Promotion in this company was typically every two years, but exceptional performance could shorten it to one and a half. I knew a colleague who had mastered the art of charming his way up in record time. Hugging a female manager with a perfectly timed compliment, flashing his handsome smile, and ignoring complaints from other female colleagues about his advances, he somehow remained untouchable. Star status achieved, morality optional. I couldn’t help but shake my head at him sometimes, a mixture of amusement and disgust.

  In my previous life, Kent had offered me the senior-in-charge position during one of his projects. I hesitated. Unsure if I was capable of overseeing juniors, managing multiple client demands, and carrying the burden of all hard work myself, I had declined. Kent sensed my hesitation immediately. He placed another senior in the role while I acted as an experienced junior. As a result, I lacked the justification for promotion points later on. The lesson was clear: hesitation was costly.

  This time, I would take the challenge without reservation. Kent was open to it again, and I would prove my worth decisively.

  Even with regression knowledge, working in Kent’s project was grueling. Midnight hours, often stretching to 2 AM, were routine. McDonald’s deliveries to the office were no longer indulgent—they were survival rations. The email alert that circulated one evening was chilling: one of the four biggest companies reported an employee died from overwork. He had nodded off on his drive home, crashed into a tree, and didn’t survive. The official email politely reminded everyone to take care of themselves and not overextend. We all knew it was for optics. The project could not progress without sacrifices.

  The silver lining, if one could call it that, was our client base. Most were elderly ladies, patiently waiting for pensions, with enough free time to be unusually cooperative. Friendly, warm, chatty—they were perfect for subtle intelligence-gathering. Every time I approached for documents or clarifications, casual conversation flowed naturally. I could ask a question, and while the answer came, I would pick up tidbits about their lives, habits, or even subtle knowledge of their financial advisors or family members.

  One afternoon, I approached Mrs. Lindell, a cheerful woman with silver hair and a glasses chain that swung whenever she laughed.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Lindell,” I said, flashing my practiced professional smile. “I just need a few clarifications on your account entries for March.”

  “Oh, young man, it’s always you!” she exclaimed, her eyes twinkling. “I almost didn’t recognize you today without the midnight coffee stain on your shirt. Don’t tell me you’re still working late?”

  I laughed lightly. “Some habits die hard. But I promise I’m making progress. I’ve learned to survive with a diet heavy on coffee and a little bit of McDonald’s.”

  Her laughter carried across the room. “McDonald’s? My granddaughter would scold you, but I suppose it’s better than fainting over a ledger. You work too hard, dear.”

  “Perhaps,” I said, tilting my head, “but work is part of the challenge. And I like challenges. It’s how one climbs the ladder, isn’t it?”

  “Climb, climb, always climbing,” she teased. “You young ones, always thinking about tomorrow.”

  I smiled subtly. “Indeed, Mrs. Lindell. Tomorrow is important, but today matters too. And sometimes, the people we meet today can help shape tomorrow.”

  Her interest piqued. “Oh? And who might these people be, hmm?”

  I leaned slightly, as if sharing a secret. “Let’s just say I have a few contacts who can make difficult things easier if one is willing to be cooperative.”

  She blinked, surprised, but intrigued. “Well, I like cooperative people. It makes my day easier. Hard work can be lonely at my age, you know. Most young men rush past me like I’m invisible.”

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  “You’re not invisible,” I said sincerely. “Your knowledge, experience, and patience are invaluable. Some of us notice it more than you think.”

  The conversation didn’t end there. Over the next few days, I casually asked about her family. Who handled her finances? Did she have any long-term contacts in investment firms or real estate agents? Little by little, information came out naturally, embedded in ordinary chit-chat.

  “Ah, my nephew,” she said one day, “he dabbles in real estate. Not much, just the occasional property. But he listens to me when I give advice, you know. Unlike my other relatives.”

  “That’s interesting,” I said, mentally noting the names. “If you ever need a second opinion or someone to help smooth out the paperwork, I’d be happy to assist.”

  “Oh, aren’t you kind,” she replied with a chuckle. “I’ll remember that.”

  Even better, these interactions carried no suspicion. I wasn’t a clerk seeking favors. I was a friendly, respectful professional, always performing my work efficiently. The clients liked me, and in return, I gathered information that could, down the line, be useful.

  Election season added another layer of conversation. Policies, local governance, pensions, taxation—these topics came up naturally in casual dialogue.

  “Did you see the news?” Mrs. Fenton asked, arranging her paperwork. “The candidates for the pension committee are debating tonight. I just hope someone sensible wins.”

  I nodded thoughtfully. “It matters, absolutely. Policies affect us all, even if we don’t feel the impact immediately. A good candidate can save you a lot of trouble down the road.”

  “Exactly! But young people don’t seem to care,” she said, wagging her finger playfully.

  “Some do,” I replied lightly. “Some of us are paying attention, learning from the experience of those who have been through it already.”

  They enjoyed sharing, and I enjoyed listening. More importantly, I used these moments to map networks, understand their habits, and predict reactions. Every project I worked on, every question I asked, was layered with dual purposes: getting the immediate work done and preparing for long-term strategic leverage.

  “By the way,” Mrs. Lindell said one afternoon, handing me a small envelope, “my neighbor mentioned you are very good with numbers. Perhaps you could look at her property documents sometime? She’s a sweet woman but a bit forgetful.”

  I smiled and accepted politely. “I would be happy to. Thank you for trusting me.”

  The real advantage wasn’t just the immediate work—it was visibility. These elderly clients knew their way around offices and had networks beyond my project team. References, recommendations, even subtle influence in related departments could come from them if handled delicately. I noted it mentally, storing connections like silent investments, all accruing value over time.

  Even mundane tasks became strategic. I would ask questions in a way that highlighted competence while simultaneously earning goodwill. A simple “Could you clarify your last transaction?” became an opportunity to learn patterns, observe preferences, and predict behavior. Humor softened the process.

  “You know,” I said one day to Mrs. Fenton, “if I ever become famous for my accounting skills, I will credit your patience and charm for shaping me.”

  She laughed, a hearty, warm laugh. “Famous? You’re too modest. But if you say so, I’ll take a small part of the credit.”

  “It’s more than small,” I said seriously, “without guidance like yours, I’d probably be making mistakes and losing sleep instead of learning how to solve them elegantly.”

  These small interactions served two purposes: maintaining positive relationships while subtly expanding influence and knowledge. Even the election chatter, seemingly trivial, became data points I could later analyze. Which client favored which policies? Which neighbor or family member had sway over local decisions? The information quietly stacked up, like coins in a hidden vault.

  Every day, after midnight McDonald’s orders arrived and the fluorescent lights reflected off spreadsheets, I would smile to myself. This was not just work. This was groundwork. The clients were allies waiting to be mobilized in the future. Their warmth, their stories, their trust—it all became leverage in a life where timing and foresight mattered far more than raw effort.

  And so, under Kent’s guidance, amidst deadlines, deliveries, and occasional news of overworked colleagues collapsing on the road, I navigated the project. Work was hard, sometimes absurdly so, but I was learning to bend influence, accumulate goodwill, and quietly map power. Every interaction was both immediate and strategic, humorous yet deliberate.

  By the time the rotation ended, I had more than completed my duties. I had a network, subtle influence, and a deeper understanding of how seemingly powerless individuals could quietly tip scales in the right hands. Four months had passed like a blur, but when I left the project, I was no longer just an employee. I was a strategist, a collector of information, and a builder of quiet leverage.

  And all this before even considering the opportunity that would arrive in 2020.