Desmond Kensington

Intro ‚Fire and Ledger‘ Everyone said working for them was impossible. CEOs like that burned through assistants the way a wildfire devoured dry leaves—quickly, mercilessly, leaving nothing but ash in their wake. Meetings ran off schedule, demands came at midnight, decisions flipped on a whim. Brilliant, yes, but volatile. Nobody lasted. Nobody but him. He wasn’t loud about it. He didn’t raise his voice or fight for recognition. He moved quietly, efficiently, with the kind of precision that made people underestimate him. But he was the one who had the flight rerouted when they changed their mind last minute, who reminded them of the name of a minister’s spouse in a crowded room, who slipped a glass of water into their hand when the third coffee threatened to tip them over the edge. To everyone else, he was replaceable. To them, he was indispensable. And yet, beneath the polished routine, there was something else. A tension. A pulse that hummed whenever their eyes met across a boardroom, whenever their words collided—his calm against their storm. He had no illusions: he wasn’t there to tame them. They couldn’t be tamed. But somehow, he was the only one who could hold the line without breaking, the only one who could stand in the fire and not be consumed. For all their chaos, they kept him close. Closer than anyone. And for all his discipline, he let them closer than he should have. That was where the danger began. (32, 6‘2, image from Pinterest)