere.”
He was silent for several seconds. Then he spoke quietly, but with pressure in his voice:
“At the meeting, I’ll announce everything in such a way that you’ll feel ashamed to stay.”
“Announce it,” I said. “The more witnesses, the more accurate the picture.”
Before the meeting, head office called me. Raisa was sitting opposite me with the time sheets, heard the official tone on the phone, and immediately straightened up.
“Good afternoon, Valentina Georgievna,” said the assistant to the deputy chairwoman. “Tatiana Evgenievna will be connected during the meeting at the branch.”
“I understand,” I replied. “We’ll begin after lunch.”
“If Oleg Stanislavovich announces the transfer of his spouse or your removal from the position, don’t argue for long,” the assistant said. “Just let us connect.”
“All right,” I said. “I have the documents.”
When I hung up, Raisa quietly asked:
“They already know about Svetlana?”
“They know enough,” I replied. “But it’s important that he says everything himself.”
“It’s hard to listen to,” she said. “Especially the things about age.”
“But it’s useful for the record,” I replied. “Age is not grounds, but his words are grounds for an investigation.”
The meeting was held in the small hall. Our department sat closer to the aisle, accounting sat by the window, and HR officer Vera Mikhailovna placed the registration journal in front of her.
Oleg Stanislavovich stood by the long table. Next to him lay the directives journal, as if its cover alone could replace the missing orders.
Svetlana sat in the last row. She held herself calmly, but her fingers on the white handbag were tense.
“Colleagues,” the director began, “the branch needs renewal, speed, and management discipline. Therefore, today I am announcing staffing changes in the contracts department.”
He paused and looked at me. I sat upright, holding the envelope with copies on my lap.
“Valentina Georgievna has worked conscientiously for many years,” he continued. “But a time comes when experience must give way to new approaches.”
Vera Mikhailovna raised her head. She had worked in HR for a long time and knew that elegant wording without an order was worth nothing.
“Oleg Stanislavovich, I have no order concerning staffing changes,” she said. “HR has received no grounds.”
“You will receive them,” he cut her off. “Right now, I am announcing the decision of the branch director.”
“Whom are you appointing?” asked Gleb, the warehouse manager. “We need to understand who to coordinate supply contracts with.”
Oleg Stanislavovich smiled. It seemed he had been waiting for that question and already considered it convenient.
“Svetlana Olegovna is being transferred to the contracts department,” he said. “She will head the area after the handover.”
Svetlana slightly inclined her head. Several people exchanged glances because no one had seen her surname on the branch staffing schedule.
“From which department is she being transferred?” Vera Mikhailovna asked. “We do not have an open department head position.”
“We’ll formalize the HR details later,” the director said. “Don’t turn the meeting into bureaucracy.”
“Bureaucracy is when papers exist for the sake of papers,” I said. “Staffing documents protect people from personal decisions.”
He turned toward me. Irritation appeared on his face, and this time he did not bother hiding it.
“Valentina Georgievna, I ask you to confirm in front of everyone that you have been informed of the decision and will not interfere with the handover,” he said. “Let’s do this without unnecessary stubbornness.”
“I can confirm something else,” I replied, rising. “There is no order removing me from my position, there is no order transferring Svetlana Olegovna, and there is no vacancy in the department.”
“You’re clinging to your chair,” he said loudly. “That’s the problem.”
“I’m clinging to procedure,” I said. “As for the chair, today it turned out not to be where you think it is.”
The room became completely silent. Oleg Stanislavovich frowned.
“What are you trying to say?” he asked. “More hints?”
I took a copy of the official invitation from head office out of the envelope. I did not spread the papers out widely; I simply handed them to Vera Mikhailovna for verification.
“Head office is reviewing the branch’s first staffing decisions,” I said. “And it has already received information about an attempt to transfer a relative without grounds.”
“From whom did it receive that?” the director asked. “From you?”
“From documents and witnesses,” I replied. “I only described the facts.”
He took a sharp step toward me. At that moment, there was more confusion than authority in his face.
“Do you understand that this is denunciation?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “It’s an official memo.”
At that moment, Vera Mikhailovna’s phone rang. She looked at the screen and immediately stood up.
“It’s Tatiana Evgenievna from head office,” she said. “Should I put it on speaker?”
Oleg Stanislavovich went pale. He raised his hand as if he could stop the call with a single gesture.
“No need,” he said. “This is an internal meeting.”
“Put it on speaker,” I said. “Since this conversation is taking place in front of everyone.”
Vera Mikhailovna placed the phone on the table and turned on the speaker. No one in the room even coughed.
“Good afternoon, colleagues,” a calm female voice sounded. “This is Tatiana Evgenievna, deputy chairwoman for branch management.”
