Vikram the Salvo stood in his study, sunlight casting disciplined lines across the oak table. The morning was still, but his mind was already racing through the numbers and narratives that awaited him in the boardroom. Known for his clarity and courage in corporate storms, Vikram had become a name whispered with respect in corridors of power.
Just as he reached for his blazer, the temperature in the room dipped slightly. A shadow flickered near the window. From it emerged a figure — half mist, half menace — Vetal the Mirror.
“Vikram,” the voice echoed, calm but chilling, “I bring a story that could stain even your stellar morning.”
Vikram arched an eyebrow but remained unshaken. He had dealt with enough crises to know: when Vetal appeared, there was a lesson cloaked in mystery.
“There was once a company called BrightPath,” Vetal continued. “Their logo was radiant, their campuses gleaming. But something unseen crept beneath the surface. Talent — both skilled labour and middle management — began to walk out the door. No one screamed, no alarms rang. Yet the damage? Catastrophic.”
“Why did they leave?” Vikram asked.
“They left because they were unseen. Overworked. Unheard. Poorly led. No pulse surveys. No recognitions. No real conversations. Just productivity targets and endless shifts.”
Vetal stepped closer to Vikram’s face and his spooky eyes darted at Vikram’s. “Tell me, Vikram. What would you do, if you were the MD of Brightpath?”
“Now listen carefully, Salvo of Strategy. If you fail to provide answers — answers that a leader of your stature should know — then may your own enterprise suffer the same fate. Let your empire crumble under the weight of ignored attrition, and let your boardroom echo with the silence of those who’ve left.”
Vikram’s tone didn’t waver. “Vetal the Mirror. If I were the MD of BrightPath, I’d act at once. Two things, immediately. First, I’d start leadership and people-handling training for supervisors and managers. Those who lead the front lines must learn to do so with empathy and effectiveness. Second, I’d launch monthly pulse surveys. Let people speak. Let their voices guide correction before complaints turn into resignations.”
Vetal raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
“But a true leader,” Vikram continued, “does not stop at treating symptoms. Exit interviews would be mandatory, with real action taken on recurring themes. I’d ensure recognition becomes a habit, not an annual ritual. Reward systems would be re-engineered to honor values, not just targets. And yes, workloads must be fair. Burnout should not be the price of loyalty.”
The mist around Vetal began to shimmer.
“And to embed resilience,” Vikram said, “I’d focus on culture-building. Clear career paths, supportive onboarding, real-time feedback, and communication that’s transparent — not corporate jargon hiding hard truths. People stay where they grow. People stay where they’re seen.”
Vetal was silent for a moment, then smiled — a rare sight.
“You’ve answered well, Vikram the Salvo. Not with panic, but with purpose. BrightPath may yet survive… if it finds a leader like you.”
And with a swirl of air and a flicker of light, Vetal vanished.
Vikram adjusted his cufflinks, picked up his notes, and stepped into the hallway. The boardroom was waiting.
So were the futures of those who had not yet walked away.
Next on The Corporate Folklore Files:
“The Forgotten First-Day — How Poor Onboarding Costs More Than You Think”
