CRACKS AND CODE

FRAGILE BOUNDARIES

The boardroom at Makori Logistics gleamed with glass and polished mahogany, every detail designed to intimidate. Around the long table sat the directors; grey suits, watchful eyes, the weight of judgment thick in the air.

At the far end, Kaitu sat. Her back was straight, her chin tilted high, the cascade of neat, natural dreadlocks falling over her shoulders like an unspoken defiance.

Curtis was already there, seated along the wall, arms folded across his chest, his expression unreadable but his gaze sharp. Beside him, Maxwell sat at the head of the table, posture commanding. He had not spoken yet, but his presence filled the room, his eyes hooded as they lingered on the woman sitting before the board.

Ingrid, the HR manager, cleared her throat, her voice dripping with rehearsed professionalism. "The matter before us is simple. Company policy is clear: employees are expected to maintain professional appearance. Ms. Makinia's hairstyle..." she gestured lightly, but pointedly, at Kaitu's hair,"is in direct violation of those standards."

A murmur went around the table.

One director leaned forward. "She's not even a permanent employee, is she? Merely subcontracted?"

"Correct," Ingrid replied smoothly. "Which makes it even more critical that she sets an example. Allowing such... exceptions undermines discipline and professionalism in the company."

Kaitu's jaw tightened. She wanted to snap back, but her instincts told her to measure her words.

Before she could speak, another board member, an older man with sharp spectacles, asked, "Ms. Makinia, do you have anything to say in your defense?"

For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Kaitu inhaled slowly, then met his eyes squarely.
"My hair does not affect my ability to do my job," she said evenly. "It is neat, clean, and maintained with precision. If the concern here is professionalism, then my record should speak louder than my appearance."

Curtis's lips twitched, just enough to hint at approval.

But Ingrid wasn't finished. She leaned forward, her voice gaining an edge. "With all due respect, this isn't about personal pride. It's about respecting company rules. If Ms. Makinia cannot abide by them, perhaps she is not the right fit for Makori Logistics."

The words landed like stones.
Kaitu sat still. Inside, her pulse thundered. Rita's lies and her own suspicions of Isabella had already strained Maxwell's trust in her. And now Ingrid had shoved her into the spotlight, daring her to crumble.

Maxwell shifted finally, breaking his silence. His fingers tapped lightly against the table, and when he spoke, his voice was cool steel.
"You are asking me to believe that that hair..." his gaze flicked to Kaitu's dreadlocks, lingering longer than necessary, "has more bearing on this company's integrity than her work. That's an interesting argument."

A ripple of unease passed through the room.

Wait... did he just defend me? Kaitu's thoughts scrambled in disbelief. Is he... actually standing up for me? After everything with Isabella, after Rita's lies, after Ingrid pushing this... Her chest tightened, part shock, part something warmer she couldn't name.

For the first time that day, a flicker of hope sparked, even as tension coiled tightly around her. Maybe... maybe this isn't as impossible as it seemed.

Ingrid's composure faltered for a fraction of a second before she straightened. "Mr. Makori, with respect, it's not personal. It's about consistency. Rules apply equally to all."

Kaitu's fingers curled tightly against her side, but she forced her voice to remain calm.
"I deliver results. If my work fails, hold me accountable. But if the only fault you can find with me is the way my hair grows from my scalp, then perhaps the policy, not I, is what needs reevaluating."