There aren’t a lot of rakes and flirts in Wellington. The few that we do have stand out and tend to be remembered. So it was with The Notorious C.E.O, the charismatic head of one of Wellington’s largest organizations.

The Notorious C.E.O. was married. But he didn’t let that stop him. Posterity does not record a specific incident that made his wife snap: only that she did. In a huff, she packed up all of his personal belongings and sent them to him at Large Organization. They arrived at 4 P.M. on a Friday, right after the movers and suchlike had gone home for the day.

What to do? One staffer went to find some keys to a storage room, thinking to tuck the impedimentia away out of sight. He returned to find everything gone. Where was it?

The C.E.O’s P.A. had been notified. The belongings had been shifted to the C.E.O’s office and locked in. All well and good. Except that the C.E.O., a proponent of transparency and availability, had his office in a glass-walled room on the most populous office floor. The boxes, suitcases, lamps, awards, and loose socks had been paraded through this floor. They were now locked in, yet efficiently on display for the bemused staff to contemplate. The staffer who had wanted to avoid this went and had a drink.

Notorius, returning from a business trip, took it in good stride, turned his charisma up to 11, and remained The Notorious C.E.O.

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