In the dimly lit private room of an upscale steakhouse in Charlotte, five members of the Senior Leadership Team clinked their glasses together in a silent toast. The mood was triumphant, but there was an air of quiet tension—no one wanted to be the first to speak. Not until they knew for certain that “T” wasn’t going to unexpectedly appear.
“To 1,200,” one of them finally said, breaking the silence. He swirled his scotch lazily, smirking. “It wasn’t easy, but we did it.”
“We did,” another chimed in, whose job title changed every six months but somehow always included the words strategy and execution. “I mean, sure, some people lost their jobs, but that’s just business. The relocation incentives were meager but if they didn’t take the offer, that’s on them.”
No one mentioned that the relocation package was designed to be just unappealing enough that most employees would turn it down. The severance fund they had set aside was barely being touched—exactly as planned.
A third member who looked like an old leather purse, who hadn’t stepped foot in an office in three years but often lectured employees about “the value of in-person collaboration,” chuckled as she cut into her filet. “I love how they always act so shocked when these things happen. Like, hello, did you really think we were going to keep these seasoned employees when we can hire fresh young talent elsewhere? Come on.”
The fourth member, ever the pragmatist, checked her phone and grinned. “Our bonuses hit next payroll cycle. This calls for another round.” She motioned to the waiter, who had been hovering nearby, sensing the group’s indulgent mood.
Just as the drinks arrived, the fifth cleared his throat. “Let’s just… keep this low-key. We don’t want this getting back to T. You know how she gets.”
A collective shudder ran through the table. T was unpredictable at best, unhinged at worst. She had been known to fire entire teams on a whim and then forget she had done it. Last month, she had spent three days raging about remote work, demanding that all leaders be in-office five days a week—only for everyone to quietly ignore her when she disappeared on another “business retreat” to Europe.
“She’s happy today,” the second one whispered conspiratorially. “Got an email from her assistant. She thinks this will get her noticed on Instagram, so we’re safe. For now.”
Safe. That was all they could ever really hope for. Safe from T’s erratic moods. Safe from any scrutiny over their work-from-anywhere lifestyles. Safe from the layoffs that only affected people below their pay grade.
The fourth raised his glass. “To us. And to Frisco.”
The others joined in.
“To us. And to T’s money. Fu-k the plebs.”