She felt like she was going to throw up. Every pulse of her heart sent a spike of agony through her skull. The bright sunlight streaming through the floor toseeiling windows felt like a physical attack. But she didn't blink. She stared down the table at the seven men who were actively trying to end her career.
Richard, the oldest board member and the primary instigator, cleared his throat. He wore a patronizing smile that made Evelyn want to hurl a glass pitcher at his head. "Evelyn," Richard began, his voice dripping with faux concern. "We were quite worried about you last night. You left the gala rather abruptly.
I felt unwell," Evelyn said, her voice was smooth, even terrifyingly calm. "I decided it was best to return home early. " unwell," Richard repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, well, the optics of the CEO fleeing the annual event in such a state are less than ideal, especially given our current Q3 margins. It raises questions about stability. " About leadership, Evelyn unclasped her hands. She leaned forward slightly.
The room went still. "My leadership," Evelyn said, her voice dropping an octave. "Is not dictated by my attendance at a party, Richard. It is dictated by numbers. And while you were busy gossiping by the ice sculpture, I was reviewing the preliminary Q4 projections.
She tapped her tablet, sending a document to the screens embedded in the table in front of each board member. We are bleeding capital in logistics. Evelyn stated it was a gamble. She hadn't looked at the numbers. But sitting in that cab this morning, listening to Owen talk about $30 like it was a ransom, she realized something.
She was completely disconnected from the ground floor. She only looked at the top level summaries, the summaries that middle managers sanitized before they reached her desk. Specifically, she continued, her mind racing, recalling random data points she had skimmed days ago. The Seattle Hub routting issues. We are taking penalties on late freight.
The managers are padding the numbers to hide the inefficiencies. Richard frowned, looking at his screen. This is a minor operational issue, Evelyn. We are here to discuss executive stability, a minor issue that costs us $4 million a quarter. Evelyn snapped, the sudden volume making her head pound violently.
She ignored it. You want to talk about margins, Richard? Let's talk about the fat in middle management. I want the regional logistics directors up here. Today we are auditing the rooting schedules.
Richard opened his mouth to argue, but the other board members were already scrolling through the data, their predatory instincts shifting toward the financial bleed she had just highlighted. Evelyn leaned back in her chair. The crisis was averted for now. By 1 o p.m. The fourth floor was in a state of controlled panic.
Owen was eating a stale granola bar at his desk when the phone rang. It was Todd sounding frantic. Davies, bring the Seattle rooting reports to the executive floor now. Boardroom B. Owen stopped chewing.
Why? Because the CEO just decided to gut the logistics department on a whim, and she wants the raw data. Don't screw this up. Do not speak unless spoken to. Bring the files.