Chapter 11. The Downside of Blame

“Do you have a minute?” asked Ollie, poking his head into Raj’s office.

“Come in, buddy,” said Raj in a welcoming tone. “Sit down. What’s on your mind?”

Almost two decades ago, fresh out of college, both Ollie and Raj had met as trainees in the yearlong Technology Analyst Program at Waterstone. They were not exactly great friends, and did not spend much time together socially. Still, they kept in touch after they left Waterstone, and through the years had developed a habit of speaking honestly and openly with each other.

“I’m wondering who’s next,” Ollie said.

“Mike was our sacrificial lamb,” Raj replied without skipping a beat. “The gods are sated for a while. It’s not important. Why are you crying over spilt milk, buddy?”

“The next time it could be someone on your team. Or you. Or me.”

Raj raised his brows, revealing deep wrinkles on his forehead.

“Don’t you think,” Ollie continued, “that if we have an outage or some kind of malfunction tied to your group, that Roger and the E.C. will demand another head?”

“That’s how our world works. Are you really surprised? Do you remember our mantra from T.A.P.?”

“‘Don’t Fuck Up.’ Might as well have it tattooed. They’ve certainly taught us that—don’t fuck up, and you won’t be kicked out of T.A.P. Don’t fuck up, and you’ll have a long career on the street. Just don’t fuck up. Do you remember that D.B.A., the one who took down one of the market data feeds and then tried to erase the database logs so he wouldn’t ...

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