Danielle had done what she did best: bury herself in the work. Her calendar had become a mosaic of strategy syncs, supplier negotiations, and deep focus blocks labeled only as masterplan.
Recalling how the first week of December has been to her.
The Gourmet Supplier Meeting
Danielle smiled as the familiar faces popped up on her screen—the cured meats curator, the cheese expert, and the chocolatier, each with their own sparkle of pride.
"Okay, team, this is huge. After two decades, Horizon Holdings is finally giving out gift boxes for Christmas," Danielle started, her voice warm but purposeful. "We want a curated sampler of your best cured meats—perfect for any holiday table."
The meats expert grinned. "We'll make sure it's a star. Think artisanal, smoky, with just the right balance."
"And the cheese?" Danielle asked, turning to the cheese specialist.
"Pairing sets, designed to complement the meats. We're talking smooth, sharp, and a little surprise in every bite," the cheese specialist said, eyes twinkling.
Danielle laughed. "Sounds like a feast already."
Then the chocolatier chimed in, "Swiss chocolates, of course. Smooth, elegant, and, I dare say, the perfect sweet note."
Danielle raised an eyebrow playfully. "Any chance of adding a touch of liquor to a few?"
The chocolatier winked. "Tempting, but I know these go to families, so maybe we keep it classic—safe for all ages."
Danielle nodded. "Smart move. Family-friendly it is."
Before they wrapped, Danielle made sure everyone knew, "In exchange for these premium products, Horizon will prioritize your lines in our upcoming promotions. This is a partnership, after all."
The team exchanged enthusiastic nods and smiles. Deals done.
Caden and the Sommelier
La Rioja vineyard, Spain — Late afternoon, video call with rustic vineyard background
Caden settled in for the call with the family's sommelier, whose knowledge of the centuries-old La Rioja vineyard was encyclopedic.
"We want the Pinot Noir sampler to feel as timeless as the vineyard itself," Caden said. "The bottles have been aging for decades—how do we reflect that in the design?"
The sommelier leaned forward, "Labels must tell a story—heritage, elegance, a nod to tradition."
Danielle, who had just joined the call, added, "I'd like to commission a graphic artist to create the label. Something clean, modern, but with classic elements—maybe a subtle vine illustration or vintage typography?"
The sommelier smiled approvingly. "Perfect. The art should feel like a handshake between past and present."
Caden nodded, "Great. We'll have some mockups soon."
The Local Clothing Brand
Remote call to a Spanish boutique fashion house
Danielle's tone softened as she talked with the clothing designer.
"We want two Horizon Holdings shirts, casual but sharp. Optional Monday wear for the team to feel comfortable but still part of the brand."
The designer sent fabric samples and logo placements through the chat.
Danielle reviewed them, "Love the soft cotton. And can we get a few sizes for everyone? Comfort is key."
The designer agreed with a smile emoji.
"Perfect. Let's keep it stylish but easygoing."
A few days later. . .
Procurement Email Chain
Subject: Token Distribution Finalization
The packing of the holiday gift boxes had been quietly handled outside their own facilities — a collaboration with three long-standing suppliers. Logistics were locked. Addresses cross-checked. Labels: bilingual.
One detail stood out to the fulfillment officer checking the final manifest:
Her name was not included.
Now that the gift boxes are all sorted out, back to the masterplan.
The centerpiece? A bold realignment of Horizon's Customer Success division — not by expansion, but by smart delegation. She had quietly secured an agency she once worked for, people who knew her style, her pace, and most importantly, her standards. The signed proposal was already archived in Axel's shared drive, tagged: To launch Q1 – Pre-approved.
She started her mornings early — laptop open by five, coffee black, brain sharper than the hardware in front of her. Her tools were virtual, but her reach was felt across time zones. No one truly knew the scale of what she was pulling together.
The Customer Success overhaul was the crown jewel.
She had orchestrated an eight-person support group — seven specialists and one team lead — mapped perfectly across three critical regions: Asia, Europe, and the Middle East. Their schedule? Engineered to run in overlapping shifts that sustained a consistent 16-hour operational window daily. The design was seamless — like she'd folded the sun to accommodate the work.
Their core task: frontline triage and customer support via CRM.
Ticketing, routing, real-time troubleshooting, and follow-ups — all wrapped into a lean system that would pull the weight of non-urgent concerns off HQ's already overloaded plate. This team wouldn't just patch gaps. They would own the frontline.
It was all there:
Workflow charts.
KPI trees.
Staffing ratios.
Handover protocols.
Escalation ladders.
The final nail? This system would allow HQ to realign its core focus — from chasing minor inquiries to managing high-level returns and SLA enforcement.
