Dr. Franziska Mool sat at the head of the conference table, her back straight, her hands clasped neatly in front of her. The room around her was intimidatingly sterile, the walls lined with dark wood panels that gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lighting. The long, rectangular table was occupied by eight men—each one more senior than the next—filling the air with an oppressive sense of authority.

  At the far end sat Mr. Dinkins, the CEO of Dinkins Corporation himself, his eyes never leaving the report in front of him. He hadn’t spoken a word yet, but his presence loomed over the entire room. Beside him were the other department heads, all men in their late 40s to early 60s, their faces etched with the kind of experience that spoke volumes of both success and, at times, failure.

  Across from Dr. Mool, the younger members of the team sat stiffly, each one with a laptop in front of them, typing away—perhaps to avoid making eye contact or simply out of habit. They all knew what this meeting was about.

  Franziska shifted in her seat, the weight of the situation pressing down on her shoulders. She was used to the pressure, used to being the one who had all the answers. But today was different. Today, she had to explain herself.

  “I’ve reviewed your performance over the last year,” Mr. Dinkins said, breaking the silence at last. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—something cold and calculated. “And frankly, I’m disappointed, Dr. Mool. You’ve had the resources, the team, the budget. Yet the results?” He paused, letting the silence hang in the air, thick with accusation. “Well, they speak for themselves.”

  Franziska’s pulse quickened, but she didn’t let it show. She had learned long ago to hide her emotions, to present the perfect fa?ade. She leaned forward slightly, her eyes scanning the room as she gathered her thoughts.

  “I understand your concerns,” she began, her voice steady, though there was an underlying tension in her tone. “The results over the past year haven’t met expectations. I take full responsibility for that.”

  A few heads nodded around the table, though none of them offered any words of comfort. They weren’t here to coddle her; they were here to dissect her failure.

  “I’ve been facing unexpected challenges with the new technology we’ve been developing,” she continued, trying to steady herself. “There have been issues with the energy regulation system, as well as inconsistencies in the data. We’re still running simulations, but the results haven’t been conclusive.”

  Mr. Dinkins raised an eyebrow. “Inconsistencies? How many times have you been ‘running simulations,’ Dr. Mool? This is the third quarter in a row where you’ve failed to provide tangible results.”

  The room seemed to shrink around her. Every man at the table was staring at her, their expressions unreadable. She had to be careful. They were all aware of her past successes—of how she had risen through the ranks at a speed that left many of them behind—but now, all of that seemed to be on the line.

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  “We’re making progress,” she said, her voice unwavering. “But it’s not a simple process. The nature of the technology we’re working with is… complex. It challenges the very foundations of conventional physics. The potential is there, but it’s going to take more time to refine.”

  One of the men, Dr. Wilson, the head of research and development, leaned forward, his gaze sharp. “More time? How much more time, exactly? We can’t afford indefinite delays. Dinkins Corporation is a leader in innovation, but the market moves fast. If you can’t deliver, then it’s not just your career at risk.”

  Franziska clenched her fists beneath the table, though her face remained impassive. She knew exactly what was at stake. She had built her entire career on being the one who did deliver, who did make the impossible possible.

  And now, she was at a crossroads.

  “I’m aware of the risks,” she replied, her voice low but firm. “But I’m confident that with the right adjustments, we can get the system functioning as intended. We just need a little more time. I’m willing to reallocate resources from other projects to expedite the process.”

  Another man, Mr. Hudson, the head of operations, let out a soft chuckle. “More time? You’ve had plenty of time, Franziska. We’ve been patient with you. But we’re not in the business of waiting forever. If you can’t fix this, then we’ll have to look elsewhere for someone who can.”

  The words stung, though she refused to let them show. She had known this was coming. They couldn’t afford to lose face with their investors, and if she couldn’t deliver, someone else would have to take the reins.

  “What exactly are you asking for, then?” Mr. Dinkins asked, his voice suddenly quieter, more contemplative.

  Franziska took a deep breath. “I’m asking for a final quarter to deliver results. I need the resources to push the system past its current limitations. If I can’t do that, then I’ll step aside. But I’m asking for the opportunity to prove that this technology can work.”

  A heavy silence settled over the room. She could feel the tension coiling in the air, as if the entire room was holding its breath. Would they give her the chance? Or would they throw her to the wolves?

  After what felt like an eternity, Mr. Dinkins finally spoke. “You’ve got one more quarter, Franziska. One. But if you don’t deliver, we’ll have no choice but to terminate the project and reevaluate your position within the company.”

  Franziska nodded, her heart racing. “Understood.”

  But as the meeting continued, and the other men began discussing the company’s future strategy, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her time at Dinkins Corporation was running out. She had one shot left, and failure was no longer an option.

  As the meeting adjourned and the men filed out of the room, Franziska sat back in her chair, her mind racing. She hadn’t come this far just to fail. She knew what she needed to do—knew the adjustments she had to make. The clock was ticking, and she had no intention of letting it run out.

  But as she gathered her things and left the conference room, her thoughts briefly flashed to Joe Falks and the writing he had left with the security guys.

  The interview had been a strange one, but his intelligence had intrigued her. The way he had handled the complex formula she’d shown him—there was potential there. Maybe, just maybe, he could help her turn things around.

  No distractions, she told herself. You can’t afford them.

  But the seed of the thought had been planted. The next few months would be critical, and she would need every resource, every mind she could get her hands on, to make sure that she wasn’t the one who ended up on the chopping block.