HIGHER CLASS

No Pressure

The room was filled with corporate pigs, each of them entitled in their own right, potbellied, grey-haired, wrinkled, and greedy.

The board members were all fastened to their seats; this perhaps looked like the largest mannequin collection ever—all seven of them seated emotionless. Waiting to see me break a sweat.

But not today!

No, not today.

“Mr. Ethan Vasquez, top of the morning to you." Solomon Pence called out. He was in his usual silver suit, with a flower neatly tucked into the side pocket, one that screamed how much he was better than others.

I raised an eyebrow, acknowledging Solomon’s theatrics.

“Morning,” I replied dryly.

I could see his amusement scattered all over the place, his smile running from cheek to cheek.

“Yeah, Mr. Vasquez, I think you have something for us, or is the project report not ready?”

“It is,” I responded.

“Then why hasn’t it been presented yet?”

“I was waiting for your approval on the final design concepts.”

“Approval? Design concepts?, what design concepts, and more importantly, I wasn’t aware that I was part of the creative team, Mr. Vasquez.”

His tone soaked in sarcasm, a returning rhetoric he has always employed, implying that I was stalling.

“I wanted to ensure that our visions aligned,” I responded, keeping it neutral.

Pence snorted, adjusting himself uncomfortably on his seat, to my great amusement.

“Align? Your vision is to create something revolutionary, Ethan. Mine is to ensure it doesn’t tarnish the image of the company... which is quite hard to do, seeing that most of your project attempts to mock the integrity of the company.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Pence, I believe the company runs a free speech policy; if there is something bordering, you just say it... because I have prospered the integrity of Omnicorp sky-high.” I blurted.

“Prosper you say...”

“Very much, sir.

“Have you seen your so-called projects lately? The Tower of Babel, the new country buildings, the mobile homes. You make this company look cancerous... all vandalized.”

I straightened, and my tone became stern and serious.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Solomon; your language is very far from what unveils the truth...

The current state of those buildings wasn't a direct cause of my efforts.”

Solomon narrowed his eyes.

“isn’t it? Your influence—your artistic influence—has attracted unwanted attention. Vandalism, graffiti—it’s a plague.”.

Solomon Pence adjusted ruggedly even more; he had hastily grabbed his iPad, fiddled with it, and with a few upward strokes sent a series of data to the smart board.

It was no surprise that the information displayed on it was pictures of disheveled factory buildings and defaced walls, most especially the Tower of Babe with a Pronounced Afro-Futuristic Mural—all projects of Omnicorp.

“I’d argue it’s a mere sign of communal engagement,” I countered, "my palms are getting sweatier. “People are invested in these projects. They are sparking conversations.”

“Conversations? About decay and neglect." Solomon scoffed hard; he was on his feet, adjusting his time, determination reeling through his eyes; he would roar, and the whole office would hear.

“Conversations?....about what? Decay and Neglect? You’re not here to facilitate social commentary, Ethan. You are here to prosper by the initiative of good housing infrastructure.

That’s what we're selling.”

"Alright, let’s settle down,” Kurt intervened, his voice dry and tired. I mean, who wouldn’t be sitting down and listening to two adults measure the size of their d***s just to satisfy a nonexistent complex?

“Mr. Kurt, this is not a time for that; we can settle down 7 days a week, 30 times a month, but now this is a discussion about Ethan’s competency.”

I stood up, my palm on the table. “My competency is not in question here; it is my innovation, which you are evidently trying to stifle.”

“Strife… God lord. Fine, where are the reports for review?

To show this isn’t built on any measure of personal vendetta, how about you produce the reports?”

Solomon retorted, his lips curving into a smile. He continued

“I take it that you don’t have one. Can we now question your position here?! I propose we begin to consider the leadership structure of this company, starting by removing Mr. Ethan as the CEO on the grounds of his incompetent nature.”.

“Mr. Pence, call yourself others,” Jacqueline retorted, visibly irritated.

“You will not soil the purpose of this gathering by letting your emotions speak for you, nor will you speak on behalf of the board. Jesus Christ, your thoughts are scattered all over the place.”

The room fell into a deep, disturbing silence. Jacqueline Meyer had been the oldest member of the board, but the dire and unforgiven nature of company strife, politics, and gender roles had served to keep her from leading the board itself.

She was bold whenever she wanted to—whenever she felt like it, cunning, malicious. All around rugged, she has her own way of getting away from the world.

From the company, the very entities that had long looked down on her with spite.

She turned to me, looking at her glasses.

"Mr. Ethan, we are willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, as it is not in our corporate nature not to assume or function with a one-sided narrative.”

She paused, but the atmosphere still remained heavy with silence. “We are willing to extend the date for the review on the premise that you’re not ready—look, we’re not kids; we know you were stalling.

It was fun for a while, but now it's just pitiable. At our next meeting, we hope to not experience any delay of sorts, even as minute as a traffic jam or the inconvenience of toilet breaks.

Should this be a reality, the consequences would lay heavy on you, Mr. CEO.

I believe we are fair on your side as much as we are on ours.”

I nodded frantically. The whole barrage of seven people stood in accordance, each marching out after handing a subtle look of disappointment. It has gone down on record that I have been sufficiently shamed.

Solomon was the last to leave; he hung his head high, claiming victory.

I stormed out of the conference room enraged; such was bound to happen; my trajectory had shifted from erecting breathtaking structures.

It is to nab the dumb picks that kept signing on my buildings. This week I’m going out for blood.