Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
There’s a ripple of restrained laughter through the church, the kind shared by executives who have aged with the kind of pressures I know nothing about. Eleanor allows herself the smallest smile.
“Joseph did not believe in good enough. He didn’t tolerate it. He didn’t recognize it as a valid state of being.”
She glances towards the front pew, towards the family, and then quickly looks away.
“If you presented him with a five-year growth plan, he wanted a ten-year one. If you showed him projections that were aggressive, he asked why they weren’t impossible. I remember one night, it was 2.17am. I know because I had just convinced myself I could finally sleep when my phone rang.”
A few knowing murmurs roll around the cavernous space.
“I considered ignoring it. I truly did,” she says, and her lips curve faintly. “But when Joseph Manswell calls you, it doesn’t matter what time it is you answer the call.”
Soft, scattered laughter fills the space this time.
“He said, ‘Eleanor, I’ve been thinking.’ And when Joseph had been thinking, the rest of us were about to start working.”
More laughter sounds at that, warmer now, at a memory that many of his staff seem to share.
“He had identified a weakness in our European expansion strategy. A flaw no one else had seen. Not something flagged by analysts, but something he had felt.” She taps her temple lightly. “Completely based on intuition. He asked me three questions. Three. By the end of that call, our entire strategy had changed. And within eighteen months, that shift generated an additional four hundred million dollars in revenue.”
A murmur of appreciation runs through the congregation.
“That was Joseph. He saw around corners. He saw what the so-called experts hadn’t even realized was there.”
Her expression tightens into something sad, but not grief exactly. It’s something more complex than that.
“He demanded excellence. Relentlessly. If you came to him unprepared, he would dismantle your argument in under a minute. If you came to him complacent, he would make sure you never did it again.” She folds her hands together on the podium. “I have left meetings with Joseph feeling invincible. And I have left meetings with Joseph feeling about two inches tall. Sometimes in the same day.”
Another soft laugh sounds, and then a quiet honesty settles over the room.
“Joseph truly believed that pressure created diamonds. And he applied that pressure without apology. But here is what people outside of our world didn’t see.” She straightens slightly and looks around at everyone before going on. “When markets crashed, Joseph was the first one in the building and the last one to leave. When we had layoffs, and we did in the early days, he insisted on reviewing every severance package personally. Every single one. He once told me that if he was going to take someone’s livelihood away, he would at least know there was no other choice available.
“He funded scholarships for employees’ children without announcing it. He covered medical bills through anonymous donations. He did not do kind acts to be recognized publicly. He did not believe in sentimentality.” Her eyes lift now, scanning the congregation. “But he believed in responsibility. And he carried it like armor.”
She pauses for long enough before she speaks again.
“Joseph once said to me, after a particularly brutal quarter, ‘if I don’t demand more, we will all become ordinary. And ordinary is how companies die. Joseph was anything but ordinary. And he refused to let any of us be ordinary either.”
She rests her palm lightly against the edge of the podium.
“He built something that will outlive all of us. Not just in market value, patents, or headlines. But in culture. In discipline. In the expectation that we are capable of more than we think. I did not always like him. But I respected him. Completely.”
Her throat tightens on the last words, and she visibly swallows her emotions down.
“And if I am an effective leader today, it is because Joseph Manswell refused to let me be smaller than my potential.”
She steps back slightly, as if the next words need more space.
“He was relentless. He was brilliant. He was exhausting. And he was ours.”
Her gaze returns to the coffin.
“Thank you, Joseph. For the push. For the pressure. For the vision. And for believing we could always be better.”
She inclines her head, a movement that is not for dramatic or theatrical effect, but borne out of sincerity, and then she steps away from the podium. The church remains silent a second longer than expected before the applause begins. It is measured. Respectful. Corporate. I see plenty of people dabbing at their eyes with tissues all the same.
The vicar steps back into place and announces that we will now have a few moments to silently reflect on our memories of Joseph. I bow my head when everyone else does because I don’t want to stand out.