Chapter 3 — The First Team Meeting

Andy

The conference room was a glass cube suspended in the hive of Kelex HQ, its transparency both a design statement and a subtle psychological weapon. Every time I glanced up from the blank notepad in front of me, I saw the bustle of the office beyond—their hurried pacing a stark contrast to the unnerving stillness within. It was like sitting inside a fishbowl, and I was the lone goldfish trying to look like I belonged.

I tapped my pen against the table, the soft clicks blending with the faint hum of the building. The light reflected from the binary engraving on my bracelet, and I ran my thumb over its surface for reassurance. *"Never.give.up();”* I repeated silently. Just another meeting. No reason for my heart to feel like it was pinging off the walls of my chest.

The rest of the team filed in with varying levels of energy. Zara bounced into the room as if she’d just cracked the code of life itself, her purple hair catching the light. Ethan entered next with the precision of someone choreographing his every move for maximum effect. His crisp button-down seemed starched enough to stand on its own. Priya followed, her presence immediately soothing as she offered me a small, reassuring smile before taking the chair beside me.

And then Alexander Coleman arrived.

He strode in with all the ease of someone who owned not just the room but also the building and possibly the city skyline just beyond the windows. His tailored blazer didn’t just fit him—it defined him, as much a part of his persona as the leather-bound notebook and monogrammed fountain pen he placed on the table with exacting care. The pen gleamed under the overhead lights, a sleek symbol of control and precision. His gaze swept the room once, brushing over me briefly with the neutrality of someone scanning an unfamiliar system for potential bugs.

"Let’s begin," he said, his tone clipped but measured, slicing through the low murmur in the room. Even his voice carried an air of authority, each word calibrated for maximum impact.

The meeting began with a discussion about the upcoming app project, which had apparently been christened "Project Phoenix." Ethan took the floor, wielding his Bluetooth remote like a conductor’s baton, advancing slides that radiated corporate hyperbole.

"The goal," Ethan began, his tone smooth and polished, "is to revolutionize user engagement in the fintech space. We’re not just building an app. We’re crafting an experience."

Zara leaned closer, her voice barely a whisper. "Bet he practiced this in front of a mirror."

I stifled a laugh behind a cough, but the sound still escaped. Alexander’s piercing blue eyes flicked to me for half a second, and I froze as if caught sneaking snacks in a data center.

Ethan’s presentation rolled on, and the initial humor gave way to mounting frustration. His slides were crammed with animations and buzzwords—“synergizing paradigms,” “disruptive innovation”—but they were frustratingly light on substance. He painted a vision of what the app could do but glossed over how we would actually make it happen. The technical details were vague at best, glaringly absent at worst. My fingers itched to type out fixes or, at the very least, point out the glaring holes.

My nerves, however, held me back. Could I really speak up here, in front of the entire team, including Alexander? I glanced at Priya, whose calm, steady nod seemed to say, *You’ve got this.* I took a deep breath, my thumb brushing over my bracelet again. *"Never.give.up();”*

Clearing my throat, I raised my hand slightly. “Ethan, I’ve got a question.”

He paused mid-slide click, turning to me with an expression that was polite on the surface but glinted with condescension beneath. "Yes, Andy?"

The room grew still, the hum of the building seeming to amplify the weight of the moment. My palms were clammy against the table, but I pushed forward. “Your proposal’s great in terms of user experience,” I started, choosing my words carefully, “but have you considered the backend implications? For example, with real-time data analytics, how are we accounting for server load and latency issues? Live updates could strain the system unless we plan for those constraints upfront.”

The silence that followed was as glassy as the walls around us. Ethan’s confident smirk faltered, just for a split second, before he recovered. “That’s a valid observation,” he said, his tone measured. “We’ll be addressing that in the implementation phase.”

“Right,” I said, keeping my voice steady despite the adrenaline buzzing under my skin. “But wouldn’t it be more efficient to factor those constraints into the initial design? Retrofitting later could affect performance.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened, and his grip on the remote turned white-knuckled. “We’ve accounted for it,” he said, advancing the slide with more force than necessary. “But I’ll be sure to revisit the details.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Alexander tilting his head slightly, his gaze lingering on me with an unreadable expression. It wasn’t intimidating, exactly—more like he was cataloging my input, weighing it in his mind. Priya gave me a small thumbs-up under the table, and Zara’s grin was broad enough to light up the room. I leaned back in my chair, the knot in my chest loosening just a little.

The meeting continued, with Zara chiming in about design elements and Priya offering insights on timeline management. I stayed quiet, not wanting to overplay my hand, but I couldn’t help noticing the subtle shifts in the room’s dynamics. Ethan’s rigid posture betrayed his irritation, but Alexander’s gaze kept drifting back to me, unreadable but steady.

As the discussion wound down, Alexander closed his notebook with a decisive snap. “I appreciate the enthusiasm and ideas presented today,” he said, his voice cutting cleanly through the room. “But enthusiasm isn’t enough. This project will require precision, collaboration, and innovative thinking. If anyone has doubts about their ability to deliver, now’s the time to speak up.”

His words hung in the air like a command-line prompt waiting for input. No one moved, least of all Ethan, whose lips thinned into a tight line.

“Good,” Alexander continued. His eyes landed on Ethan. “You’ll prepare a more detailed technical proposal by the end of the week.” Then, to my absolute shock, his gaze shifted to me. “Andy.”

My heart stopped. “Yes?”

“I’d like you to develop a mockup of the app’s data architecture. Based on your earlier points, I’m curious to see your approach.”

Curious? That was unexpected. Also terrifying. “Of course,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

Alexander nodded once, his expression giving nothing away. “Meeting adjourned.” He rose, the room moving in synchronized deference as he exited with the efficiency of someone whose time was a precious commodity.

I remained seated, gripping the edge of the table as the reality of what had just happened sank in. Zara plopped down beside me, her grin rivaling the Cheshire Cat’s. “Day two, and you’re already on Alexander’s radar. Impressive.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I asked, only half-joking.

“Depends,” Zara said, miming a dramatic throat-slitting gesture. “Kidding. Mostly.”

Priya approached, her expression kind but firm. “Don’t overthink it,” she said. “Alexander’s tough, but he wouldn’t have given you the mockup if he didn’t think you could handle it. Trust yourself.”

I nodded, her words soothing some of the jitters in my chest. As I packed up my notes, I caught Ethan lingering by the door. His eyes flicked to my bracelet for a split second before narrowing. Whatever his issue was, I didn’t have the bandwidth to care.

I had a mockup to create—and a point to prove.

*Welcome to Kelex, Andy.* Time to show them what I’m made of.