Tune
742 Words
After a few seconds, a crisp ding was heard, signaling their arrival at the top floor—the highest peak of the building. Arya was the first to step out of the elevator, followed closely by Mr. Harry and her executive secretary, Mrs. Karen.
They walked a short distance and arrived at an imposing, large door. Mr. Harry quickly stepped forward, grabbed the handle, and pushed the door inward.
Arya entered the room. To call the space a "room" was a mistake; it was a massive hall, spacious enough to hold a large public conference. In the center, a long, mahogany rectangular table dominated the space. At one end stood a large monitor display, and at the opposite end, a single, commanding chair.
Along the length of the table, fourteen people stood on their feet the moment the door opened. These were not just the core executives, but the Independent Directors and major Investor Representatives—a massive, silent assembly that should not have been present for a simple operational review.
Arya's eyes instantly flicked to Mrs. Karen, who was standing just inside the entrance. When she saw a flicker of shock on her secretary's face too, Arya became sure Karen was unaware of the reason for this crowd. Why are they all here, Arya thought, but she quickly brushed the concern aside.
Arya walked elegantly to the single chair at the far edge. She looked at the assembly for only a moment and spoke: "Please sit."
Not one person moved until Arya had settled into her chair. Only then did the executives sit down in a slow, synchronized ripple. Mr. Harry took the last empty seat at her right. Ms. Eleanor, the Board Secretary, remained seated at the table's end with a sleek tablet in her hand. Meanwhile, Mrs. Karen took up a silent post near the entrance.
"There is no time, so let's start," Arya said, shifting her position slightly. "Ms. Eleanor, what is the first item on the agenda?"
Ms. Eleanor, the Board Secretary, did not look up from her tablet. Her voice was precise and emotionless, like a recorded statement. "The first item, Miss Brown, is the Financial Stability Review. This was moved up on the schedule at the urgent request of our major investors."
She tapped her tablet once, and the large monitor display at the end of the hall flared to life, showing a complex chart of red lines and plunging arrows.
"Specifically," Eleanor continued, "we are addressing the immediate stall of the cosmetics branch funding. Our partner's silence has led to a significant depletion of internal reserves, putting every subordinate project on hold. Compounding this, the reported rise in workplace casualties and the subsequent chatter of organized labor protest threatens a sudden and costly public relations disaster."
Arya looked past the monitor, directly at Ms. Eleanor. "Ms. Eleanor, who is currently managing this project?"
Eleanor pointed a manicured finger toward one of the Independent Directors. "Mr. Vance, if you would."
A man in his late forties—one of the external executives—rose slowly. "I am Vance Harrison, Miss Brown, and I oversee the project's daily management."
Arya met his gaze, her tone entirely professional. "Mr. Harrison, please summarize your progress and explain precisely why this issue was not escalated sooner."
Vance Harrison cleared his throat. "I first flagged the fund transfer delay to the Chief Financial Officer's office three weeks ago. My only official response was that no funds had been successfully transmitted for the project. That is the extent of my knowledge, Miss Brown." He made sure the blame rested firmly on the finance department.
Arya shifted her attention. "Ms. Lane," she addressed the CFO. "You may skip the summary. I am aware of the deficit. My question is this: Why exactly are the funds booked for this project being held back by our partner?"
Ms. Diana Lane, the CFO, leaned forward. "We have initiated multiple contact attempts with their treasury department, Miss Brown. As of this morning, we have received no formal reply or explanation for the delay."
The answer was too vague, too passive. Arya looked straight at the President, the man sitting next to her. "Mr. Harry, I want you to go to our partner company yourself. Meet with them face-to-face and report back on exactly what is causing this stall. I expect an answer by the end of the day."
"Now can we move to the next agenda?"
- Writer
