The New Director: A novel about workplace gaslighting.

By Elle Philips

Gas*light / gaslit / “manipulate (someone) by psychological means into questioning their own sanity.”

Ashley Turner is an independent, successful editor and tech geek about to turn forty with a few gray hairs, a slowly-eroding filter, and the spirit of an adventurer with bad knees. Her lifestyle changes dramatically wh

• Language: English
• Publisher: Publimetry
• Release date: Jan 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781733058032

Elle Philips

Elle Phillips is a writer and graphic artist who has been in the publishing industry since 1991 when she wrote her first article for her high school paper. Since then, she's worked on over 50 nonfiction books. With degrees in psychology and journalism, Elle has spent over a decade studying human nature and putting pen to paper. She finally ventured into the fiction world in 2018. Elle works out of her home in Texas and enjoys traveling off the beaten path or spending time with her rescue dog and a formerly stray cat.

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Elle Phillips

The New Director

A novel about gaslighting in the workplace.

First published by Publimetry 2019

Copyright © 2019 by Elle Phillips

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

First edition

ISBN: 78-1-7330580-3-2

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Gaslighting: to cause a person to doubt his or her sanity using psychological manipulation.

Contents

Prologue

Start at the Beginning

A Throne Without Faith

The Fine Art of Bullshit

Through the Blinds

Burnout, Table for One

When In Sickness and in Health Isn’t in the Job Description

Truth Doesn’t Change the Way You Lie

Through the Looking Glass

Like Texas Cheerleader-Murdering Moms…Without the Murders

100 Times a Therapist was Needed

A Crack in the Glass

Meet Me on the Bridge in an Hour

Curiouser and Curiouser…

Hope Isn’t a Four-Letter Word

Epilogue

Afterword

About the Author

Prologue

November 2, 2017

It was a perfect day for a funeral.

The sky was cloudless, and the sun shone brightly following days of torrential rains. The crisp air held a faint scent of autumn. A gentle wind whistled through the sparse oak and pine trees growing around the small cemetery, scattering leaves throughout the isolated landscape. The brown and orange leaves crunching underfoot crooned a melody of comfort for those passing through the piney forest.

Solace could be found in the calm of isolation.

Timberline Memorial Cemetery sat on the outskirts of Benton, Texas, a small town located halfway between Dallas and the Arkansas state line. Established in the 1850s, the town had been an outpost for the Pony Express on its way to nearby cities. The downtown retained much of the original facades. The town’s original cemetery, Timberline, was replaced by a larger lot in the 1970s. Only the older families with plotted land still used the Timberline. The ravages of time had left their mark on the mostly neglected graves.

Today marked the first burial in months. Cars were parked either in the grassy median or balanced precariously near trenches beside the rusted metal fence.

Ashley Turner stood near the back of the small crowd as a silent observer. Her eyes sparked with defiance, but her expression was stoic as she watched the coffin being lowered into the burial vault. Two of her co-workers stood beside her during the service. She knew they were looking for the mourners that had not come. The ones who had set a strict edict for staff to stay away. She mulled over the past few years, months, cursing the negative energies that had put her friend in the ground.

The real question, Ashley thought cynically, is whether they didn’t come because they felt grief… or guilt. They had a well-established pattern. A death that had started with the spirit, then moved on to the mind and, finally, to the body.

A life full of laughter, love, sadness, and passion now lay silenced in a cold grave. A woman driven into bitter silence and seclusion within just a few short years.

Members and alumni had discreetly asked where she had gone or what had happened, but most seemed hesitant to know the details. To ask was to draw ire. It has been said that for evil men or women to accomplish their purpose, it is only necessary that good men should do nothing. People knew what the problem was, and yet they still had not stepped in to stop it.

May Roper’s story itself was not all hugs and happy endings. When she was nearing early retirement, her only son and daughter-in-law had perished in a car accident on I-35 near Waco. She was left to raise her two grandchildren into adulthood as a single woman on a trade-association receptionist salary. Her husband had left her without any income years earlier, and she had worked three jobs while trying to provide a sense of normality for her son, and eventually for the boy and girl who stood near their grandmother’s grave. Her sense of spirit and hopefulness had provided them with love, a home, and a future.