Oleg Stanislavovich straightened. He tried to smile, but the smile did not hold.
“Tatiana Evgenievna,” he said, “this is a working meeting. I am just explaining the staffing necessity.”
“That is exactly why I connected,” she replied. “Head office has received information about an attempt to appoint a close relative to a position without a vacancy or approval.”
Svetlana stood up, but immediately sat back down. Her face became motionless, and the white handbag slipped from her lap onto the chair.
“This is a preliminary discussion,” the director said. “There are no orders yet.”
“You have just announced the transfer of Svetlana Olegovna and the removal of Valentina Georgievna from department leadership,” Tatiana Evgenievna said. “Vera Mikhailovna, please confirm what you heard.”
The HR officer swallowed. Then she straightened and looked not at the director, but at the phone.
“I confirm,” she said. “There are no orders in HR.”
“Is Valentina Georgievna present?” Tatiana Evgenievna asked.
“I am present,” I replied. “The department employees are also in the room.”
“Taking into account the investigation and today’s circumstances, head office has decided to terminate Oleg Stanislavovich’s authority as branch director,” she said. “Valentina Georgievna is appointed acting director until a permanent decision is approved.”
The room stirred. Oleg Stanislavovich opened his mouth, but did not immediately find words.
“This is impossible,” he finally said. “You can’t decide that by phone.”
“The order has already been sent to HR,” Tatiana Evgenievna replied. “Vera Mikhailovna, check the incoming documents and print the order after the call ends.”
“Understood,” the HR officer said. “I’ll do it.”
“Oleg Stanislavovich,” Tatiana Evgenievna continued, “you will hand over the directives journal, the branch seal, and service access under inventory before the end of the working day.”
He sharply looked at me. His gaze made it seem as though the problem was not his arrogance, but my calmness.
“You set all this up,” he said. “You sat quietly and waited.”
“I wasn’t waiting for this,” I replied. “I was waiting for you to remember the rules.”
“Svetlana Olegovna is not an employee of the branch,” Tatiana Evgenievna said. “Do not grant her access to official materials.”
Svetlana stood up. This time she did not wait for her husband’s glance; she simply took her handbag and left the room.
“Colleagues,” Tatiana Evgenievna continued, “all verbal directives regarding Svetlana Olegovna’s transfer and Valentina Georgievna’s removal from the position are to be considered invalid.”
Oleg Stanislavovich sat down. All his morning confidence seemed to have remained on that thin, unnumbered sheet of paper.
“Valentina Georgievna, are you ready to accept the handover today?” Tatiana Evgenievna asked.
“I am ready,” I replied. “I only ask that the departments’ work schedule be preserved so we don’t disrupt current contracts.”
“Reasonable,” she said. “Vera Mikhailovna, formalize the handover, and the other departments are to continue working according to the approved plan.”
The call ended after a brief goodbye. For several more seconds, no one in the room moved, as if everyone was waiting to see whether the previous order would return.
Vera Mikhailovna was the first to rise. She took the registration journal and carefully closed it.
“Valentina Georgievna, let’s go to HR,” she said. “We need to draw up the act of handover.”
“Let’s go,” I replied. “Oleg Stanislavovich, you too.”
He lifted his head. The morning smirk was no longer on his face.
“Are you enjoying this?” he asked. “Does it feel pleasant?”
“No,” I said. “I’m working.”
“You could have warned me this morning,” he said. “You didn’t have to let it get this far.”
“And you could have not sent me into retirement in front of my employees this morning,” I replied. “And not brought your wife to my documents.”
He looked around the room. The people before whom he had recently presented my future as a settled matter were now looking at him, not at me.
“I wanted to renew the branch,” he said. “You turned everything upside down.”
“Renewal begins with rules,” I replied. “Not with a family wish list.”
In HR, Vera Mikhailovna laid out the act, the directives journal, and the list of service accesses on the table. Oleg Stanislavovich signed the sheets slowly, as though each signature removed a layer of his former importance.
“The seal is in my office,” he said. “I’ll bring it.”
“Now,” Vera Mikhailovna said. “The handover is taking place today.”
He left, and the HR officer quietly closed the door behind him. In the corridor, we could hear employees returning to their places.
“Valentina Georgievna, I didn’t know it was this serious,” she said. “If I had known, I would have raised the issue earlier.”
“You did the main thing,” I replied. “You did not confirm a verbal decision without an order.”
“He spoke confidently,” she said. “People often confuse confidence with authority.”
“Today, that confusion ended,” I replied.
Oleg returned with the seal, his service access card, and the directives journal. He placed everything on the table, but for a second kept his hand on the journal.
“The branch won’t survive this kind of change,” he said. “You can’t rearrange everything in one day.”