A full transition.
A full relief.
A full win.
She finalized the framework. Budget. Scope. Approval slips. Internal comms.
By the evening of December 8, the proposal was signed, watermarked, and quietly slipped into Axel's shared drive.
Filename: Q1_CustomerSuccess_AgencyTransition_DRealDeLara_FINAL.pdf
Accessed by: A.RealDeLara (viewed 1x)
She didn't follow up. He would see it. They always did — eventually.
She didn't wait for fanfare. She never did.
December 10 – Remote Workers (Asia, Australia, UK)
It began as a whisper.
A photo dropped quietly in a side thread: a sleek, matte black box, embossed with the newly refined Horizon logo in gold foil. Bold serif lettering. Clean lines. A future-forward silhouette.
Then came another. Then another.
Inside, a sampler of cured Spanish meats. A trio of artisan cheeses. Two miniature bottles of Pinot Noir. Swiss chocolates wrapped in crisp, folded papers. And two black shirts — minimalist, tailored, branded — with the gold logo pressed above the heart.
It was the first time anyone had ever worn a Horizon uniform — and it wasn't even mandatory.
In a family home in Perth, a Filipino-Australian remote worker brought the box to the dining table. Her children gasped at the chocolates, her husband examined the meats.
"Ang sosyal," her mother said over FaceTime, laughing.
"You really work there? Not a scam?"
In Cebu, someone messaged the Slack general channel.
"Is this real?"
"No memo on the gift boxes... Who signed off?"
"It's from HQ. Axel's name is on the card, but—this has someone's fingerprints."
Danielle's name wasn't anywhere, but everyone knew. And that made the praise even louder.
December 11 – Warehouse Chats (Germany, Netherlands)
Boxes appeared like unexpected blessings — one on every table, locker, and staff desk.
Supervisors watched as warehouse crew stared at the labels, verifying the names as if in disbelief. A forklift operator actually laughed — not out of humor, but confusion.
"Why now?"
"We didn't hit any bonus targets."
"Is this from Axel?"
"No... this is from Dan."
Breakrooms filled with the scent of cured meat and cheese. Employees peeled back packaging with curiosity and wonder, discovering the care baked into every detail. The company shirts were met with actual admiration.
One night shift staff member held his shirt up like a flag.
"You know what? I think I'm going to wear the shirt on Monday."
That phrase traveled through Slack like fire.
December 12 – Spain HQ
It hit like a wave. A very organized, very black-and-gold wave.
Reception was already overwhelmed by mid-morning — boxes delivered in crisp stacks marked with internal distribution codes.
At first, some assumed it was for executives only. Then interns got theirs. So did the kitchen crew. Then the cleaning staff. And then, finally, the night security team.
No hierarchy. No tiers. No exceptions.
Just respect — in a box.
The labels were personalized, printed with full names and departments. A card sat inside each one.
"Felices fiestas – From Horizon."
The words weren't corporate. They were... warm.
It was generous. It was unprecedented. It was unsettling — in the best way.
A director whispered in the break room:
"Axel didn't plan this. I know how he moves. This was her play."
By the time lunch hit, the main floor was quiet — not from exhaustion, but reflection.
Even the usually noisy social team was subdued — eyes scanning Slack, fingers still, save for reposting stories of Horizon workers across Europe sharing the unboxing with their families.
The only thing louder than the clinking of cheese knives was the question everyone seemed afraid to ask aloud:
Why didn't she send one for herself?
One of logistics head checked. The manifest confirmed it:
Her name was not on the list.
Internal Email – Carmen to Axel
(cc'd only to herself)
She left herself out of the list. Only the people.
She really is the little huncho.
Axel's Office – Spain HQ
He had just walked in from a morning board sync when he saw it — the same black box on his desk, no bigger, no different.
His name, clean on the label.
No note. No special anything.
He sat, loosened his tie, and stared at the logo etched in gold. Sleek. Modern. Confident.
Just like her work.
December 13
The building had emptied hours ago, save for the soft hum of security rounds and the clink of mugs being rinsed in the executive pantry. Axel sat alone, sleeves rolled, tie undone, eyes trained on the corner of his screen.
The notification was subtle.
Accessed file: Q1_CustomerSuccess_AgencyTransition_DRealDeLara_FINAL.pdf
He hadn't opened it until now. He had meant to. Meant to for days.
She really doesn't stop, he thought, already scanning the first slide.
His expression didn't change, but his posture did. Elbows leaned in. Jaw set. He scrolled — slowly at first, then with increasing pace.
An eight-person satellite team.
Three territories.
