I chuckle. “No, nothing else. Just…” I point at the report. “Can I have that?”
His eyebrows lift, and he hesitates for a moment before holding it out for me. “Sure.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking it and trying to ignore the daunting feeling of the thick report in my hands.
Dad nods with a small smile, then turns and leaves.
I stand in the empty garage and look down at the folder. I know I can’t make sense of it, but… I want to try. I need to try to make this work. I need to understand this field in any way I can.
It became mine over the past few years, when everything else felt like it was falling apart. I don’t know how to fix it, and everything I’ve tried has failed. But it’s the only thing that’s allowed me to fail—and stayed.
And I can’t lose anything else.
TWELVE
NOW I’M TWENTY-SIX YEARS OLD
My brow creasesas I look over the graphs on the screen as Maya flips to the next slide. Well, shit. I don’t like where this is going.
“As you can see, operating costs across several client supply chains are higher than projected,” Maya says, turning back to the table. “So we need to talk about how we’re positioning optimization this quarter. Jordan, you’ve said sales have been pushing for more immediate cost reduction.”
I bite back a sigh and shift my attention to Jordan across the table from me. We seem to have this conversation every quarter in one way or another. Maya is a solid director of product strategy, but for a mid-sized ag-tech company that builds software for every stage of the food supply chain—from farmers to retailers—it feels like a debate we should have settled by now. Then again, as the sustainability strategy analyst, Iwouldthink that.
Jordan leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Clients are looking for lower operating costs, and they want to see those savings sooner. When we demo the short-termoptimization settings with tighter routes and leaner inventory buffers, they respond really well. I think it’s worth revisiting.”
“I don’t,” I say, shifting my gaze around the table to gauge everyone’s reactions, which seems to be mixed. “We can’t responsibly promise that.”
Maya lifts her brows, then gestures for me to continue.
“They want lower operating costs,” I say, “but they don’t want volatility in their supply chains. And that’s exactly what they get when we optimize purely for immediate savings.”
Jordan frowns slightly. “How so?”
“When we tighten everything to cut costs quickly,” I say, gesturing towards the screen, “we remove the buffer that absorbs disruption. It looks great in the first quarter as costs drop, and everyone’s happy. But with one delay, such as a bad weather week, or an inconsistent supplier, suddenly they’re paying for emergency rerouting, last-minute sourcing, and product loss.”
“So we’re looking at slower results,” Dave, our operations manager, says.
I nod. “Yes. But more stable results. If we prioritize consistent sourcing and realistic buffers instead of squeezing everything for speed, clients lose less product over time. Farmers lose fewer crops to stress, distributors lose less to spoilage and delays, and less loss means lower costs across the year. Not just in the first report.”
Maya exhales slowly. “Ok. So we don’t optimize for immediate cost cuts.”
“We optimize for stability,” I say with a nod. “That’s what keeps costs down over time.”
“Alright.” Dave nods, and murmurs sound around the table in agreement.
“We’ll stop here for today,” Maya says, checking the time. “Have a good weekend, everyone.”
I don’t waste any time heading out of the meeting room and back to my desk so I can pack up to head home. As much as I love my job, I don’t want to spend any more time here on a Friday afternoon than necessary when the weather is finally getting warm. Although I do pack up my laptop and grab a few files I need to review before next week’s onboarding sessions. We’ve taken on three new clients this month, when we’ve already been busy, so I’m behind on building their baseline configurations. If I can find an hour or two this weekend to get caught up, I’ll feel better heading into Monday.
I wave to a few coworkers on the way out, then head down the elevator, through the lobby, and out onto the sidewalk of downtown Toronto. The late afternoon sun is warm despite the chill of late April in the air, and I smile to myself as I slip my sunglasses on. People mill about everywhere, quickly filling up the sidewalks as they exit the building and head for Union Station, or to the cars and taxis lined up along the side of the road to take them home.
I slip into the chaotic flow, dodging people with practiced ease as I make my way along the busy sidewalks towards my place. It’s only a few blocks away, and the short walk feels like a nice reset at the end of each workday. I was lucky enough to find it, even though it was a bit pricier than what I was looking for. But walking distance to work and quick access to surrounding parks made the decision for me. Although Grange Park being a short walk away was the winning factor for Winston.
When I reach my condo and push the door open, it bumps something solid.
“Jeez,” I mutter, seeing Winston standing right at the door. “Want to give me some space to get in?”
He backs up a few steps, looking up at me with a wide smile, tongue lolling to one side, and his tail wagging so hard his entire back half wags with it.
