The elevator doors glided open with a soft chime, and Layla stepped into the cold, echoing corridor of the 25th floor, her heels clicking against the marble like a warning. She clutched her purse tighter, adjusted the lapels of her blazer, and exhaled sharply. This was it. Her third interview this week. Her final shot at landing a job before rent was due and reality swallowed her whole.

The receptionist barely looked up as she directed her toward the large glass doors at the end of the ...