Anastasia
Rows upon rows stretched across the vast conference hall, with each department gathered in its designated seating area. Finance sat in polished suits, stern expressions masking nerves. Marketing exuded confidence, their bright blazers and carefully styled appearances screaming showmanship. Operations looked neat and precise, as though efficiency seeped into their very posture.
And then there was us, the Data Analytics department, tucked into the third row on the left. Unlike the flashy marketing team or the composed finance heads, we didn't shine on the outside. Our strength lay in numbers, in trends, in the quiet power of evidence.
I liked the order of it all, departments seated separately, no mixing. It was thoughtful, in a way, a recognition of each team's distinct identity. But it was also dreadful. One mistake, one miscalculation, and the shame wouldn't be yours alone. It would ripple through your entire department, staining our reputation. Calculative and classic move.
And I was at the very front, the one chosen to represent us. The sacrificial lamb, as my racing thoughts put it.
I clasped my notebook tighter, its edges digging into my palm. Numbers, charts, insights, I had rehearsed them until they blurred into my dreams. Still, the weight of expectation pressed down on me. I am not here to show only charts but also to guide decisions.
Across the hall, the doors opened. Alexander Blackwell walked in, flanked by the company's lawyer and the board members. Many. The air shifted instantly.
Alexander carried himself with quiet authority, every step deliberate. He didn't need to raise his voice or demand attention; the room obeyed him in silence, as though instinctively aware of who he was. The lawyer walked slightly behind, his usual sharp-eyed focus on the room, already noting who whispered, who fidgeted, who tried too hard to look composed.
He paused briefly at the head of the hall, exchanging polite greetings with senior directors. His gaze swept across the rows, not lingering on anyone for too long, but the effect was the same; every person sat straighter, as though afraid to breathe the wrong way.
Then the reckonings began.
One by one, departments took their turn. Marketing dazzled with glossy slides and practiced pitches, their spokesperson almost theatrical. Finance delivered sharp, efficient summaries with confident jargon, making their projections sound like an unshakable truth. Operations spoke with precision; everything measured, planned, timed to the second.
I scribbled notes in my pad, not just of what they said, but of what they didn't. Weak points buried beneath gloss, inconsistencies masked by rehearsed confidence, numbers that didn't align with reality. That was what I was trained to see, the invisible cracks beneath the surface.
My pen moved swiftly. Every time someone overlooked a weak spot, I wrote it down. Every time a claim lacked proof, I circled it.
And then…
"Next," the HR director announced, "will be from the Data Analytics department."
My stomach twisted.
I stood, smoothing down my skirt, spine straight, shoulders squared. My heels clicked against the polished floor as I walked toward the podium, the weight of a hundred gazes pressing down on me.
I didn't look at them. I couldn't. Instead, I focused on the screen as my first slide appeared. Numbers. Trends. Insights, KPIs, and Truth. This was my armor.
"Good morning," I began, my voice steady despite the tightness in my chest. "I'll be representing the Data Analytics department. Our team has been focused on identifying patterns in market performance, client behavior, and internal efficiency. Today, I'll walk you through our key findings."
The words flowed. Not rehearsed, but precise.
I explained not only the successes but also the overlooked vulnerabilities, trends the other departments hadn't accounted for, weak spots hidden under layers of polished reports. My slides were clean, minimal, letting the numbers speak.
And when I had to, I spoke beyond the slides.
"In Finance's projections," I said, gesturing to the chart, "there's a three percent discrepancy when compared to market data from the last quarter. Adjusting for that changes the outcome significantly."
A ripple went through the room. My heart hammered, but I didn't falter.
"In Marketing's pitch, the target demographic overlaps with a market segment that has shown a declining retention rate. Unless addressed, the return on investment may fall short."
My teammates exchanged glances, their eyes wide but proud. I could almost hear their thoughts. She did it. She actually said it.
I pressed on. Confidence. Controlled. And then, the question came.
"Ms or Mrs…..." Alexander's voice.
I froze for a fraction of a second before forcing myself to look at him.
"Ms Carter," I said
His gaze was sharp, curious, weighing. "Ms Carter, if these vulnerabilities are as critical as you claim, what's your proposed solution? Not in theory. In practice."
Every breath in the room stilled.
I didn't blink. "The solution lies in cross-department collaboration. If Finance adjusts its model to reflect accurate market data, and Marketing narrows its focus to demographics with a higher retention probability, the projected outcome will align with Operations' capacity. My department is prepared to provide a weekly monitoring dashboard to ensure consistency moving forward."
Silence. Then, applause.
It started hesitating, then grew. My department clapped the loudest, relief and pride in their faces. A few from other rows joined in, begrudging but respectful.
I exhaled slowly and returned to my seat, my hands trembling beneath the table. My teammates grinned at me, giving a small thumbs-up.
But I couldn't relax. Not yet because Alexander Blackwell was still watching me.