Chapter 4 - The Interview Dress Code
The lobby of Aura Media was a masterclass in modern corporate luxury. Polished concrete floors, minimalist Scandinavian furniture, and walls adorned with vibrant contemporary art set an atmosphere of effortless sophistication.
Ethan sat nervously on a white leather sofa, wearing what he considered his absolute best weapon: a glossy, electric-blue tailored suit, a shiny silk tie with a flashy gold knot, and patent leather dress shoes that squeaked every time he shifted his feet. He had spent his last remaining hundred dollars on dry cleaning and a fresh haircut, convinced that this interview was his grand comeback ticket.
After all, the viral video had died down a bit on TikTok, and Ethan had convinced himself that everyone loves a good "redemption arc." If he could just charm the interviewers with fake confidence and big corporate buzzwords, he’d land a high-paying marketing job and be able to buy his own luxury car within a year.
A sharp-looking young woman with neat blonde hair and a professional clipboard stepped out from the secure double doors.
"Ethan Miller?" she called out clearly.
Ethan sprang to his feet, smoothing down his electric-blue jacket with a practiced, flashing-white-teeth smile. "That's me! Ready when you are."
The woman—whose name tag read Sarah, HR Director—looked him up and down. Her eyes lingered for a fraction of a second on his overly flashy gold tie knot and squeaky shoes, a subtle flicker of professional judgment crossing her face.
"Right this way," Sarah said politely, leading him down a long, glass-walled corridor.
They stopped in front of Conference Room B. Instead of a standard panel of middle managers, Sarah opened the door and motioned for him to step inside.
"The senior partners are conducting today's final round," Sarah instructed. "Please take a seat at the far end of the table."
Ethan stepped into the room, chest puffed out, channeling his inner billionaire heir. But as his eyes adjusted to the bright lighting, his confident smile froze instantly on his face.
Sitting at the head of the long conference table, casually reviewing a printed copy of Ethan’s heavily inflated resume, was Antoine.
Antoine wasn't wearing a flashy suit. He wore a simple, premium dark grey crewneck sweater, looking every bit as understated as he had in the parking lot. Beside him sat two senior executives who looked like they swallowed glass for breakfast.
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Ethan’s legs felt like wet cement. His mouth went completely dry.
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