Fallen To The Knees

No Time To Waste

Male protagonist

It was 5:00 a.m. on a Friday morning; When a pair of bare feet padded softly across the cool marble kitchen floor of a Denver penthouse. The apartment was quiet, enveloped in the kind of silence that comes before the world wakes up. As the feet approached the kettle, they paused, feeling the chill of the tiles seep into his skin. Filling the kettle with fresh water, he set it on the stovetop, the hum of the heating water soon filling the air. The comforting aroma of green tea began to waft through the space, but this familiar ritual was overshadowed by the persistent drumming of rain against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Each drop felt like a heavy reminder of the dreariness outside, as the view revealed streetlights casting shadows on the slick pavement, the droplets creating small ripples that faded almost instantly. The person stood at the window, arms crossed, a frown tugging at his lips, annoyed by the rain.

To him, rain was a nuisance, an unwelcome wet blanket thrown over the morning. It brought with it a host of inconveniences—endless traffic jams that turned commutes into agonizing waits. As a city dweller, they knew all too well how rain transformed the streets into a sluggish mess, cars crawling along while splashes from puddles caught unsuspecting pedestrians off guard. Beyond the traffic, there was the aftermath of rain, where humidity made the air feel clammy and clothes clung uncomfortably to the body. The prospect of stepping outside often led to the dreaded reality of arriving somewhere soaked to the bone. After a couple of hours of daily routine chores and a heavy work out, the person suited up in a tailored suit, slipping into stunning black leather dress boots. With one last glance at the rain-soaked city, he headed out the door, off to work.

As the clock strikes 8:00 AM, The pair of black dress leather boots swiftly walks across the hardwood floor of a high-rise office building in Denver. As the glass doors of a conference room open from the inside perfectly timed to the arrival to the leather boots; As it were rehearsed, As he made his entrance the air changes instantly. Moments ago, the room buzzed with chatter, the rustling of papers, and the tapping of laptop keys, but now it falls into an oppressive silence. The sharp click of the boots echoes against the walls, amplifying the stillness. Every pair of eyes turns toward Benedict Windsor, the owner and founder of a booming pharmaceutical company. As Benedict stands in the middle of a big conference room, the weight of his expectation settles heavily on every person present in the room.

Benedict

Benedict’s gaze sweeps across the room, his jaw clenched, a storm brewing behind his eyes. The sales numbers had been laid out in front of him, and they were far from acceptable in his eyes. His company had dominated the market for years, but now, new competitors were clawing at their heels, outpacing them by 58% in sales growth. Worse yet, their competitors' growth rate had surged to 59.2%, while his company's margins remained embarrassingly thin.

"You call this acceptable?" Benedict’s voice, low and cold, sliced through the thick silence, sending a ripple of unease through the room. The sales team shifted nervously in their seats, avoiding his sharp glare. "While our competitors are eating away at our market share, you're presenting me with weak numbers and no solutions. They've increased their sales by nearly 60%, and you’re telling me we can't even hold steady?"

He tossed the sales reports onto the table, the papers scattering like fallen leaves. "This margin—this pathetic margin—is unacceptable. If this continues, we’ll be left in their dust. I need strategies, not excuses. By the end of this quarter, I expect nothing less than a complete turnaround. Either step up, or I will find a team that will."

The room remained deathly quiet, the tension thickening by the second. Benedict’s frustration was palpable, a force pressing down on everyone. Finally, he stepped back from the table, his eyes still blazing. "Now, tell me how you're going to fix this."

The challenge hung in the air, and no one dared breathe.

Near the back of the room, a young intern named Jacob nervously fidgeted with his pen, an idea swirling in his mind. He knew it could work, maybe even push them ahead of their competitors, but fear held him back. It wasn’t just Benedict’s presence—it was the senior members of the sales team who had been dismissing his suggestions for weeks. Speaking up now felt like a risk, and Jacob wasn’t sure he was ready to face the consequences.

Benedict’s eyes swept the room again, landing on Jacob’s very small nervous movements. His gaze sharpened. "You, intern," Benedict said, his voice quiet but cutting through the silence like a knife. "You’ve been sitting there, shifting like you have something to say. Spit it out."

Jacob froze. His pulse raced, but his mind went blank. He couldn’t believe that Benedict read him that quickly from the other end of the room. The big conference room, once filled with the oppressive weight of silence, now felt even more suffocating under the eyes of his seniors and Benedict unreadable gaze. He opened his mouth, but his throat tightened, no words coming out.

Benedict took a step forward, his tone softer, but with an undeniable force behind it. "I don’t have time for clawing it out of you. Seems like you’ve got an idea that could be worth hearing, now’s your chance.

Jacob swallowed hard, his voice barely audible. "I-I..." He glanced nervously at his senior colleagues, who were now glaring at him, but Benedict spoke with a commanding voice “Don’t look at them, just spit it out. What is it. I won’t ask again."

Jacob swallowed hard, Jacob was nervous but he forced himself to speak-up even though his throat was dry from fear of getting fired yet he he spoke up an said “I was thinking... our competitors have been outpacing us with their digital campaigns. We haven't fully maximized our own. If we focus on a targeted social media push, we can reclaim market share. Our brand is still stronger; we just need to give people a reason to engage again."

Benedict’s eyes narrowed, though not in anger. He was listening, intently. Jacob felt the tension in the room, but the fear that had gripped him started to ease, if only slightly.

"Go on," Benedict urged, his voice surprisingly calm, almost encouraging. "What's your plan?"

Jacob blinked, surprised that Benedict was actually asking for more, despite his seniors’ hostility. Gathering his courage, he continued. "We should highlight what sets us apart—our legacy, our quality. We can launch a series of testimonials and case studies that show how our products are improving lives. Paired with limited-time offers through targeted ads, we could see growth within the next quarter."