When Harry exited the black sedan parked in front of the JTV headquarters, the drabness of the building wouldn't create any confidence. The paint was chipped in places, the windows hadn't even been washed in what appeared to be months, and the sign out front is crooked.
He had fit his tie when a young lady in a navy blue uniform approached him, smiled politely and said, "Welcome, sir. Please follow me."
At least her uniform was somewhat clean. Sadly, that was about the only thing around here that was in order.
As Harry entered, stale coffee and mold welcomed him back like an old friend. A ceiling fan creaked overhead, the lights flickered appropriately, and a dim hum emitted from the hall ahead.
"All of the employees are gathered to greet you, sir," the woman added, leading him to what must have been the main conference room, or what it had (once) been a long time ago.
Fifty employees crowded together, squashed shoulder to shoulder, hoping for just a smidgen of space from one another in the small room. Some looked somewhat optimistic. Others just plain bad.
From their body language, their eyes, their stillness — Harry recognized what this was.
These weren't employees. These were people who had survived.
Some were previous HQs staff - "downgraded" through budget cuts or politics. Others were new recruits hopeful but already battered by the failing state of the network.
They think I am here to save them, Harry thought.
He sighed softly. The atmosphere in the room was thick—not from the physical heat, but from the pressure of expectation.
He raised his hand, and without much show, gave them a small wave. There would be no oration. There would be no false promises. Just a small acknowledgment of their silence.
He was not there to inspire. At least not yet. He had no earned rights to that.
And with the resources, processes and chains of command stretched across councils and HQ he was not sure he could.
By the time Harry got into his executive office—one of the claustrophobically tiny corner offices that was also a supply closet—his own mental note of items had already taken shape.
Dust on the air ducts
Clogged toilets in the men's room
There was no production-ready studio space
There was old broadcast equipment. It felt like 1970.
This wasn't just a junk office. This was a junkyard.
He sunk into the dusty leather chair behind the desk. He opened the drawer. Empty, except for a cheap, old pen and half a protein bar.
He logged in to the company systems with the password that was provided in his welcome packet.
The financial logs were worse than he envisioned.
Chaotic record keeping. Late payments to vendors. Outstanding payments to content partners. Two shows currently in production and neither were making money.
He picked up the phone and called Mason.
His uncle picked up on the second ring.
"Harry! How was your welcome?"
"Depressing," said Harry bluntly. "Assuming this is the correct budget? Fifteen million for six months?"
Mason took a long deep breath. "Yep. I went for more. I really did. But Douglas basically made sure that was all you got. Other members of the board didn't push back. They've written off JTV. It's the proverbial red-headed stepchild of the company. Always has been."
"I can't take fifteen million and make it a success overnight. We don't have advertisers banging at our doors. Not when we are sitting in last place in the ratings."
"I know. But remember, you can land sponsorships and advertising if- and it is a big IF- you show signs of life. Even a niche success would change it up."
Harry rubbed his eyes. "First, I can't get by the basics. The internal issues are so bad right now. I have to fix all the infrastructure issues before I can think about programming. Hell, I don't even have a new secretary- the first one never showed up."
Mason's tone softened. "I believe in you. Your dad did too, you're smart. You've built a company from the ground up before. You'll figure it out."
There was a pause.
"You sound tired," Harry observed.
"I am. Douglas cut me off from working directly with you. He kept accusing me of nepotism. But... I can hold my own."
"And Mom?"
"She dam near broke into the board room when she heard about your budget," Mason laughed. "Security had to stop her. She's currently at 'venting' at the news division, taking down departments like a hurricane. Honestly, it's... kind of impressive."
Harry couldn't help but smile. "I wish I could've seen Douglas's face."
"Oh, it was golden," Mason laughed. "The guy looked like he sighted a ghost. I thought he was going to pass out."
After a few more minutes of light conversation, Harry hung up.
Then he turned back to the mess.
He opened a notepad. At the top, he wrote a word: Rebuild.
It wasn't going to be easy. He wasn't going to be a miracle worker. He was something better—relentless.
And if JTV was left to die, it would get enough life to haunt every man on that board.