CHAPTER 193: FINDING PERSONNEL

October 22, 2029

TG Tower Conference Level.

Recruitment Suite

9:15 AM

The recruitment suite on the twelfth floor looked nothing like the rest of the building. The walls were soft gray instead of the usual glass, and the lighting was warm rather than clinical. Hana requested this setup the night before. She wanted a neutral room, a space that did not overwhelm applicants or remind them that TG Tower represented a corporate empire. Today was about choosing someone capable of running a national foundation, not someone intimidated by the environment.

She stood near the edge of the table reviewing the final shortlist. Five names. Five backgrounds. Five different approaches to leadership.

The initiative needed more than experience. It needed someone who understood structural poverty, educational gaps, and community landscapes. This person would be the foundation’s spine. They would manage budgets, oversee construction, negotiate with local governments, and confront political obstacles. They needed calm stability but also unshakable drive.

Given the scale of TG involvement and the sensitivity of education work, the wrong choice could sabotage the first year.

Hana heard the door open behind her. One of the HR senior consultants stepped inside.

"The first applicant is ready," she said.

"Send her in," Hana replied.

The consultant nodded and left.

A moment later, a woman in her forties entered the room. She wore a plain blouse, thin black-rimmed glasses, and carried a folder tucked tightly under her arm. Her posture suggested discipline, not anxiety.

Hana stood and extended her hand. "Good morning, Dr. Montenegro. Please take a seat."

"Thank you," the woman replied.

They sat across from each other. Hana began the recording device placed on the table.

"Dr. Montenegro," she said, "before we begin with formal questions, I want to understand how you see the state of rural education in the country."

"It is declining," Montenegro said without hesitation. "The core issue is not curriculum. It is infrastructure. Children cannot learn in buildings that leak during storms. Teachers cannot teach without proper materials. Communities cannot thrive when schools collapse faster than they can be repaired."

Hana studied her expression. Montenegro spoke with clarity, not bitterness.

"What is your approach to addressing this?" Hana asked.

Montenegro opened her folder and placed a diagram on the table. It outlined a multi-phase intervention plan. Facility stabilization. Teacher equipment. Local training. Follow-up assessments.

"This is the model I used in the Mountain Provinces," she said. "With limited budget, we managed to restore seven campuses."

Hana reviewed the diagram for several seconds. "You worked with NGOs?"

"Yes," Montenegro said. "But the limitations were significant. Funding was unstable. Local assistance was inconsistent. Everything depended on volunteers."

Hana leaned forward slightly. "If you accepted this position, you would have the structure and resources to expand those efforts nationwide. But you would also face immense responsibility."

Montenegro’s eyes sharpened. "That is why I applied."

Hana looked at her one more time, assessing both tone and presence. Montenegro was strong, capable, experienced. But there was another requirement. The executive director needed to handle high-pressure environments, political negotiations, and personnel management on a national scale. Some applicants excelled in fieldwork but struggled with boardrooms and complex stakeholders.

"Thank you, Dr. Montenegro," Hana said. "We will contact you regarding the next stage."

Montenegro nodded, gathered her folder, and left.

The door closed quietly.

Hana wrote a short note: Strong operational background. Limited experience with political conflicts. Consider for deputy director.

She pressed the intercom button. "Send the next applicant."

The second candidate entered. He was a man in his early fifties, wearing a tailored suit. His appearance was polished, but his resume suggested a career shaped more by government roles than community work.

"Good morning, Mr. Villareal," Hana said.

"Good morning, Ms. Park," he replied.

They exchanged greetings and sat down.

"Tell me," Hana began, "what makes you interested in joining a foundation rather than working with the government again?"

Villareal smiled politely. "Foundations provide agility. Less bureaucracy. Faster implementation. I believe the TG Foundation will be a central player in shaping the next generation of rural education."

"What would be your approach to operational transparency?" Hana asked.

Villareal hesitated for the first time. "Transparency is important, but full disclosure of all financial details can complicate stakeholder management."

Hana kept her expression neutral. "We intend full transparency. Quarterly public reports. Independent audits. Clear breakdowns of expenses."

Villareal adjusted his tie. "That level of openness may invite unnecessary scrutiny."

Hana immediately wrote something in her notes.

"Understood," she said. "Thank you for your insight."

The interview ended quickly. She already knew he was not the fit they needed.

The next two candidates each brought different strengths, but neither matched the leadership profile the TG Foundation required. One excelled at administrative management but lacked community experience. The other had passion but insufficient operational discipline.

There was only one name left.

Hana reviewed his resume again. It showed years of fieldwork in conflict-affected provinces, leadership roles in international education groups, and experience negotiating with both local governments and foreign funding agencies. His projects were measurable and well-documented. His recommendations came from people known for their strict standards.

The HR consultant knocked. "He is ready."

"Bring him in," Hana said.

The door opened, and a man in his late thirties stepped inside. He wore a simple button-down shirt free of any logos. His gait was steady. He sat only after Hana invited him.

"Mr. Adrian Reyes," Hana said. "Thank you for coming."

"Thank you for the opportunity," he replied.

Hana opened his file. "Your experience is impressive. Rural education in Samar. Infrastructure projects in Cotabato. Coordination with international agencies in Siargao after the typhoon. Tell me something that is not in your resume."

Reyes thought for a moment. "Children remember the smallest things," he said. "When a school receives new chairs, they sit straighter. When a classroom is painted, they walk inside with more confidence. These changes do not alter test scores immediately, but they change how children see themselves."

Hana paused. "Why did you leave your last position?"

"I could only scale so far," he said. "The budget ceiling limited everything. I knew what the work required, but not what the institution allowed."

"And here?" Hana asked.

Reyes glanced at the TG logo on the wall. "You have the resources to build something that does not collapse after three years. If the TG Foundation commits to long-term development, then I want to lead it."

Hana tapped her pen thoughtfully. "You are aware of the conditions. Full transparency. Fixed budget allocations. Community involvement. Extensive travel. And a reporting system directly tied to the board."

"Yes," Reyes said. "I prefer clear rules."

"What would be your first concern if you were appointed?"

"Teacher support," Reyes said. "Facilities matter, but without trained and equipped teachers, new classrooms change nothing. We need to build training programs, provide materials, and secure consistent supplies."

"And the second concern?"

"Political interference," Reyes said. "Some may try to influence which schools we help first. We must resist pressure and follow strict criteria."

Hana observed him closely. His tone did not carry arrogance. It carried calm certainty. He had spent years dealing with real problems, not theoretical models. He would not bend in front of local officials waving power. He also radiated a quiet confidence that would suit the foundation’s national presence.

"What do you think about our funding structure?" Hana asked.

"One percent of annual net income from your core companies is bold," Reyes said. "It proves commitment. It also protects the foundation from political cycles. You are building continuity."

Hana nodded. "Good answer."

Reyes looked at her directly. "If the board chooses me, I will build a structure that lasts longer than any of us."

The room stayed silent for a moment.

Hana closed the folder. "Thank you, Mr. Reyes. We will be in touch."

He stood, bowed his head politely, and left the room.

When the door closed, Hana released a slow breath. She reviewed every candidate again. Only one matched the weight of the mission. Only one understood the scale and the burden.

She wrote a final note on her pad: Recommend for appointment as Executive Director. Strong leadership presence. Clear understanding of mission. Capable of national operations.

She sent a message to Timothy with two words.

I found him.