Page 65 of Ugly Truths
There’s barely time to register Everett’s open-mouthed shock before Dr. Miriam Alden, our medical research expert, says, “What about compliance? If we shift production overseas, how do you expect to maintain regulatory approvals in every market?”
Jeremy waves off her concern with the flick of his wrist. “Regulations always catch up to innovation. We’ll be ahead of the curve.”
Amy, our CHRO, bristles. “Have you considered the implications of mass layoffs? The lawsuits? The PR fallout?” Her voice takes on an edge I so rarely hear from the soft-spoken woman.
These words seem to land harder than the others so far, making Jeremy sit up in his seat, but he recovers quickly. “It’s about efficiency. We’ll restructure and reallocate resources. There’s always a way.”
Elias shakes his head. “What’s the actual roadmap, or are we just throwing out buzzwords?”
Jeremy hesitates just a second too long.
William leans forward, commanding everyone’s attention with the slight raise of his hand. “These are all details we can work through as we move forward into the planning process.”
It takes a moment for me to realize those words just came out of my father’s mouth.
Someone who built his entire empire on meticulous planning and absolute control is suddenly advocating forwinging it? The same man who used to demand five-year projections and contingency plans for the smallest operational changes, is now brushing off critical logistics like an afterthought?
In the midst of the chaos circling in my head, something cold settles in my chest as what I’m witnessing dawns on me.
Just weeks after I reminded him that Jeremy’s COO nomination is still off the table, my brother suddenly has a large-scale operations pitch fortoday. A Hail Mary, though I’m not sure I can call the trainwreck we just witnessed that.
These two conniving…
Though I’d love nothing more than to wipe that smug smile off of Jeremy’s mouth for having the audacity to embarrass us with that pathetic excuse of a presentation, the anger brewing under my skin isn’t directed at him.
It’s toward the man who just put his son in front of the board, giving him the confidence and permission to think that this would make Jeremy look like a viable COO candidate. And worse, that we’d all just readily go along with some half-baked idea without any materials or projections.
Either William has lost his ever-loving mind, or he’s so desperate to paint Jeremy in a good light that he is willing to risk everything on one of the most reckless and ill-prepared ideas ever brought forward in the over ten years I’ve been a board member.
“They aren’tjustdetails. They’re the foundation of the entire plan,” I respond.
Both Jeremy and my father zero in on me, one pair of brown eyes narrowed with unfiltered emotion, the other delivering a glare so precise it stings like the slice of a scalpel.
My brother lets out an exasperated breath, clearly not having the patience to keep the same composure with me as he did with the others. “Every great innovation carries risk. If we’re always waiting for the perfect conditions, we’ll never be ahead of the competition. Leading companies don’t sit around debating logistics while the market moves forward without them.”
I inhale sharply through my nose, shaking my head. “It’s not about risk. It’s aboutcalculatedrisk. And the difference between the two is preparation. These AI-driven systems aren’t proven to be reliable at the scale you’re talking about. We’d be restructuring everything based on technology that hasn’t been fully stress-tested in a regulated environment like ours. What happens if the automated systemsfail? If production bottlenecks because an algorithm miscalculates a batch of a medication? Do you know what the financial hit would look like if we had to recall an entire line of product due to a single unnoticed AI error?”
Jeremy opens his mouth, then shuts it just as fast.
I gesture toward the rest of the table, sweeping my gaze over the board members. “The people in this room are experts in their fields. You came in here today with no presentation, no projections, and no real solutions to their very legitimate concerns. And yet you’re telling us all to just take a leap of faith?”
Jeremy’s jaw tightens, the color in his face darkening with frustration. I can feel his fury from across the table, but I’m not here to stroke his ego. I’m here to make sure we don’t burn Wells to the ground.
Still, I ease back just a little.
“If you want us to truly consider this idea, show us how you’d address these pain points and focus on putting together a proposal for a pilot program at one of our smaller facilities. If you can come back with something tangible, then we can have a real discussion.”
Jeremy’s throat works as he tries to think of something else to say, but nothing comes. My father does nothing to rescue him. To his right, Randall, our former CLO, who is as loyal to William as a hound is to its owner, remains motionless with his hands folded neatly in front of him. His eyes are fixed on the table with such concentration, I’m surprised the wood doesn’t crack.
Venessa Hawke doesn’t immediately rush to William’s defense like usual, either. Her perfectly manicured nails tap against the table to Everett’s side, the only outward sign of her thoughts, but she stays quiet.
Jeremy’s hands ball into fits that he quickly moves to his lap.
William looks around the room, likely noticing the same thing the rest of us have, and finally exhales. “Well,” he says too smoothly, closing the folder in front of him with deliberate slowness. “I suppose we’ll need more discussion before we move forward.”
The conversation quickly shifts back to normal territory—updates on existing projects, supply chain logistics, and upcoming regulatory audits. Business as usual.
Jeremy spends the rest of the meeting staring into the side of my temple, his shoulders tight, arms crossed.
