“He’s not present,” one said.

“He’s always billing,” another said. “But is he *here*?”

They nodded at that. Nodding was work they understood.

Someone said the number. 2600. Hours. Per annum. It landed on the table and lay there like a dead fish. No one touched it.

“Hours aren’t leadership,” the senior one said. He had white hair and a red tie and a voice trained in rooms where men like him never lost. “Gen X never learned that.”

They all smiled then. It was a clean smile. Not happy. Relieved. The kind you give when the story fits.

“He’s a service partner,” another said. “Service. That’s the word, isn’t it?”

“It is,” said the first. “And service wears you out.”

They talked about him as if he were already tired. As if fatigue were a moral failure. As if billing until midnight meant you didn’t care enough to show up at lunch.

“He doesn’t mentor,” one said.

“He doesn’t *signal*,” said another, and the word mattered more than meaning.

They spoke of Gen X the way men speak of a bridge they crossed and no longer need. Bitter. Rusted. Useful once. Now in the way.

“Always so cynical,” one said. “So male about it.”

That got a laugh. Short. Practiced.

Then her name came up. Softly. Like a prayer you don’t want to jinx.

“She’s different,” the senior one said. “She listens.”

“She’s collaborative.”

“She has the right energy.”

They said energy because they could not say output. They said presence because they could not say results. Someone mentioned a brief she had drafted. It was “promising.” Someone else said she needed “support.” No one said she had won anything.

“She represents the future,” the white-haired one said, and the room warmed at that. The future was always someone else’s problem.

“She struggles with details,” one admitted, gently, as if talking about a child with weak lungs. “But that can be fixed.”

“Confidence can’t be taught,” another said. “And she has confidence.”

They did not say where it came from. They did not need to.

The Gen X partner came back up, the way a body floats. Someone said he questioned strategy. Someone said he pushed back. Someone said he had a tone.

“He still thinks merit matters,” one said, and that killed the room for a second.

“Exactly,” the senior partner said. “That’s the problem.”

They talked about a transition. About easing him out. About respect. About how hard it is to tell a man like that he’s no longer aligned. They talked about optics. They talked about legacy.

No one talked about the work.

Outside, the Gen X partner walked past the glass with a file under his arm. He looked thin. Focused. Like a man who still believed the hours counted. Inside, the boomers leaned back, satisfied. They were making room. For the future. For someone who smiled in meetings and never asked why.

I finished my coffee. It tasted burned. Discuss.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5822704&forum_id=2Reputation#49593183)