At 10 a.m., David Ross called for an all-hands meeting.
Everyone gathered in the office corridor, their faces relieved as though they had just survived a disaster.
David strode onto the small stage, beaming, microphone in hand.
He gave a rousing speech describing the severity of the crisis—then dramatically turned the tone.
“But! We pulled through!” he said, throwing his arm wide.
“And what did we rely on? Our unbreakable team spirit!”
He clicked the remote, and a giant photo appeared on the screen behind him.
In the photo, everyone but the three of us sat together, holding up boxes of mac and cheese, smiling like it was a party.
In the background was a banner Vivian had hung: “Go team! We’re the best!”
“At the most critical moment, it was our management trainee, Vivian,” David said, turning his approving gaze toward her.
“She didn’t panic—she thought about how to steady morale and keep everyone going!”
“One little box of mac and cheese warmed everyone’s stomach and brought their hearts together!”
“And that,” David concluded, “is what we call team spirit!”
His gaze swept over the room and finally landed on me—cold and probing, like a needle.
There was no praise, no recognition, only judgment from above.
My three sleepless nights of battle were completely erased in that moment.
The sweet, cloying smell in the air made me nauseous.
My colleagues clapped enthusiastically—for Vivian’s mac and cheese, for David’s so-called “team spirit.”
No one looked at me, as if the person who had just saved the company didn’t exist at all.
Vivian stood among the crowd, her head slightly bowed, a demure and perfectly measured smile on her lips.
That huge wave of emptiness crashed through me.
I stood, silently returned to my desk, opened my laptop, and began writing the post-mortem report on the crisis.
From the hallway, I could still hear David’s voice:
“…so you see, for a company to grow, it can’t rely on technology alone—it needs culture! Culture is our ultimate weapon!”
After the meeting, I took the draft report and knocked on David’s office door.
“Come in.”
I placed the report on his desk, speaking concisely.
“David, here’s the technical post-mortem and follow-up prevention plan.”
He leaned back in his chair, slowly picked up his stainless steel mug of herbal tea, blew on it, then flipped through the report.