Riddles in the Ruins

The board meeting felt like standing before the Great Sphinx itself—ancient, inscrutable, waiting for me to solve something impossible. Victoria sat at the head of the table, her face carved in granite, eyes revealing nothing. She'd already devoured two VPs this quarter. I adjusted my tie, aware of the spinach stuck between my molars, a tiny green flag of surrender from the hasty lunch I'd choked down while reviewing projections.

"The numbers, Thomas," she said, not asking, demanding.

I looked across at Richard, that bullish bastard who'd been charging through meetings like he owned the place. He caught my eye, smirked, and I knew he'd seen the spinach. He'd probably planted it there—figuratively, if not literally. Richard didn't just compete; he dismantled.

"We're looking at a fifteen percent increase in Q3," I said, and my voice didn't waver.

"That's not a riddle," Victoria said. "That's a wish."

Something cracked in me then. Maybe it was the spinach working its way loose, maybe it was three years of holding my tongue while colleagues got trampled. I thought of my daughter's report card last week—she'd failed geometry but written in the comments: "I don't see why triangles matter when the world is round."

"The triangle is the strongest shape," I found myself saying. "But only when all three sides hold their weight."

Silence. Victoria's eyes shifted, something like recognition flickering across that sphinx face.

"Go on."

"We've been treating departments like separate entities. Operations, sales, development—they're all pulling in different directions. But what if we realigned? What if the triangle pointed somewhere?"

Richard started to speak, but Victoria held up a hand. For the first time, she looked interested. I reached into my pocket, fingers brushing the wrapper from lunch, thinking of spinach fields somewhere far from this glass tower, of things that grew from dirt but ended up nourishing.

"I need a week," I said. "Let me prove it."

Victoria nodded once. Dismissed.

In the elevator, Richard leaned against the wall. "Nice speech, Thomas. Really."

"Thanks."

"You've got something in your teeth."

I smiled, finally dislodging the spinach with my tongue. "I know. Been meaning to deal with that."