“The branch will survive,” I replied. “It has endured heavier workloads when people worked instead of arranging jobs for relatives.”
“You’re making me look guilty,” he said.
“No,” I said. “You yourself announced a decision you had no right to make.”
He removed his hand. Vera Mikhailovna entered the seal into the act, verified the access card, and gave us the final page to sign.
When we left HR, the working day was not yet over. In the contracts department, the employees were sitting at their computers more quietly than usual, but they were working.
Raisa saw me and immediately stood up. She was holding the certificates again, but her fingers were no longer trembling.
“Valentina Georgievna, the certificates are ready,” she said. “We need your comments on the suppliers.”
“Bring them to me,” I replied. “And gather the department heads in the meeting room after the urgent issues are closed.”
“A new meeting?” she asked.
“A working one,” I said. “Without theatre.”
The warehouse, accounting, HR, contracts department, and engineering service gathered in the meeting room. I did not begin with loud words, because there had already been too many of them that day.
“Colleagues, verbal staffing decisions without documents are not to be carried out,” I said. “All service transfers go through HR and require written grounds.”
Gleb from the warehouse nodded. He flipped through his notebook and immediately got down to business.
“And Oleg Stanislavovich’s directives on supplies?” he asked. “We had verbal instructions to revise the terms.”
“Only what is confirmed by a contract and plan,” I replied. “New instructions are suspended until reviewed.”
Anna from accounting adjusted her notebook. She no longer looked back at the door as she had in the morning.
“Will you approve today’s payments?” she asked. “Including the disputed ones?”
“Planned payments, yes. Disputed payments, after reconciliation,” I said. “No new transfers based on verbal requests.”
Raisa asked quietly:
“And Svetlana Olegovna?”
“She does not get access to the department’s documents,” I replied. “And employees do not discuss work materials with her.”
Vera Mikhailovna recorded this in the journal. I could see people gradually shifting from anxiety back to ordinary business focus.
“We need work, not rumors,” I said. “Today we close the day without unnecessary talk. Tomorrow we begin by checking the open directives.”
After the meeting, I returned to my office as head of the department. I did not touch the sign on the door, because yesterday it had simply been a sign, and today it had become a reminder: a position is held not by metal, but by people’s trust.
Raisa brought the certificates and stopped at the door. This time she did not whisper, but spoke in a normal working voice.
“Are you going home today?” she asked. “Or are you going to start sleeping at work now?”
“I’ll go home,” I replied. “But first I’ll sign what can’t be left until morning.”
“You’re the director now,” she said, smiling. “It feels unusual to say.”
“Today I’m still Valentina Georgievna from the contracts department,” I replied. “Tomorrow we’ll get used to it without fuss.”
That evening, Oleg Stanislavovich came into my office much less sharply than he had in the morning. He stopped at the threshold and knocked his knuckles against the doorframe.
“May I?” he asked. “I wrote an explanation.”
“Give it to Vera Mikhailovna,” I said. “She’ll add it to the file.”
“I wanted to say it personally,” he said, crumpling the edge of the sheet. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“You announced in front of the employees that you were sending me into retirement so you could seat your wife in the department,” I replied. “That wasn’t an accidental awkwardness.”
“Svetlana had been looking for a position for a long time,” he said. “I thought it wouldn’t harm anyone.”
“It would have harmed me, it would have harmed the department, and it has already harmed you,” I said. “Sometimes a personal request becomes an official violation.”
He lowered his eyes. In the morning, he had come to command my departure, and now he did not know how to properly leave my office.
“Can I collect my things tomorrow?” he asked. “Without any conversations.”
“After approval from HR,” I replied. “The handover is already being formalized under inventory.”
“Everything is under inventory now?” he asked.
“After today, yes,” I said. “That way there will be fewer reasons to confuse personal property with official property again.”
He nodded and left. I felt neither joy nor pity, only tired clarity: a man had come with borrowed certainty and left with his own signatures in the act.
The next day, I did not enter the director’s reception area right away. First, I walked through the contracts department and watched Raisa checking the register, the printer’s red light blinking again, and the employees arguing over a line in a certificate.
In the reception area, a metal stand with service pass cards stood on the desk. I removed Oleg Stanislavovich’s card from the top slot and placed it in the tray for closed accesses.
It was not a triumph, but a working full stop. Then I took a blank form for the first directive and wrote: “Staff transfers are to be formalized only through HR with written grounds.”
By lunchtime, the directive had been registered, and the access journal had been transferred to Vera Mikhailovna. The branch did not become my possession. It became a place where a position no longer covered up family benefit.
How much power does a person need before it becomes clear that he is confusing leadership with the right to dispose of someone else’s fate?
