The laser pointer’s red dot danced across the ‘Synergy Alignment’ slide with the frantic energy of a trapped moth. I remember the air in that room; it felt recycled, scrubbed of any actual oxygen, and replaced with the expensive, dry scent of $102-an-hour HVAC maintenance. Our consultant, a man whose suit was so sharp it looked like it could perform minor surgery, was currently explaining ‘Phase 4: The Cultural Renaissance.’ He was 52 minutes into a presentation that was supposed to take 32, and yet, nobody stopped him. We sat there, 12 of us, nodding like dashboard ornaments, while he detailed a future that didn’t exist. It was a beautiful, abstract theory of change that had no contact with the sticky, oily reality of our factory floor.
Yesterday, I won an argument that I knew, deep in my marrow, I was wrong about. I convinced a junior analyst that our projected churn was 12% lower than it actually was, simply by out-talking him and using a tone of voice that suggested I had seen the secret ledgers of the universe. I felt a surge of triumph, and then, a hollow ache. I had won the room but moved us further from the truth. That is exactly what this consultant was doing. He was winning the boardroom, securing his next contract, and leaving us with a $500,002
