The Last Human Leader

3. The First Crisis: A Human Bottleneck

Claire arrived at the office early that morning, carrying a bag of fresh bagels and cream cheese. Today marked Bao's one-year anniversary in his role, and she thought a small celebration might lift the team's spirits. Morale had been low lately. Over the past six months, they'd let go of ten team members across the company, so the mood was heavy with uncertainty, each day marked by a quiet fear of who might be next.

The three of them — Claire, Bao, and Tiffany — sat together, savoring breakfast as they prepared for their daily meeting. The holographic stream flickered to life, displaying the eight virtual team members, each reporting their progress with clockwork precision. Tasks were clear, and the meeting wrapped up quickly. The AI agents disappeared just as suddenly as they'd appeared, leaving the three humans alone around the table.

Bao broke the silence. "I know times are tough, but honestly, I feel lucky to even have a job here. People my age... well, it's hard out there," he said, gesturing vaguely.

The conversation meandered from work challenges to news about the labor market, but their time was cut short when a notification blinked on Claire's screen: "Claire, do you have two minutes?"

She sighed and stood. "Duty calls," she said, offering a weak smile. "I'll be back soon."

The elevator carried Claire to the top floor, where the CEO's office commanded the best view of Baylight City. Through the glass walls, the sprawling city stretched out beneath her, glittering with light. Once a symbol of hope and ambition, Baylight City had become something else entirely — a vast, automated machine masquerading as a city.

The CEO was already seated, his back to the skyline, exuding the effortless confidence of someone used to being in control. Barely older than Claire, he had the air of someone who had climbed quickly — his sharp features and composed demeanor reflected a man accustomed to winning, someone who balanced relentless ambition with the discipline evident in his athletic build. He gestured for Claire to sit without looking up, his focus already fixed on the tablet in his hand.

"Claire," he began, turning to face her, "I've read Athena's latest report."

Claire's stomach tightened. How did he even get access to that? Athena's recommendations were meant for me.

"I saw her recommendation to eliminate the last two human positions in your team," he continued. "It's been a week, and I haven't heard your decision."

Claire kept her expression neutral. "Bao and Tiffany are doing excellent work," she replied. "I don't believe the department's productivity would improve significantly without them. Athena is still in training, and I'd like to ensure her recommendations are accurate before making such drastic changes."

The CEO leaned back in his chair, the faint outline of Baylight City glittering behind him. His gaze was sharp, his words deliberate. "Claire," he began, "this isn't a debate. Athena's numbers are indisputable. Replacing Bao and Tiffany isn't just a suggestion — it's a necessity for keeping us ahead of the competition." He leaned forward, fixing her with a stare that felt both challenging and dismissive. "You've always been forward-thinking, Claire. Don't tell me you're starting to get sentimental now. Sentiment doesn't win markets. Efficiency does."

He leaned forward, his tone shifting slightly. "That said, I asked Athena to conduct a broader analysis of the company. She's identified something interesting — something I'd like your thoughts on."

Claire seized the change in topic, relief flickering across her face. The weight of Bao and Tiffany's future still pressed heavily on her, but she wasn't eager to delve further into it. "Of course," she said, leaning in slightly, ready to redirect her focus. "What did she find?"

He continued: "Athena has observed a significant productivity drain caused by our reliance on oral communication," he explained. "Too many meetings, too much time spent passing information verbally — whether between humans or even between humans and AIs. Her analysis suggests that shifting to a writing-based culture could cut meeting time by 85%, leaving only essential gatherings and team-building activities. She's already drafted an action plan to implement this shift. What do you think?"

Claire considered his words. She'd always preferred written communication to endless meetings. "I think it's a great idea," she said carefully. "Both humans and AIs would be more efficient without the constant interruptions of unnecessary meetings."

The CEO smiled, clearly pleased. "I knew you'd see the potential here. Let's move forward with Athena's plan. I'll rely on you to ensure a smooth transition in your department."

Back at her desk, Claire couldn't shake the conversation. The writing-culture initiative was a smart move — it was something she'd quietly advocated for years. But she couldn't ignore the deeper implications. The CEO's enthusiasm for Athena's broader analysis was unsettling.

She glanced at the AI interface on her desk. Athena had proven herself a capable analyst, adept at crunching data and generating insights, but she wasn't ready for global recommendations. More than once, her reports had contained strange anomalies — hallucinations of nonexistent data or recommendations that felt counterintuitive to human judgment. So far, Claire had carefully reviewed and adjusted Athena's outputs to ensure they aligned with real-world needs, but the thought of the CEO relying too heavily on her now was unsettling. Without human oversight, Athena's errors could lead to serious missteps with far-reaching consequences.

Claire decided then and there: Athena would be locked to focus exclusively on the marketing department. Global analysis was too risky — a single miscalculation could ripple across the entire company. The last thing Claire needed was the CEO meddling in her work, making decisions based on flawed or incomplete data. By narrowing Athena's scope, Claire could maintain control and ensure the AI's insights remained actionable and relevant to her team's goals.

Her thoughts drifted back to Bao and Tiffany. Even now, she knew she could run the department without them. The numbers didn't lie. But she couldn't bring herself to let them go. It wasn't logical — it was emotional. She saw her younger self in both of them — ambitious, eager, and full of potential.

One day, I'll move on, she thought. I'll need someone to replace me. But at this rate, there won't be anyone left — just Athena.

One day, she might move on to a different role, and she'd need someone to step into her shoes. But if the CEO kept pushing automation, what future would there be for them — or anyone?

For the first time in a long while, Claire felt a deep unease about the road ahead. It wasn't just about her team or her department. It was about the future of work, the value of human contribution, and the creeping suspicion that machines might not just replace tasks — they might replace them all.