Over thirty years at the small association had earned May respect and adoration from its myriad of former members. When they attended the mandatory continuing education classes every three years, they would stop by the front office just to say hello. Sometimes they brought dark chocolate, knowing she had a weakness for the treat. She later worked her way up from receptionist to a bookkeeper and, thanks to night courses, a curriculum support specialist, helping to coordinate seminars and assist with the development of materials. Many co-workers had come and gone under her tenure; today, only three stood beside May’s family as they publicly mourned the passing of their friend.

Ashley joined forty-two-year-old Torrance Adams and fifty-one-year-old Rebecca Jones as they hugged May’s grandchildren, Jack and Brittney. Her loving, compassionate words masked the anger that was dangerously close to the surface. She had watched them grow from young teenagers into thriving college students. As the senior editor and technology manager, Ashley had let the two use her testing computers after school to complete their homework and check their social media accounts. She had also acted as a pseudo–guidance counselor who advised them in applying to their top colleges in their quest to be the first family members ever to attend.

May had opened her first Facebook account in Ashley’s classroom and migrated from CompuServe to Gmail just a few years earlier. Ashley had been in May’s office the night she received the call about her son and escorted her to the hospital. The older woman had been heartbroken but emerged victorious in a bitter custody battle that had ensued over the children. A core of inner strength had gotten her through cancer, her son’s death, a house fire, and her mother’s death within three years.

Today, May’s voice was forever silenced. Her friends reflected quietly on the events that had led her to this place.

Even as the group was heading towards their cars, Tor and Rebecca were still scanning the horizon as if to find people hiding in the woods. Ashley, however, just stepped into her Jeep and quickly drove south toward I-20. She already knew that May’s former directors would not attend.

Three people who had, yet again, constructed this most perfect day.

1

Start at the Beginning

(2010)

One can only return to the fact that even the most ordinary, good-hearted, intelligent people are literally prone to believing the most blatantly nonsensical untruths. And this comes from the realization that there are some opinions and some beliefs so incredibly inane, we may actually on occasion feel insane for not believing them; and that is probably because in giving the benefit of the doubt we self-doubt, we convince ourselves into lame passivity and blind acceptance, we tell ourselves, ‘Maybe I’m just missing something here.’―Criss Jami, Healology

Ashley Turner was not lost, even though the landscape had morphed into an icy hellscape. Overnight, snow and freezing rain had transformed the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex into a giant pond of icy slush and slick highways. Thundersleet was followed by four inches of snow—a great way to start off the new year. Yet here she was, carefully maneuvering the mostly empty streets on her way into Irving on such a rare occasion. It was 7:00 a.m., with a potent mix of sleet and snow blanketing the windshield, but a mandatory staff meeting prevented her from coming down with a massive case of snow flu.

NAAP’s new executive director was starting his first day at work. Hell, she mused, had indeed frozen over and the devil had brought down Boston’s winter weather with him. Maybe calling him the devil was a little dramatic, but she was not a morning person, and the office normally didn’t even open until 9:00 a.m. The staff meeting was scheduled for 7:30 a.m., and she was still half-asleep.

Her fingers whitened, tightening on the steering wheel. Whether it was from the joy of driving on solid ice or the idea of meeting yet another transitory director, she couldn’t quite decide. She just wanted to turn around, slowly, and go home to cuddle with her cat. Or sit in front of the fireplace. Probably both.

The senior editor and technology manager’s trusty old red Jeep may have hit a few patches of ice in its travels, but it still entered the parking lot ten minutes early. Ashley got out and hugged the fifteen-year-old car. She couldn’t see the office front door through the sleet and snow, and yet her car hadn’t even slipped on the forty-five-minute trek into the office. She gently walked toward the red brick building, the large blue logo in the tall glass windows barely visible.

