The floor tiles are cold, even through the soles of your shoes. That’s the first thing you notice. The second is the low, nervous hum of conversation, the kind that happens when nobody knows why they’ve been summoned to the main conference room at 3 PM on a Tuesday. And the third, unavoidable and massive, is the wall. The ‘Values Wall.’ A forty-foot expanse of brushed aluminum and cheerful vinyl lettering, proclaiming the company’s soul. INTEGRITY. INNOVATION. FAMILY.

The word FAMILY is done in a soft, looping font, right next to the entrance. You brush past it, the laminated vinyl feeling slick and impersonal against your sleeve. Everyone does. It’s a piece of furniture, a corporate tattoo that stopped meaning anything the day it was installed. Inside, the air is thick. The CEO is about to walk in and announce, with the gravity of a surgeon delivering bad news, that health insurance premiums are increasing by 33%. Family, indeed.

We are told to believe in words, while our experiences are shaped by numbers on a spreadsheet located on a server 3,000 miles away. The values aren’t a reflection of the culture. At best, they are a desperate