A Secret Meeting In Las Vegas

Outside, the sprawling crowds of CES buzzed with restless energy, their voices rising and falling like waves against the desert skyline. Inside the Bellagio’s penthouse suite, the air was perfumed with the faint scent of aged leather and sandalwood, blending with the sharp tang of a freshly uncorked Bordeaux. This wasn’t a space designed for spectacle; it was a fortress for secrets.

The attendees arrived one by one, shepherded past a discreet security detail. The guests were few, by design.

Laurence Fink, CEO of BlackRock, commanded the room’s financial gravity. His firm controlled 7.25% of Meta’s shares, a stake so vast that even a subtle shift in his tone could move markets. Beside him sat Salim Ramji, Vanguard’s CEO, whose 8.54% stake added to the unspoken tension. Abigail Johnson, Fidelity’s enigmatic CEO, completed the triumvirate of shareholders, her 6.24% holding lending her voice an undeniable weight.

At the center of it all sat Sheryl Sandberg, former COO of Meta. She was the meeting’s moderator — an unusual role for her, but one everyone trusted her to handle with skill.

Across from them sat some of the most powerful people in advertising: Sir Martin Sorrell, founder of WPP; Arthur Sadoun, CEO of Publicis Groupe; Mark Read, CEO of WPP; and David Droga, CEO of Accenture Song.

On a speakerphone placed prominently at the center of the table was Jamie Dimon, CEO of JPMorgan Chase, calling in from a secluded vacation in Bimini. His voice was calm but carried the authority of someone who managed trillions.

“Let’s get to it,” Sandberg began, breaking the silence. “Meta’s decision to remove fact-checking from its platforms isn’t just irresponsible; it’s dangerous. And the world will notice who funds this chaos.”

Fink steepled his fingers, his expression unreadable. “We don’t make decisions lightly, Sheryl. But we all know even trimming our stakes would rattle the markets. Zuckerberg takes our calls, yes. But do you think he listens?”

“He listens,” Johnson replied, her voice cool. “He just doesn’t act until it’s in his interest.”

Sorrell’s voice cut through. “Then we need to make it in his interest. Every dollar we spend on his platform props up this new fact-free ecosystem. If we’re complicit, we’ll be judged for it.”

Ramji’s calm demeanor broke slightly. “Pulling our stakes or ad budgets entirely is unrealistic. Let’s not pretend we can collapse a system this entrenched. What’s the actionable step?”

Droga finally spoke. “Creativity. We’re all here because we’re the best at shaping narratives. Use campaigns to pressure Meta — align brands behind a message of truth. Make the public demand better platforms.”

Dimon’s voice crackled through the speakerphone. “And what happens if the public doesn’t care? The ad agencies are here because they understand consumer perception. But the real leverage is financial. A few coordinated trims to our stakes, a whisper campaign in the investor world, and Zuckerberg will have no choice but to pay attention.”

Fink raised an eyebrow. “And risk alienating our other holdings? Or worse, the clients we represent?”

Sandberg said, her gaze sweeping the room, “If we do nothing, we risk far more. Not just our portfolios but the trust that underpins every brand and every institution we touch. A coordinated effort from all of us here — shareholders, agencies, creatives — would send a signal Meta can’t ignore.”

Everyone paused, weighed down by the enormity of the stakes. Finally, Fink nodded. “We’ll need precision. If we’re going to trim, it’ll need to be surgical — a signal, not a collapse.”

Sadoun smiled faintly. “And the campaigns?”

“Already in motion,” Sandberg said. “But it’ll only work if we’re aligned.”

Johnson swirled her wine. “Then let’s align. For truth, and for business.”

The quiet murmur of agreement filled the suite, a pact forming in the unlikeliest of rooms. Outside, the Vegas skyline glittered with the promise of fortune and the weight of decisions yet to come.

Later that night, a dinner meeting in Las Vegas:

The private dining room at the Wynn shimmered with subdued elegance. Candlelight flickered across the surface of a polished mahogany table, casting long shadows against walls adorned with minimalist art. The air carried the faint aroma of black truffle and aged wine, a culinary indulgence befitting the gathering of some of the world’s most influential figures.

