In the corporate world, you expect a certain level of professionalism.
But with Todd?
It was hard to ignore the double standards.
He rarely missed an opportunity to make me feel like I was out of place—as if a young Latina woman had somehow ended up in a seat meant for someone else.
It wasn’t just that he constantly ignored my communications and overlooked my work.
It was the way he looked at me, the barely veiled skepticism in his voice whenever I shared my ideas.
I knew his type: he loved to nitpick, sideline, and control.
But no amount of condescension would stop me from proving that I belonged here, whether he liked it or not.
And little did Todd know, he was about to hand me the perfect opportunity to show him just how wrong he was.
The Boss’s Target
Todd may have held the title, but as far as I could tell, he hadn’t actually done any of the heavy lifting on a project in months.
I was the one coming in early and staying late, pouring over data, running analysis, and creating reports that went straight to the top.
But when Todd reviewed my work, he acted like I was lucky just to be in the room.
Then, he’d take what I’d sweated over for days and act like he’d developed it and was ‘using’ it.
One morning, I handed him a detailed report I’d spent all night finishing.
I’d created a strategy outline and highlighted some insights that could really help our client stand out.
Todd barely glanced at it, his expression unreadable as he thumbed through the pages.
“You sure this is ready?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as if he’d caught me making a rookie mistake. “Maybe double-check it for any…gaps.”
His tone was dismissive, like he assumed I’d missed something because of my “lack of experience”—or something else he couldn’t quite say out loud.
It wasn’t subtle. I’d seen Todd praise ideas that were half as developed when they came from certain colleagues.
But whenever I suggested something, he acted as if it needed his “corrections” just to be viable.
I’d learned to ignore the slight in his voice, but it wore on me more than I cared to admit.
Things escalated when he started assigning me tasks that didn’t fit my role.
One afternoon, just before I was about to present a proposal I’d worked hard on, he stopped by my desk with a stack of files.
“Elena, I need you to organize these client files. Just alphabetize and enter them into the system,” he said, barely looking at me. “It’s a good exercise—maybe give you some experience with a different side of the work.”
I stared at him, wondering if he was serious. I’d been hired as a marketing analyst, not an assistant.
But Todd never assigned tasks like this to my peers, particularly the ones who looked like him and fit the corporate mold.
I knew this wasn’t about giving me “experience.” It was about putting me in my place.
I bit my tongue, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing my frustration. “Sure, Todd,” I said, keeping my tone neutral.
I might have been burning inside, but I wouldn’t let him think he could shake me.
Sure, all the work I was doing was somehow being used to make him look good, but whatever.
Earning Respect
A few weeks later, our team was gearing up for a major client pitch—a high-profile account that could bring in significant revenue.
This was exactly the kind of project I’d been hoping to tackle.
But I knew better than to expect Todd would openly recognize my contributions.
Despite his treatment, I threw myself into the work, analyzing every data point, drafting a comprehensive strategy, and preparing a report with actionable insights.
It was intense, but I wanted to make sure every detail was spot-on.
If the clients saw my work, they’d see that I knew my stuff, no matter what Todd thought.
The day before the pitch, I handed Todd the finalized report, hoping he’d take a minute to acknowledge my efforts.
Instead, he barely looked at it before tucking it under his arm. “Perfect, thanks. I’ll handle it from here,” he said, his words clipped as usual.
I’d almost resigned myself to the fact that he’d take credit for my work again.
But then, something unexpected happened.
Just as Todd was preparing for the presentation, he got an urgent call from the division head, Mr. Morrison. Todd’s face went pale as he listened, nodding tensely.
“Elena,” he said, looking frazzled, “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Just…stall for me until I get here. Don’t go into any details.”
With that, he hurried off, leaving me alone in the conference room.
It didn’t take long for the clients to arrive, and they were clearly eager to start.
I knew Todd’s plan was for me to keep them occupied with small talk, maybe go over the agenda until he came back.
But as I looked at the clients, I could tell they were here to discuss the specifics, and my heart began to race.
This was my chance.
I took a deep breath, introduced myself, and started presenting my insights. I explained the data, laid out the strategy, and tailored each point to the client’s goals.
They were attentive, nodding along, asking questions.
One of the executives leaned forward, clearly interested, and asked, “How long have you been leading projects like this?”
I could have deflected, but instead, I answered honestly.
“I’ve been developing this report for weeks. My role has been to build out the analysis and strategy behind our approach here.”
Halfway through the presentation, Todd reentered the room, his face frozen when he saw me confidently presenting my work.
He quickly tried to interject, trying to steer the conversation back to himself, but the clients hardly noticed him.
Their attention was fully on me.
By the end, they thanked me directly, expressing their appreciation for my insights.
The Tipping Point
After the meeting, I felt something shift.
The clients had made it clear they valued my expertise, and there was no taking that back.
I tried to play it cool, heading back to my desk, but Todd was seething.
He approached me with a forced smile that barely masked his anger.
“Elena,” he said, his voice low and dripping with irritation, “next time, let me take the lead.”
“I was given this position, and your job is to provide me with the tools I need.”
I could feel the resentment rising, but I kept my tone even. “The clients seemed to appreciate the insights, Todd. I was just answering their questions.”
He glared, then stalked back to his office without another word.
The next day, I heard from a colleague that the clients had sent a formal message to Mr. Morrison, praising my work in the pitch.
They noted my preparedness and deep understanding of their needs, and in not-so-subtle terms, hinted at Todd’s lack of involvement.
My colleague winked as he relayed the news, clearly thrilled that the clients had set the record straight.
The Best Revenge
A week later, Mr. Morrison sent an email to the entire division: “Please join me in welcoming Elena Hernandez as the new interim team lead for our high-priority projects.”
I stared at the screen, hardly believing it. I’d gone from an overlooked analyst to team lead—and Todd had nothing to do with it.
That morning, Todd approached my desk, his face flushed with an expression I’d never seen before: defeat.
“Congratulations,” he said, barely concealing his irritation. I thanked him calmly, knowing how much it cost him to say it.
Later, I found out from a few colleagues that Todd had been quietly reassigned to a lower-stakes department.
Mr. Morrison, fed up with Todd’s biases and failures, had decided it was time for him to step back.
The clients’ feedback had made that decision easy.
In the weeks that followed, I stepped into my new role with confidence.
The team felt lighter, and colleagues seemed happy to have someone who valued their ideas and hard work.
Without Todd’s interference, I was free to do the job I’d been doing all along—but this time, with the respect and recognition I’d earned.
And, I learned that the best revenge is to wait for the universe to sift things out.