The Silence of the Spreadsheet
The CEO’s knuckles are white, gripped so hard against the edge of the mahogany table that they look like polished bone. He’s leaning forward, the blue light of the projector reflecting off his glasses in 29 different directions. “Wait,” he says, and the word hangs in the air like a heavy, damp fog. “You’re telling me we don’t know? You’re telling me we can’t see the total exposure for a single client?”
Silence. It is the kind of silence that has a physical weight, pressing against my eardrums until they pulse. I can hear the air conditioning humming at 59 decibels. I can hear Marcus, a junior analyst who probably hasn’t slept in 19 hours, clicking his retractable pen 9 times in rapid succession. Across the table, our Head of Credit is staring at his laptop screen. His eyes are darting back and forth like he’s watching a high-stakes tennis match played by ghosts. He is currently navigating the ‘Master_Client_List_v4_FINAL_use_this_one.xlsx’ file. It is 199 megabytes of pure, unadulterated institutional terror.
Calculating Status:
We are currently held hostage by a circular reference in cell AA999.
I started a diet at 4:09 PM today. It is now 4:49 PM. My blood sugar is dropping faster than our stock price would if the board saw what was on that screen. I want