At the head of the table sat Nick Clegg. His resignation from Meta had been as public as it was pointed, a statement that resonated far beyond Silicon Valley. Now, surrounded by titans of industry, he was the evening’s focal point.

“I’ll be blunt,” Clegg began, setting his glass of Bordeaux down with deliberate precision. “Meta’s abandonment of fact-checking isn’t just a shift in policy; it’s an abdication of responsibility. I fought for years to hold the line, but this…this was the final straw.”

Seated nearby was Rashad Robinson, formerly president of racial justice organization Color of Change, his sharp gaze fixed on Clegg. “Nick, you saw this coming. We all did. But we’re not here to rehash Meta’s failures. We’re here to figure out what comes next — and whether the brands in this room will have the courage to take a stand.”

The brands included representatives from some of the largest advertisers in the world: Alan Jope, formerly CEO of Unilever; Kristin Lemkau, CEO of J.P. Morgan Wealth Management; Jonathan Mildenhall, former CMO of Airbnb and a celebrated branding expert; Marc Pritchard, Chief Brand Officer of Procter & Gamble; and Fiona Carter, CMO at Goldman Sachs.

“Meta’s platform is still unparalleled in reach,” Carter said, breaking the silence. “We’re all tied to it, whether we like it or not. The question isn’t whether we can walk away — it’s whether we can pressure them to reverse course without alienating our customers. Or can we begin to support other, newer social platforms that might emerge without the business model that amplifies anger and hate to sell us engagement?”

Pritchard nodded. “We’ve seen consumer trust erode for years. If we keep associating our brands with misinformation, it’ll accelerate. But pulling ad budgets isn’t simple. Shareholders will want to see ROI, not activism.”

Clegg leaned forward. “ROI and integrity aren’t mutually exclusive. Brands like yours have power Meta can’t ignore. If even a fraction of your ad budgets are diverted to platforms prioritizing truth, it sends a message — not just to Meta, but to consumers.”

Carter finally spoke, her voice measured. “And what about those other platforms? Are any of them ready to handle the scale and scrutiny Meta does? Even if we shift spending, there’s a risk of creating the same problems elsewhere.”

“That’s why this can’t just be about Meta,” Robinson interjected. “We need a coalition of brands and agencies demanding transparency across the entire digital ecosystem. It’s not just about fact-checking — it’s about accountability.”

“Or,” Clegg added, “a campaign that rewards consumers for choosing platforms that do.”

The room buzzed with overlapping murmurs of agreement and skepticism. As plates of seared lamb and wild mushroom risotto were cleared away, the conversation shifted to logistics. Could a unified campaign be launched in time to counteract Meta’s influence? Would figures like Pritchard be willing to publicly align their brands with others in a coordinated stand for accountability? And could creative minds like Mildenhall craft a compelling message to galvanize consumers?

“The risk is real,” Pritchard admitted. “But the cost of doing nothing might be greater. If misinformation continues unchecked, it’ll undermine not just platforms, but trust in every institution we touch.”

As dessert was served — a delicate mille-feuille topped with edible gold — the energy in the room shifted.

Lemkau raised her glass, her voice carrying above the hum of conversation. “To alignment,” she said. “And to holding the line on truth.”

Her toast was met with nods and murmurs of approval. Clegg followed, lifting his own glass.

“To action,” he added. “Words mean nothing without it.”

The room fell into a solemn quiet as glasses clinked. The faces around the table reflected a mix of resolve and uncertainty, the weight of their shared responsibility evident. Beyond the polished mahogany table and the glittering skyline of Las Vegas lay the immense challenge of reshaping an entire ecosystem — and perhaps the course of digital discourse itself.

*** This story is a crafted fiction. To the best of my knowledge, it didn’t happen. But some version of it is certainly possible. If not in Vegas last week, perhaps next week in Davos? ***