That Time I Used Authority Disproportionately

This account is shared for leadership reflection, not legal or HR guidance.

I once overapplied authority because I took it personally. The outcome may have been fine for the organization, but the means were not. This is that account.

Proportional use of authority means matching the consequence to the conduct and risk, minimizing collateral harm, and avoiding the use of power to settle personal feelings. When you can do more than is necessary, do no more than is warranted. That is the principle I violated here.

The call

I had been recently put in charge of staffing for a large multinational’s technology department in Japan. I received what I assumed would be a routine call from our staffing agent. It wasn’t. He said he had heard from the police that one of my team members had been apprehended. No more detail. I glanced toward his desk. Empty at 9:30. He was usually already working by then.

The employee—let’s call him “Lee”—was one of my most gifted hires. I had personally recruited him.

In Japan, police may detain a suspect while they confirm personal details. In practice, it can be embarrassing for the suspect: the police call people connected to them to verify identity and circumstances. I knew I should expect a detective’s call; as his work superior, I’d be on the list.

Not long after, our department secretary approached my desk with a concerned look. “Lee is in jail?!?” I motioned to stop and keep quiet and pointed to the nearest empty meeting room.

As soon as the door closed, she repeated, a bit louder, “Lee is in jail?!?” I confirmed. She said the police were asking to speak with me. We arranged the call.

Lesson observed: Contain sensitive information and move conversations to a private channel before you confirm facts.

The confirmation and the return

On the call, we confirmed who we were, Lee’s employment, and his standing. The detective acknowledged and thanked us, then gave us the opportunity to ask questions. We learned the charge he was facing (which I will not share here) and that he might be released in three to five days.

On the third day, he returned—dejected and deflated.

We met. Our director barged in, berated him, and stormed out. I waited a moment while Lee caught his breath. Then I explained who knew, that we had not informed others, and that he could own and control his story. I had done my best to contain rumors. I told him I assumed he was eager to get back to normal, and that he should get to it.

I was there for his walk back to his desk—eyes on him from those who noticed his three‑day absence.

Lesson observed: Verify facts, limit exposure, and preserve dignity while you manage the rumor surface.

The pendulum swings

Lee was a hot‑head. I had tolerated it. I’ve sometimes allowed top performers a bit of latitude. For two weeks after his return, he was quiet, respectful—well behaved.

By the third week, he was back to his old self. By the fourth, the pendulum seemed to swing past center. He felt more arrogant than before.

Then I received an obtusely worded letter. To me, it clearly implied he would quit if he didn’t get a raise.

This is where my passion kicked in—not in a good way, and not in proportion to the respect I had tried to show him. I quickly assembled a case for dismissal. Under the contract, it was possible with minimal justification. I secured approval. My director commented that he was surprised by my zeal on this one.

Lesson observed: Post‑event calm can be temporary; don’t let relief cloud your read on fit and conduct.

Why my reasoning was wrong

I felt a personal slight. In retrospect, that was not a sound basis for exercising authority.

Procedurally, the better path would have been to consult HR, document specific incidents tied to role requirements, separate performance from personality, and take proportionate, policy‑aligned steps.

• The dismissal was not justifiable on the criminal activity. We had already decided on that matter and forgiven him.
• It was not justifiable on his “disrespect” toward me for not showing sufficient appreciation for how I handled his return. That would be past consideration. He should have been appreciative, but he had no permanent obligation to be.
• It was not justifiable on his “threat” to leave and request for a raise. You could call it disloyal, but it is not grounds in itself. I encourage ambition, even when it takes someone elsewhere. It would be hypocritical of me to use that against him.

To a degree, I did it because I could. I made it personal. That made it disproportionate. I didn’t feel bad at the time. Years later, I grew to regret it.

Lesson observed: Separate process from emotion; tie decisions to documented conduct and policy, not personal feeling.

The late reframing

About eight years later, I ran into a former colleague we had in common. We spoke about Lee. I shared the story and how my view had changed.

He reacted by not reacting—clearly weighing what I had said. Then he told me something I hadn’t known: Lee had priors. The police hadn’t told me it was a repeat offense. After my event, he escalated to more serious offenses. He was eventually forced to leave Japan.

That reframed the situation. It was better that he was no longer in the organization. The ends, in that sense, ended as they should. The means were still less than upstanding.

Lesson observed: New facts can validate an outcome without redeeming the way you got there.

What I learned

It’s a complicated story without a clean ending. When entrusted with authority over others, I overapplied it. That is the lesson I own.

Authority is not for settling personal accounts. It’s for proportionate, principled action. The practical ethic I take forward is simple: practice proportionality, regulate emotion before acting, and follow process discipline even when you could do more—and faster—by force of title.