The triumph of the shareholders' meeting should have solidified our new era of rational partnership. For a few days, it did. We were riding a wave of shared victory. The "narrative" had been vindicated by the numbers, and Alexander's flamboyance felt less like a liability and more like a superpower that I, as the translator, had learned to harness. The executive floor hummed with a sense of purpose, even a fragile peace.
Then came the incident with Mark from Marketing.
Mark was a mid-level manager, earnest, competent, and possessed of a perfectly ordinary, slightly damp handshake. He was in charge of the global rollout for the "Aura" campaign—the very campaign whose success we had just used as a bludgeon against our detractors. He'd come to the executive floor to present the final launch plan, a solid, well-researched presentation that was currently displayed on the screen in Alexander's office.
The meeting was wrapping up. It had gone well. Alexander had been engaged, asking sharp, relevant questions. Mark, visibly relieved, stood up to leave. He approached Alexander, arm extended.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Wilde," Mark said, with genuine enthusiasm. "We're incredibly excited about this launch."
Alexander took his hand. The handshake lasted a second too long. I saw it happen in slow motion. Alexander's affable expression didn't change, but a shadow crossed his eyes, a subtle shift in the atmosphere of the room, like a sudden drop in barometric pressure. His grip tightened, not aggressively, but… assessingly. He was evaluating the handshake.
Mark, oblivious, retracted his hand with a final, confident nod and left the office, closing the door behind him.
The silence that fell was thick and cold. Alexander stood perfectly still, staring at the closed door as if it had personally offended him.
"Did you see that, Miss Chen?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
"See what, sir?" I asked, though a sinking feeling in my stomach told me I knew exactly what.
"The handshake," he said, turning to me, his face a mask of profound disappointment. "It was… apologetic. It lacked conviction. It was a handshake that asks for permission, not one that commands a room."
I blinked. "It was… a handshake, sir. He was saying goodbye."
"It was a metaphor!" Alexander declared, beginning to pace. "A metaphor made flesh! That handshake said, 'I am a caretaker of ideas, not an originator.' It said, 'I will execute the plan, but I do not embody it.' How can we entrust the global launch of our most important campaign to a man whose very grip on reality is so… tentative?"
"Sir," I said, my voice tight with disbelief. "Mark's work is exemplary. The presentation was flawless. The campaign is a surefire success. You can't judge his leadership on a two-second formality."
"Formality?" He stopped pacing and looked at me as if I'd suggested we power the servers with hamster wheels. "A handshake is not a formality! It is the first chapter of every professional interaction! It sets the tone! It is a non-verbal manifesto! His manifesto was… milquetoast! It was beige! It lacked narrative thrust!"
He was working himself into a state. The calm, collaborative CEO of the shareholders' meeting was gone, vanished behind the curtain of the Drama King, who saw existential threats in the most mundane interactions.
"This is insanity," I muttered under my breath, but he heard me.
"Is it?" he shot back, his eyes blazing. "Or is it the uncompromising standard of excellence that has tripled our valuation? We are not a company of 'good enough,' Miss Chen. We are a company of 'exceptional.' And that man," he pointed a dramatic finger at the door, "is not exceptional. He is… adequate. And adequacy is the enemy of greatness."
Before I could form a coherent argument, he stabbed the intercom button on his desk. "Sterling. My office. Now."
Sterling materialized seconds later, his face impassive.
"Sterling," Alexander commanded, his voice cold and final. "Mark From Marketing. The 'Aura' launch lead. Have him escorted from the building. His services are no longer required."
My blood ran cold. "Alexander, no!"
He didn't look at me. "Effective immediately."
Sterling's eyes flickered to me for a fraction of a second, the only sign that he, too, recognized the utter madness of the command. But his loyalty was to the king, not the kingdom's sanity. "The reason for termination?" he asked, his voice flat.
"Philosophical incompatibility," Alexander stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "A fundamental misalignment with the company's core energetic frequency."
Sterling gave a curt nod. "Very good, sir." He turned and left.
I stood there, frozen, the air sucked from my lungs. He had done it. He had actually fired a competent, valuable employee because he
of a handshake. Because of a vibe.
He finally turned to look at me, his
his expression defiant, expecting a challenge.
But I had no words. The absurdity was too vast. The victory of the shareholders' meeting, the partnership, the "co-CEOs of the narrative"—it all crumbled to dust in that moment. This wasn't a quirk. This wasn't visionary thinking. This was capricious, cruel, and unhinged.
I looked at him, at this man I had defended, translated for, and, against all odds, started to see as a partner. I saw the unyielding certainty in his eyes. The conviction that his perception of the world was the only one that mattered. The narrative wasn't just a tool for him; it was a tyrannical god to which all must be sacrificed, even a man's career.
Without a word, I turned and walked out of his office. I didn't go to my desk. I walked to the hydration alcove, my hands trembling, and poured a glass of water I didn't want.
I heard his office door open. "Miss Chen?" he called, his
his voice laced with a hint of confusion, as if he couldn't understand why I wasn't applauding his decisiveness.
I didn't turn around. I couldn't look at him. The curtain had been pulled back, and I had seen the wizard for what he was: not a brilliant, misunderstood artist, but a narcissist with the power to ruin lives on a whim. The gilded cage wasn't just a cage; it was a court ruled by a mad king, and I had just been made an accomplice to his latest execution.
The partnership was a lie. I wasn't a co-CEO. I was the courtier who polished the crown, trying to ignore the bloodstains on it. The madness hadn't been harnessed. It had been waiting, biding its time. And it had just claimed its first real victim. The sound of the door closing again was the loudest thing I had ever heard. The silence that followed was the sound of my resignation, written in the air between us.