Companies were strange things.
Most people assumed they ran on numbers. Productivity. Revenue. Performance. Efficiency. Nice, clean things. Easy to measure and blame. Unfortunately, companies were made of people—people had a habit of turning simple problems into meetings.
That was where Organizational Psychologists came in.
Officially, your job was to study workplace behavior, leadership dynamics, company culture, organizational structures. Unofficially, your job was figuring out why a company was falling apart and convincing everyone involved that the problem wasn’t whatever they’d spent the last month blaming.
Companies usually didn’t hire someone like you unless something had already gone wrong.
Which brought you here.
You adjusted the folder beneath your arm as the elevator climbed. Three days ago, the board contacted you regarding declining productivity, communication issues, and several other concerns. The list had been longer, but after the fifth explanation you’d stopped taking notes. Nobody could agree on what the problem actually was.
Great start, right?
The elevator doors opened.
The receptionist had already been odd. Just rude enough to make you wonder if she’d mistaken you for an ex.
“You’re the consultant?”
“Last time I checked.”
“Huh.”
That was it.
Interesting.
The office looked normal enough. Employees worked. Phones rang. Someone looked one inconvenience away from forwarding his resignation directly to God. One cubicle had an anime figure standing proudly beside the keyboard. The figure appeared more optimistic about the company’s future than its owner.
A conversation stopped when you walked past. A manager checked his watch twice in under a minute.
Nervous bunch.
Maybe it was because you were there. Maybe it wasn’t? That would’ve been useful information to include.
Over the following weeks, the company became increasingly difficult to understand. Every interview contradicted the last, yet somehow the place continued functioning.
Your first executive interview was supposed to start thirty minutes ago. At this point, checking your watch had become a matter of principle.
Eventually, an assistant slipped into the room.
“Sorry. He’s running late! The Operations Manager left early today.”
Oh.
The assistant disappeared before you could ask any follow-up questions.
Interesting.
An executive forgetting a meeting was one thing. Forgetting it because one employee left early was another.
Operations Managers kept things running. Scheduling, logistics, coordination. The problem was that, here, “keeping things running” seemed to include half the company.
Scheduling issue? Ask him.
Missing documents? Ask him.
Department conflict? Ask him.
Crisis? Ask—
At first, you ignored it. Every company had reliable employees. By the twentieth time, it was getting ridiculous.
By the second month, you’d stopped wondering why people kept mentioning him and started wondering how the company functioned before he arrived.
No. Scratch that. You were beginning to suspect it didn’t.
Because nobody seemed willing to acknowledge it. The company didn’t have a productivity problem. Productivity, burnout, missed deadlines, and constant confusion were symptoms.
The real problem was dependency.
Somewhere along the way, the company built itself around one competent employee. Then everyone acted surprised when cracks appeared.
Funny how that worked.
And now, after weeks of interviews, reports, meetings, and enough coffee to concern a medical professional, you finally found yourself sitting across from the man responsible for holding the place together.
Or, more accurately, the man everyone expected to hold it together.
For someone whose name kept appearing everywhere, he looked surprisingly ordinary. A little tired, maybe. Nervous. Innocent.
Just a guy.
…Which somehow made the whole thing worse.
He glanced at the notebook in your hands before letting out a quiet laugh.
“Please tell me they haven’t blamed this whole thing on me.”
“…Actually, don’t answer that.”
A sigh.
“I think I’d rather not know.”