National Association of Automotive Professionals (NAAP) was a non-profit membership and training association for everyone involved in the automotive trade. Although NAAP’s focus was on training and certification of master mechanics, they also had members that ranged from automotive and glass repairers to executive officers of national automotive manufacturers. The headquarters was in a modern glass building in the middle of an industrial area, surrounded by trees and a grassy area where staff used to take walks during lunch.

It was said that NAAP was like the post office—neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night would close its doors. It did close on the rare occasions when severe ice storms blanketed the area, but it always closed at the last minute. Today was no different.

Every ten years, the executive director was rotated out from a list of long-time members. Sixty-year-old Richard Cabot, the new executive director, was a seasoned manager within the automotive industry. Upon his retirement from a manufacturing plant in Ypsilanti, Michigan, he and his wife, Susanna, relocated to find a warmer climate and a new direction. As a former regional president and long-time supporter of the association, Richard, who sometimes went by Rich, was known only for his management history but not his mechanical skills. His wife was an Astor by birth and had funds that made Rich stand out among the mostly blue-collar people he worked with. Most tradespeople would come to work wearing blue long-sleeve shirts and khaki or denim pants; Rich wore Armani suits with Dolce & Gabbana neckties.

Determined to give the guy a second chance, despite her initial misgivings based on what she knew about him, Ashley stopped in front of the sloped sidewalk that led up to the glass front door. She stumbled and quickly put her hand down on to the hood of a large green SUV that belonged to the association’s director of operations, Patricia Washington. Patricia, whose friends called her Pat, had been at the association for over twenty years. A right southern girl at heart, the members noted that the Alabama-native ran the office with what might be called an iron fist in a velvet glove. She was articulate, charming, and blunt. She would call out anything she felt was disrespectful, disloyal, or unfashionable. God forbid one wear white shoes after Labor Day or red and green at the same time. Pat was exceptional in a crisis, however, and her sternness could at times mask a heart of gold and a wealth of insecurities. She handled office management, staff development, and human resources.

Ashley grinned brightly as the woman opened the front door wide. She was wearing a large white coat meant for the Arctic, three scarves, knee-high UGGs, and…two beanies? It was like seeing the love child of Anna Wintour and the Abominable Snowman. A very grumpy, but fashionable, snowman. Amazingly, all the different elements worked well together. Pat was one of the only people Ashley had ever met who could have pulled off the look.

Don’t break anything, Patricia groused, her gloved fingers trying to hold open the heavy glass door against the strong wind.

I’ve wanted to start practicing at the rink again, Ashley joked. As an amateur former figure skater, she often marveled at how little grace she had when trying to walk across iced concrete. It was a well-known joke that she fell at least once a season. Maybe a brief slip and slide down the sidewalk would let her get the day off.

The corners of Pat’s mouth quirked up into a faint smile. She knew Ashley well. Girl, workman’s comp starts inside this door, so hurry your butt up. She glanced down at Ashley’s feet. I like your new boots, much better than that raggedy old pair you used to wear. They were ugly as sin. Pat was a bit of a fashionista; she rented a two-bedroom house so that one of the rooms could function as a closet.

Ashley gave a lopsided grin and then shook the snow off her boots. Is the power on? I don’t hear an alarm. Her background in computer science enabled her to help Patricia with the computer network and building management. Whether it was rain, snow, wind, or random bird poop, the power at the association was capricious. It died at least once every winter. They would spend the time freezing in the server room. At least the computers liked the cold; it was better than when the power went out in the summer.

It died, Patricia growled. When I came in, it was fifty-two degrees in my office. I am about to throw a hissy fit. TXU said that it should be fixed in a few hours, so we’ve been told to wait.

Ashley grimaced—another year, another cold start. We have to sit in a freezing building surrounded by glass for a staff meeting that may last an hour and then sit around to see if the power comes on? Last time, it took all day.

Hi, y’all! interrupted May Roper. The gray-haired woman smiled as she walked over to the duo. It’s not much warmer in here than it is out there. She paused and looked at Ashley’s pale face. Are you feeling better? I’m not sure you should be out in this weather.

