Fix the culture, Julian pleaded. Tell me who is lying and who is leaving.
As Julian left, Aris turned back to his monitor. He looked at a draft of an email he was writing to his own estranged daughter. He saw the "I"s piling up like a wall, a testament to his own ego and his need to be right. With a sigh, he began to delete them, searching for a "you" that might finally bridge the gap.
In Julian’s transcripts, "we" was almost always followed by a demand. We need to hit these numbers. We must work harder. Aris called this the "Imperial We." It wasn't a sign of togetherness; it was a tool for diffusing accountability. By using "we," Julian was subtly shifting his own responsibilities onto a faceless collective.
The most chilling discovery, however, lay in the emails of the Chief Financial Officer. The CFO’s writing was devoid of the word "I." It was all passive voice and third-party references. The funds were allocated. The decision was made.
One Tuesday afternoon, a panicked executive named Julian sat across from him. Julian’s company was hemorrhaging talent, and he couldn't understand why. He handed Aris a stack of internal memos and transcripts from recent board meetings.