The chair Ethan used to occupy was still empty. No one mentioned it, but everyone noticed. Richard Hale stood at the head of the boardroom, jacket off, sleeves rolled up like a man ready for battle, except the enemy was already inside the walls.“This is unacceptable.”His voice cracked across the table. “Quarterly losses have doubled. Suppliers are shortening payment terms. Logistics missed deadlines again.”He slammed a report down. “Someone explain to me how this happened.”No one spoke. The silence was thick, accusing.Richard’s eyes moved from face to face. “I’m waiting.”The CFO cleared his throat. “Sir, the indicators were there months ago. We flagged”“You flagged nothing,”Richard snapped. “You sent me spreadsheets full of optimism.”“They were based on the strategy you approved.”Richard scoffed. “Don’t start shifting blame.”A woman from operations leaned forward. “We’re not shifting blame. We’re drowning. Warehouses are stalled, distributors are”“Enough,”Richard cut in.

The man arrived with an accent and confidence. That was enough.“This,”Richard Hale announced, standing beside him, “is Dr. Adrian Volkov.”Polite applause filled the boardroom. “International restructuring expert,”Richard continued. “He’s flown in from Europe. Worked with multinational firms. Turnarounds. Recoveries. Success.”Volkov nodded slightly, hands clasped behind his back, calm and assured. Richard smiled, triumphant. “He will get us back to where we belong.”Relief spread through the room. Not belief, relief. People wanted something to hold onto. “We’re honored,”the CFO said. Volkov inclined his head. “Let’s begin.”An hour later, the screens were filled with charts, projections, and the same strategy they’d been running for months. Volkov studied them quietly.Too quietly. Richard watched him closely. “Well?”Volkov turned. “This plan is actually… solid.”Richard’s smile widened instantly. “I said so.”“Yes,”Volkov continued, “the structure is sound. The assumptions are

The room felt smaller than it used to. Not because the walls had moved, but because hope had. The executives sat around the long table, shoulders slumped, ties loosened, eyes hollow.The screens on the wall glowed with numbers no one wanted to read anymore. Richard Hale stood at the head of the boardroom. Not pacing this time. Standing still. That alone unsettled them. “With the way things are going,”Richard said slowly, his voice stripped of its old force, “we may completely shut down in less than eight months.”No one gasped. No one reacted. They already knew. He swallowed, then added quietly, “If nothing changes.”A heavy silence followed. Eight months. Not a threat. Not drama. A countdown. Richard exhaled and placed both palms on the table. “People… what can we do?”The question hung in the air, fragile and dangerous. This wasn’t the Richard Hale they knew. This wasn’t command. This was uncertainty. The CFO cleared his throat. “We can renegotiate”“We’ve tried,”someone cut in. “

The message reached him before he reached his office. Richard Hale stepped out of the elevator, phone pressed to his ear, his jaw tightening with every word.“…Six?”he repeated. “They didn’t resume?”A pause. “Yes, sir. No notice.”Richard stopped walking. Six workers. Gone. Not sick. Not late. Gone. “Terminate them,”he said flatly. “Effective immediately.”The voice on the other end hesitated. “Sir”“Did you hear me?”Richard snapped. “All six. Sack them.”“Yes, sir.”The call ended. Richard stood there for a moment, staring down the hallway. Desks were emptier than they used to be. Conversations stopped when he passed. Eyes dropped.Fear had replaced respect. He entered his office and shut the door harder than necessary. Six more. He loosened his tie and dropped into his chair, staring at the wall without seeing it.Eight months. That number mocked him now. His desk phone sat untouched. His laptop screen glowed with unread reports. didn’t open them.Instead, a voice echoed in his

The room was silent. Not the awkward kind. The heavy kind.Richard Hale stood at the head of the table again, hands resting on the polished wood, eyes moving slowly from face to face. The words spoken in the last meeting still hung in the air like smoke that refused to clear. He exhaled.Then spoke. “Does anyone else,”he said calmly, “have anything to say?”No anger. No shouting. Just a question. People shifted in their seats. No one raised a hand. Richard nodded once, as if confirming what he already believed. “Good,”he said. “Then”A hand went up. Everyone turned.It was a woman. Mid-thirties. Calm eyes. One of the few senior staff who had survived years without being sacked, mostly because she spoke little. Richard paused. His eyes rested on her hand. She had never raised it before.“What is your name?”he asked. “Amara,”she replied softly. Richard gestured. “Speak.”She stood slowly, smoothing her jacket, gathering herself. “Sir,”she began, respectful but firm, “I don’t intend