I trained him eight months ago, and then his unlocked screen showed me the number: he makes $31,000 more than I do.

PART 4

The cold sweat on my palms started in the elevator. I pressed them flat against my thighs, then against the sides of my notebook, trying to dry them before I reached Diane’s office. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking so I kept them flat on the table when I sat down, fingers spread, like I was holding the surface in place.

Diane smiled. Professional. Warm enough. “Maya. Good to see you. What’s on your mind?”

I’d practiced this. I had notes. I had data. I’d rehearsed three different versions in my apartment Sunday night, each one calmer and more reasonable than the last.

What came out was: “I want to talk about my salary.”

“Okay,” Diane said. She didn’t look surprised. She looked like someone who’d been expecting this call for a while and was prepared. “What specifically?”

“I’ve been here six years. I’ve taken on the Hastings account, the Perlman renewal, the entire client onboarding process. I trained Greg when he started last fall. My performance reviews have been excellent.”

“They have,” Diane agreed.

“I make sixty-five thousand dollars.”

Diane’s face didn’t change. “That’s within the band for your role.”

“What’s Greg’s band?”

The question landed. Diane blinked. Adjusted. “I can’t discuss another employee’s compensation.”

“You don’t have to,” I said. My voice was steady now. Steadier than my hands. “I’m asking about mine. I’m asking what my work is worth. I’m asking if the person who trained Greg, who has been here six years, who holds the client relationships Greg is still learning—I’m asking if that person is worth the same salary as Greg. Or more.

Or if she’s worth thirty-one thousand dollars less.”

Diane’s mouth tightened. “Maya, salary is determined by a lot of factors. Market rate, experience, role scope—”

“I have more experience.”

“—and budget constraints. You know I don’t control the budget. I fight for my team within the constraints I’m given.”

“Do you?”

Diane stopped. “Excuse me?”

“Do you fight for your team. Because I’ve been on your team for six years and no one has ever told me I’m underpaid. No one has ever said ‘Maya, you should ask for more’ or ‘Maya, I went to bat for you but HR said no.’ I just kept working. I kept assuming someone was paying attention.

And now I know that someone was paying attention. You were. You knew what Greg was offered and you knew what I make and you approved both and you never said a word.”

Diane’s jaw worked. She looked down at her desk. A sheaf of paper, a coffee mug, a framed photo of her daughter. She looked at the photo a half-second too long. Then back at me.

“Salary bands are set by HR and market data. I don’t control the budget. I just work within it. If I push too hard, I lose credibility for the asks that really matter.”

“Which asks matter?”

She didn’t answer.

“I trained him,” I said.

Three words. Diane heard them. I watched her hear them. She looked away, out the window, at the office park below, anywhere but at me.

“Let me talk to HR,” she said finally. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“When?”

“I’ll have an answer by end of week.”

I stood. My hands had stopped shaking. “Okay.”

I walked out. Down the hall. Past Greg’s desk—he looked up, smiled, I didn’t stop. Into the bathroom. I locked the stall door and stood there, heart pounding, breathing like I’d sprinted.

I trained him.

That was all it took. Three words. And Diane looked away.