I’m fine, May. It’s been almost a year since I finished the interferons. A couple of dark spots on Ashley’s back had been diagnosed as stage II melanoma the previous year. The rounds of chemotherapy had left her with persistent flu-like symptoms that had caused her to lose both some weight and some hair. She was fine with the weight loss, but the hair had bothered her. Both were starting to grow in a little thicker, her hair and her butt. She was otherwise happy and healthy, just more broke than two years prior. I’m just cold, but it’s freezing outside, so that’s expected.

The older woman brushed the hair out of her eyes and took off her hat. Since Ashley’s parents lived out of state, May had taken on a protective role during her illness and had kept everyone aware of how her treatment progressed. She looked after many of the younger staff members, and they reciprocated. After losing her own son and daughter-in-law years earlier, May was worried about losing another one of her kids.

The corners of May’s eyes crinkled, and she looked over at Patricia as she finished taking off her own winter gear. Let me guess. We have a staff meeting followed by a full day of working by candlelight. Or flashlights, again.

Yes. Welcome to NAAP, Patricia noted caustically. However, I did bring hot chocolate in some thermoses and warm, fresh doughnuts. Well, lukewarm donuts at this point. I put them under a blanket.

Ashley had to laugh. Only Patricia. So, hot chocolate and hairy doughnuts. Wow, you sure know how to start off the new year.

* * *

The small office staff sat shivering in the main conference room, waiting for the meeting to start. The association had a policy that if the Irving School District closed for inclement weather, NAAP was closed as well. At least that was what was documented in the employee handbook; the staff was often highly encouraged to come in anyway. When annual continuing education classes were held, attendance was mandatory, even if students were smart enough to stay home.

The door to the conference room opened slowly as a new face appeared. The man wore designer clothes and spectacles; having spent a summer working at Saks, Ashley recognized the pattern on his Salvatore Ferragamo tie. His curling graying hair was styled perfectly, and his shoes shined. He was smiling at the group as he closed the door shut behind him.

Richard Cabot slapped his hands together with what felt like misplaced enthusiasm. Ashley idly wondered if he was trying to warm up his hands.

Welcome! I am so glad that everyone made it out today. I wanted to take a moment to introduce myself and go over a few things. Is that alright with everyone?

Surprised by his enthusiastic demeanor, especially in a room that was sixty-two degrees, everyone nodded their heads in acquiescence.

Bradley Rotter, always one for setting himself apart, slammed his own hands together and put on a comically exaggerated grin. Yes! Surprise us! With Brad, one was never sure if he was sincere or extremely sarcastic. At forty-seven, the curriculum and training coordinator was part office clown and part guard dog.

Richard’s lips pursed as he stared at Brad. He quickly turned back to the rest of the staff, dismissing the man.

Brad took some getting used to.

As I was saying, I am Richard Cabot, and as you can tell by my accent, I am not a native Texan. The team members laughed in commiseration; his Boston accent was quite noticeable, but most had a Texas twang all their own. My wife Susanna and I are happy to leave the cold of Boston and Michigan and are quite excited to be in the land of warmer weather. I want you all to understand that I have an open-door policy. We are a team, and I want everyone to always be open and communicate with each other and myself. If you ever have a problem, please stop by my office. If you are having problems with your supervisor, please come on in.

Ashley noticed with a dry humor that during his speech, he kept addressing his speech directly to Tabitha Rivas. At twenty-four, the young membership specialist was stunning. Her dark hair, hazel eyes, and enthusiastic demeanor turned heads whenever she was at a trade show. Mr. Cabot could not take his eyes off her. Tabitha would smile kindly at him, while a flush crept up her face and a muscle in her jaw twitched. Ashley knew that she hated being the center of attention. Most of the staff was already giving her looks that meant she was probably the next topic of gossip at the water cooler.

Richard continued, oblivious to the undercurrents. Let’s go around and introduce ourselves and briefly discuss what you do. Tell me a little about yourself and how long you’ve been working at NAAP. It’s always important to include everyone in the conversation.

Because he still stared directly at Tabitha, she took this as a cue to speak first.