Overlapping shifts covering 16 manhours.
CRM ticketing routed smartly.
Escalation flow tightened.
HQ unburdened.
She had built a relay system — not just a bandaid, but a long-game operational artery.
Clean logic. Smart flow. Cheap for the value. Covered from launch.
And then he saw it — the subtle watermark in the corner:
"Approved Q1 Launch – Budget Locked."
Of course she'd already signed with procurement.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled over his lips, eyes still fixed on the screen.
She doesn't wait to be told. Doesn't ask for confirmation. She just… executes.
He admired that. Respected it, even.
But he couldn't let it show. Not yet.
Not when the real test was still months away.
The metrics looked promising — on paper. A 29% spike in pre-holiday sales. A clean 9% dip in return rates.
Social buzz peaking. Warehouse stress easing.
Still. This wasn't the finish line.
Axel tapped the desk lightly, then opened Slack. He typed:
Danielle, saw the—
Paused.
Deleted.
Typed again:
Noted the CS proposal. Let's talk post-holiday.
Deleted again.
Instead, he closed the tab.
He didn't need to say anything yet. She'd know he read it.
He reached for the unopened box on his shelf — the black one with the gold-etched Horizon logo, just like the others.
No difference. No executive variation. No special ribbon.
Just like everyone else.
Of course, he thought. That was her fingerprint too.
Danielle's Work Desk
The buzz from across the globe trickled into her dashboard — delivery confirmations, reaction screenshots, forwarded messages she didn't bother opening. She skimmed the headlines. That was enough.
She leaned back in her chair, half-drained cup of lukewarm coffee in hand, and smiled to herself.
Cured meats? I don't even eat those. Cheese? Spoils in transit. Wine? Please.
They probably think I'm running a black-market delicatessen somewhere.
She chuckled, sipping the bitterness like it was a reward.
But the truth?
She didn't send one for herself because she wasn't one of them — not fully.
She was behind the curtain. That came with the job, the privilege... and the cost.
Underneath the sarcasm she wore like armor was something sharper: clarity.
If I do this right... they might not need me next year.
Not out of blind loyalty, but with growing trust — in themselves, in the system she had started to build, and in the idea that someone, even someone unseen, had their backs.
She wasn't planting loyalty.
She was planting longevity.
She took one last sip, then shut her laptop.
There were still goals to meet.
Her blueprint for the life she planned to have?
A farm.
A house.
Her own car.
This year, it had to happen.
Because next year, she might not be here.
December 13 – Across All Regions
The clock rolled past 5 p.m. in each timezone, one after the other — a slow wave of log-offs, out-of-office messages, and Slack status updates marked "On Break – Happy Holidays".
In Australia, someone popped a bottle.
In Germany, workers packed up early and split rides home.
In Madrid, the intern team huddled for a selfie in their new shirts — cheese in one hand, box in the other.
At the EU warehouse, the floor lead — typically stoic, rarely chatty — handed out leftover chocolates to his crew.
"Take them home. I think she meant for your kids to have some too."
In a tucked-away pantry at HQ, two cleaning staff lingered by the coffee machine.
"We all got one... Even the night team."
"It's strange. But... nice."
"Yeah. Like someone thought of us. All of us."
There was a quiet stillness now. Not silence — just a rare kind of peace.
Horizon, a machine always humming, had slowed its gears.
Still running. But lighter.
Some remained guarded. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.
No one trusted a good thing too quickly in this industry.
But for once, they could breathe.
Undisclosed Location to her co-workers – Late Evening
The cursor blinked in a soft rhythm as Danielle stared at the final tab on her screen.
She had made sure every handover was water-tight.
The transition plan for the external agency was signed, uploaded, and scheduled.
8-man skeleton team.
Three territories.
Rotating shifts that stretched 16 manhours.
Ticketing coverage.
Crisis protocol.
Escalation response.
Payroll. Timeline. Point of contact.
SLA adherence.
All in.
All ready.
The system could hum without her now — for a time, at least.
It was hers. But it wasn't about her. Not anymore.
She hit SAVE, then leaned back.
Her inbox pinged, just once.
Slack.
Nothing urgent.
She left it unread.
Her mug was empty. Her back ached. But her mind was quiet.
She didn't watch the team saying goodbye on Slack.
Didn't join the flood of emoji reactions or goodbye GIFs.
She had already said her goodbye — in every logistic, every contract, every little box that found its way to a home it wasn't supposed to reach.
She closed the laptop.
If they rest well, they'll come back stronger.
And if they don't?
Well. That's why I stayed up.
The lights in her workspace dimmed, one bulb at a time.