Chia leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. The corporate armor seemed to part just slightly. I spent the weekend analyzing the data Leo used to justify his coup. He cited a 12% drop in logistics efficiency in sector 4 and 5. He blamed my leadership.
Abalardo scoffed. Efficiency dropped because they cut the maintenance budget for the routing software. The system crashes three times a shift. Plus, they reduced hazard pay, so turnover is at 50%. You can't route a,000 pallets an hour when half your staff is on their first week.
Chia stared at him. A slow, sharp smile spread across her face. What? Abalardo asked, shifting uncomfortably. I asked the interim VP of logistics that exact question an hour ago.
Chia said, "Do you know what he told me? " He said it was a macroeconomic supply chain headwind. Abalardo rolled his eyes. That means he has no idea what happens on the floor. "Uh, exactly," Chia said, standing up. She paced toward the window, looking down at the city.
"This company is rotting from the top down. We have a board full of Ivy League theorists who have never seen the inside of a warehouse. They don't know the cost of a broken heater. They don't know the reality of the people who actually make this company function. She turned back to face him.
I am completely restructuring the logistics division. Chia said, "I'm clearing out the rot and I need a new director of ground operations for the eastern seabboard. " Abalardo froze. The air in his lungs vanished. Ms. Kinsley.
Chia, Chia, I'm a data router. I sit at a desk and fix zip codes. I don't have a degree in business management. I don't need a degree, Chia said, her voice dropping fiercely intense. I have a building full of degrees and they almost stole my company on a Friday afternoon.
I need someone who knows why the system crashes. I need someone who knows the names of the shift supervisors. I need someone who understands that when we cut hazard pay, people can't buy their kids winter coats. Abalardo looked down at his hands. His knuckles were permanently scarred from years of manual labor before he got the desk job.
He thought about his bank account, $42. He thought about Melissa's shoes. What does it pay? Abalardo asked. Chia walked back to the chair and sat down.
Base salary is 250,000 plus stock options, full executive health benefits, and a company vehicle. Abalardo felt the room tilt. The number was absurd. It was fictional. It was more money than he could make in a decade staring at a flickering monitor in sector 4.