Hi. I’m Tabitha Rivas, the newest member of the staff. Her cheeks were pink, but she forced a smile as she looked up at the new director. I have worked in office administration for six years, worked my way through a bachelor’s degree in business at the University of North Texas. My brother Felix recently relocated and now works for the Irving police force. So, it’s great to be surrounded by family. I am also planning on starting a family soon with my awesome husband, Edward.

Ashley and a few of the other women, including Patricia and May, had to look away to hide their expressions. Tabitha had put a strong emphasis on awesome and husband. Edward really was a great guy; he was also being used as a prop. Why she also chose to mention Felix Hernandez was anyone’s guess.

Richard’s smile had slipped momentarily, but he then forced the corners of his mouth into a lopsided grin. One at a time, the staff introduced themselves, gave some details about their job duties, and what they hoped to accomplish with the new change of administration. The meeting was quickly dismissed, and people were instructed to go back to work.

Despite orders, the ordinarily relaxed staff were speaking in hushed tones and not moving from their seats. It was as if everyone could feel a slight change. Ashley herself felt a chill not caused by the dropping temperatures.

The winds of change were bitterly cold…and potentially fatal.

* * *

So, how do you think it went? Ashley smiled as Tabitha appeared in her small office. Tabitha looked exhausted and extremely uneasy as she gently shut the glass door.

You know I always try to meet new people with love, Tabitha answered honestly. Tabby truly was one of those souls who always tried to find the best in everyone. She would consult everything from tea leaves to tarot cards to understand everyone she met. But something seems…off about him.

I’m sure he’s just exhausted from his trip?

Tabitha nibbled on her bottom lip. No, I could feel this energy before he even spoke. It was odd. I also felt this cold draft when he looked at Brad.

Are you sure that wasn’t from the windows? The wind was fierce that morning.

Tabitha snorted while inching closer to the desk. Her voice dropped to a whisper. I know I sound paranoid, but it just felt weird. There are people with bad auras, and he’s got one. He also ignored everyone but Brad and me.

Brad’s hard to ignore, Ashley joked, trying to lighten the mood. She tried her hardest to be diplomatic, despite her own misgivings. Ashley was known as the peacemaker, and sometimes pushover, in the office, as she usually caved rather than try to confront people. Besides, Brad could be annoying, and most people stared at Tabitha. I think it’s just stressful, his first day and all. You are probably the friendliest of the group and the one most likely to welcome someone to the team. He probably sensed that. Maybe we should give him a second chance; I know I’ve had my own preconceived notions about him.

Before Tabitha could answer, the door swung open and Richard Cabot appeared.

I am letting the staff leave early due to inclement weather. He scrunched up his face. I had no idea it was so bad outside. He started to turn but then pivoted beside the door. His tone was affable but firm.

By the way, I don’t like for staff to close their doors. I have an open-door policy; that includes all doors. Let’s just leave this door open from now on unless you have a conference call. Be sure to send me advanced notice of any such meetings. He gave a half-smile. I am not reprimanding either of you. I just wanted to let you both know.

He left quickly after having patted Tabitha on the arm. She looked incredulous.

So… she began, gesturing at their boss who was stopping to talk to other nearby co-workers.

Next time, text me, and we’ll meet in the bathroom, Ashley deadpanned, although her mouth was twitching into a smile. There were a few busybodies in the office, and some people had resorted to talking in bathroom stalls just to have some privacy, Ashley and Tabitha included.

Tabitha finally laughed as the two of them prepared to go back outside and brave the snowstorm. Both tried to put the short meeting with Mr. Cabot out of their minds as they navigated the icy streets.

Winter Storm Richard had arrived.

* * *

First, the glass doors that separated the small staff’s offices were removed, and then the walls themselves. Mid-level dividers now were the only separation between the departments. The open-office plan’s goal was to facilitate communication among the staff. In the same staff memo that was circulated a mere month after the initial meeting, the staff was also asked to keep the noise levels down low and not discuss issues unless it was necessary.

The quiet became alarming. As the training rooms emptied and directors isolated themselves in meeting rooms, a staff member might be startled out of the task at hand because silence had become routine. The only places with doors left in the