vegas del marco // capitol {fin}

One thing I've noticed about powerful people is how shallow they are. They see a woman of beauty and grace and they believe she is weak, because they equate beauty with vanity and obsequious. Their vision of you is entirely made up of implants and lip fillers. They believe that a woman who cares about her appearance must be shallow enough to be completely absorbed in a world of her own, unable to see the universe as it is and thus be blinded by the metrosexuality of the society we live in.

This is a pattern I've noticed all throughout my life. My peers doubted me in high school until I graduated at the top of my class as valedictorian and got into my top choice of university. It happened when my professor looked at me dead in the eye on the first day of Introductory Management and told the class that over half of this class would drop out before first year was over. It happened again when I was told that I must've "really made an impression" with a wink in my entrance interview to my MBA program. And it still happens whenever I sit in a meeting, and the eyes of my colleagues wander to my breasts as I discuss the ins-and-outs of the company.

My father taught me everything I know. From how to grasp someone's hand firmly enough to show professionalism before an interview, to how to schmooze without seeming like a brown-noser. He was self-made, a true businessman at heart. He was the one who taught me that I could never avoid the mysoginistic gaze, but I could embrace it to my fullest. He taught me to turn my disadvantages into strength, and thus I began to use my beauty to my advantage. Business was all we had in common, and he was determined to make sure I followed in his footsteps.

My father died when I was nineteen, halfway through my second year of my undergrad. To this day, my office isn't complete without a framed picture of my father and I at my secondary graduation. He stands tall, unafraid, staring directly at the camera without a smile to be seen next to me. It's the last real memory I have with him. My father refused to let his success help me - he was a man who believed you were not successful unless you were self made. Thus straight out of grad school, Ana de Leon became Vegas Del Marco.

My plight is that I'm never truly satisfied. My first real job began as a Human Resources Manager at Barbossa Industries, a company which oversaw the distribution centres in District Seven of pulp and paper products. This didn't satisfy my hunger - I needed more, more power, more structure. I quickly moved up the career ladder using my natural charisma. Some may say that I used much more than my charisma to get to the top. I like to call it a lucky coincidence.

One thing others who were previously in my seat as VP of Barbossa Industries failed to see were the root of our problems. They felt the solutions to our efficiency problems were to replace District workers with automation manufactured by engineers in District Three. Except this idea was quickly rolled out when the VP was accused of embezzelling funds out of the automation project for his new sidegig at a tech starterup - who's success coincidentally began to skyrocket when the accounting team discovered a missing lumpsome of cash from the accounts payable of the automation project.

So there sat me, the newly appointed VP of Barbossa Industries. How were we to fix our financial situation after being in a pile of debt from the failed project? That's where I did my research. Countless trips back and forth to the distribution centres lead to my conclusion that our problem didn't lie with the efficiency of the workers; who often spent long days and nights fighting to make enough money to provide for their family, it lay with the high turnover rate of the employees after extreme rates of workplace injury. So how was I to go about fixing this?

Many said the plan was doomed to fail, that it wouldn't make much of a difference. Some even claimed that the plan was driven in my emotional attachment to the District, and that the employees would begin to expect too much from the Capitol if I were to implement it. Others said it was too costly and wasn't worth the risk. But in the end, Barbossa Industries' merger with Marketdale Insurers proved to be the solution to our problem. Providing health care to those at our distribution centres allowed for workers to return to work after injuries because they were able to afford treatment for their injuries. This solved the rate of turnover, and the distribution centre employees could concentrate on their tasks rather than training new employees. Efficiency rose to levels never before seen, and I was left to bask in the success of my newfound plan.

Despite this, I never felt satisfied. The inner voice of my father told me that I wasn't finished yet, that there was so much more that I could do. So when the tabloids burst at the seams with news of District Seven's High Liaison stepping down after another (ironic) embezzelling scandal, I was one of the first to begin campaigning to take over the role. After all, business and politics were all in the same.

I had no doubts that I would win. My confidence in myself is one of my best traits - I never feel doubt or insecurities. Now, being a successful CEO of one of the Capitol's most famed enterprises, being listed the Capitol's Top 40 under 40, and holding one of the highest positions in District Seven?

Well, it just simply isn't enough.

I will never be satisfied.