Thick, heavy snowflakes swirled violently against the floor-to-ceiling glass panels of the executive boardroom, turning the world outside into a blurred canvas of white and gray. Perched high on the forty-second floor, the room felt detached from reality, sealed off in a bubble of climate-controlled silence and expensive mahogany.
Thomas Warren sat at the head of the imposing conference table, rubbing his temples as he listened to the low murmur of his senior leadership team. They were all dressed in immaculate suits, their attention fixed solely on the grim spreadsheets projected onto the smart screen at the far end of the room.
The financial data was undeniable and depressing. For two consecutive quarters, the numbers had been bleeding red, and the board of directors was no longer asking for a solution; they were demanding one.
— We need to cut twenty percent of the staff immediately, — stated Gerald, the Chief Financial Officer, his tone as dry and unfeeling as the paper in front of him. — It is the only way to correct the course.
— The cuts will come primarily from operations and customer service, — Gerald continued, tapping his pen against the table. — We can easily outsource those functions overseas and save millions within the first fiscal year.
Thomas remained silent, feeling the heavy imposter syndrome that often plagued him. At thirty-five, he was the youngest CEO in the company’s history, a role he had secured through a blend of genuine grit, strategic education, and the unavoidable fact of his lineage. His father had founded Warren Technologies decades ago, and when the old lion retired three years prior, Thomas had stepped into shoes that still felt several sizes too big.
— Twenty percent, — Thomas repeated, his eyes scanning the breakdown of the departments on his tablet. — Gerald, we are talking about over three hundred people. We would be doing this right before Christmas.
— I understand the optics are not ideal, Thomas, — Gerald replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. — But the alternative is risking the solvency of the entire enterprise. If we do not amputate now, the whole body dies.
— We make the cuts today, we stabilize the stock price, and we can look at rebuilding in the spring, — another executive chimed in.
Thomas looked around the table at his Vice President of Operations, his Head of HR, and his General Counsel. They all nodded in synchronized agreement, their faces masks of corporate stoicism. This was business, after all, and this was what leaders were paid to do: make the hard, heartless choices that kept the machine running.
— I need to think about it, — Thomas said, ignoring the collective sigh of frustration that rippled through the room. — We will reconvene after lunch.
He called for a fifteen-minute recess and walked straight to the window, turning his back on the room to stare down at the miniature city below. Somewhere down in that snowy grid were three hundred unsuspecting employees. Their jobs were about to be erased from existence to balance a spreadsheet.
He thought about three hundred families who were currently planning holiday dinners, buying gifts, and making memories, completely unaware that their financial security was hanging by a thread. The heavy oak door of the conference room clicked open behind him, but Thomas didn’t turn, assuming it was Gerald coming to pressure him further.
— Excuse me? — a tiny, uncertain voice squeaked through the silence.
Thomas spun around, expecting an assistant, but instead found a very small child standing in the doorway of the executive boardroom. She couldn’t have been more than four years old, a splash of color in the gray room with her bright pink dress and curly blonde hair. She clutched a worn-out teddy bear to her chest with white-knuckled intensity, her wide blue eyes scanning the intimidating space.
From down the hallway, Thomas could hear a muffled, panicked voice calling out.
— Lily? Lily, where did you go?
— Hi there, — Thomas said softly, immediately crouching down so he wouldn’t tower over her. — Are you lost?
The little girl, Lily, took a tentative step onto the plush carpet, her gaze locking onto him.
— I am looking for the boss, — she said, her voice trembling but surprisingly determined. — The big boss. The one who decides things.
— That would be me, — Thomas replied, a sad smile touching his lips. — I am the CEO. What is your name?
— Lily Martinez, — she announced, standing a little straighter. — And I am four and three-quarters.
— It is very nice to meet you, Lily. What can I help you with today?
Lily walked closer, her small sneakers silent on the expensive flooring, until she was standing directly in front of him. She looked up with serious, watery blue eyes and whispered the words that would shatter Thomas’s composure.
— Please don’t fire my mommy.
Thomas felt his stomach drop as if the elevator cables had just snapped.
— What did you say? — he asked, his voice barely audible.
— My mommy works here, — Lily explained, leaning in as if sharing a state secret. — She talks to customers on the phone and helps them when they are confused. She says the company might be letting people go, and she is really scared she will lose her job.
She took a breath, her lower lip quivering.
— And if she loses her job, we might have to move away from our apartment, and I would have to leave my school. And mommy won’t be able to buy the medicine for her diabetes.
Her voice finally broke, tears spilling onto her pink cheeks.
— Please don’t fire my mommy. She works really, really hard. She is the best mommy in the whole world.
Thomas felt like he had been physically punched in the chest. He had known intellectually that layoffs affected real people, of course; the data dictated that. But sitting in a leather chair talking about “headcount reduction” was a universe away from having a four-year-old child beg him not to destroy her mother’s life.
— Lily! — a woman appeared in the doorway, her face flushed with sheer panic.
She appeared to be in her early thirties, dressed in the standard business casual attire of the customer service floor, though her cardigan looked threadbare. Her eyes were wide with horror as she realized where her daughter had wandered.
— I am so sorry, Mr. Warren, — she gasped, rushing forward. — I had to bring her to work because the daycare is closed for a teacher training day, and I couldn’t find a sitter. She was supposed to stay in the break room with her coloring book. I am so incredibly sorry.
