My second day began with the silent, triumphant arrival of the Swiss coffee thermometer. It was a masterpiece of Teutonic engineering, all brushed titanium and silent, glowing digits. I presented it to Alexander with the solemnity of a courtier offering a sacred relic to a capricious emperor.
He inspected it, turning it over in his long fingers. "The weight is... acceptable," he pronounced. "It feels... precise. Not like the treacherous, feather-light liar it replaces." He handed it back to me. "Calibrate it."
"Calibrate it, sir?"
"Against the universe, Miss Chen," he said, as if explaining something obvious to a child. "I need to know its soul is in alignment with the fundamental constants. Use the triple-point of water. There's a kit in the hydration alcove."
Of course there was. I spent the next forty minutes in a high-school science fugue state, carefully heating and cooling distilled water in a specialized glass cell, waiting for the solid, liquid, and gas phases to coexist in perfect equilibrium. The thermometer read 0.01°C exactly. I felt a surge of pride that was immediately crushed by the realization that I was proud of following instructions written for a sixteen-year-old.
I delivered the validated news. Alexander gave a slow, approving nod. "Good. The foundation is laid. Now, we can begin the real work."
The "real work," it turned out, was the weekly 10 a.m. "Synergy Scoping" meeting. I was instructed to sit in the back of the conference room, a sleek pod of glass and white oak that looked like it belonged on a starship, and "absorb the vibrational frequencies."
The department heads filed in—Marketing, a sharply dressed woman named Brenda who looked like she hadn't slept since 2015; Finance, a man named Robert whose aura was literally beige; and R&D, a guy named Leo with wild hair and a stained hoodie.
Alexander stood at the head of the table, not sitting. He placed his hands on the surface and closed his eyes for a moment. The room fell silent.
"Team," he began, his voice a low, resonant hum. "Thank you for gathering. Before we delve into the mundane metrics—the 'what' and the 'how'—we must first attune ourselves to the 'why.' We must feel the synergy."
Brenda nodded vigorously, as if she'd been waiting for this her whole life. Robert looked like he was calculating the amortized cost of this minute of attunement.
"I want you to close your eyes," Alexander commanded.
Slowly, reluctantly, everyone did. Except for me. I was frozen, a spy behind enemy lines.
"Feel the energy in the room," he intoned. "The collective ambition. The shared purpose. Do not think of it as a business strategy. Think of it as an aura. A luminous field of potential, connecting us all."
Leo, from R&D, had one eye slightly open, watching Alexander with a mixture of awe and terror.
"This synergy aura is weak today," Alexander declared, his eyes still shut. "Fractured. I'm sensing... dissonance. A lack of faith in the Q3 projections." He opened his eyes and pinned Robert with a stare. "Robert. Your energy is cynical. It's creating drag."
Robert flinched. "I... the numbers are just... challenging, Alex—Mr. Wilde."
"Numbers are the corpse of energy, Robert!" Alexander boomed, striking the table with a flat palm. Everyone jumped. "You are worshipping the corpse! I need you to believe in the living force! I need you to project an aura of abundance!"
I saw Brenda actually try to sit up straighter, as if physically pushing out an "abundance aura." Robert had gone from beige to a faint pistachio green.
For twenty minutes, Alexander led what was essentially a corporate séance. We visualized success as a "golden wave." We "released the energetic blockages" surrounding the new marketing campaign. We were instructed to mentally send "pulses of innovative intent" to Leo in R&D, who by now had both eyes wide open and was subtly edging his chair toward the door.
My role, as the "receptive audience," was to sit still and try not to audibly groan. My internal monologue, however, was working overtime.
Oh my god. He's not using "synergy" as a metaphor. He actually thinks it's a quantifiable energy field. This isn't management. This is corporate LARPing. I have an advanced degree in economics, and I'm currently being paid to watch a grown man try to psychicly manipulate his CFO.
Finally, the "attunement" concluded. Alexander, seemingly refreshed, clapped his hands. "Excellent. The vibrational frequency has shifted. Now, Brenda, the bullet points on the campaign."
The meeting proceeded with a bizarre, whiplash-inducing return to normalcy. Spreadsheets were pulled up. Timelines were discussed. But the entire conversation was now filtered through the lens of Alexander's cosmic commentary.
"That timeline has a weak aura, Brenda. It lacks conviction."
"These user metrics... the energy is stagnant. We need to inject velocity."
"Leo, the prototype's aura is promising, but I'm sensing a... a brown note of incompatibility. Fix it."
When the meeting adjourned, the department heads fled the room as if escaping a fire. I remained seated, my mind utterly numb.
Alexander turned to me, a bead of sweat on his temple from the exertion of channeling the corporate aura. "Well, Miss Chen? What were your impressions of the synergy?"
I looked at him, at this man who had just tried to heal a budget deficit with positive vibes. I thought of the number in my bank account. I thought of my student loans.
I took a deep breath. "It was... luminous, sir. I could almost see it. A faint, shimmering haze of collective purpose."
He studied me, his head tilted. For a terrifying second, I thought he saw right through the lie. But then, a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. It transformed him, making him look younger, almost boyish.
"You feel it too," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I knew you would. Most of them are blind to it." He gestured vaguely toward the door where the others had exited. "But you... you have a receptive aura, Miss Chen. A very receptive aura."
He swept out of the conference room, leaving me alone with the ghost of his "synergy."
I put my head in my hands. I had just gotten a promotion from mere assistant to... aura-sensitive acolyte. This was so much worse than I could have possibly imagined.
And the truly frightening part? A tiny, sleep-deprived, well-compensated part of me was starting to find it weirdly fascinating.