Page 62 of Filthy Rich Daddies
The PR director starts. She’s composed and smooth, reading the prepared statement with the same tone I’ve heard her use for health inspection mishaps and “unfortunate social media missteps.” She says all the right things, just vague enough to sound safe:
“We are investigating a breach of our payment systems and working closely with cybersecurity experts to identify the source. We are prioritizing transparency and customer protection. Our customers and our staff will all be made whole. This is little more than a glitch, which will be resolved soon.”
She looks at me. I nod. My legs move me to the podium.
The lights are hot. I clear my throat and feel every single one of the eyes on me. Sweat beads down my neck.
“Hi,” I start. “I’m Colin Copeland. I’m the CTO of Copeland Restaurants. I know this has been a very difficult weekend for our customers and our teams.”
My voice sounds steadier than I feel. I grip the edge of the podium.
“We experienced a system-wide outage that began Friday evening and led to a significant interruption in our payment processing services. We believe the breach originated in our legacy architecture, which has since been isolated. We are continuing our forensic investigation, and we will provide detailed updates to all affected customers as soon as we can. As she said, everyone will be made whole. It will take time to peel everything apart and find the culprits involved…” I narrow my gaze on the cameras. “But we will find them. All of them.”
I hope Marcus is watching this. I want him to know I’m coming for him.
A reporter in the front row raises a hand. Blonde bob, red nails. That’s all my eyes register. “Why wasn’t this caught earlier?”
I exhale through my nose. “Because the infrastructure that failed us is outdated. And the budget that would have fixed it wasdenied.” That’s maybe more pointed than I meant, but I see it ripple across the crowd. Murmurs. Pens scratching.
I’m happy to embarrass Marcus publicly. Tic’s investigation is taking too long, and I ran out of patience when I ran out of sleep.
Another reporter asks, “What assurances can you give customers that this won’t happen again?”
None. That’s not how the internet works. Leaks and breaches will always happen. It’s the size that you control for, not whether it’ll happen again.
But I can’t say that out loud. Shareholders would pee themselves. So would customers and staff. As CTO, it’s my job to pretend everything will be fine when I know it will not.
I clear my throat, as though that can clear those thoughts from my head. “We’re rebuilding the system from the ground up. We will be migrating to a new platform—one that should’ve been approved last year.”
Fuck you, Marcus.
“Who denied it?” someone asks.
I hesitate. A thousand ways to answer. I could lie. Say it was a team decision. Say the risk was unclear. But I’m tired. So damn tired.
Lies are exhausting.
“The decision came from our CFO,” I say finally. “I don’t think it was the right one.”
The murmurs grow louder. A camera flashes. Someone else shouts, “Is that why Dean Copeland stepped down as CEO? Was this avoidable?”
I open my mouth to respond, but the lights get too bright. Or maybe the room tilts. It’s hard to say. My skin is tight. My pulse is racing. My thoughts start to stutter. “I?—”
Another question comes in, sharp and aggressive. “How do we know you’re not just trying to shift the blame?”
“I’m not—” My voice cracks.
“You’re responsible for the tech, aren’t you?”
The anger spikes like a flashbang. I don’t mean to. I don’t even hear it before it leaves my mouth.
“Maybe if our CFO had pulled his head out of his ass, this wouldn’t have happened in the first place. Or, if I weren’t busy answering asinine questions from bastards like you, I’d have the time to fix this shit. But instead, I had to come out here to quell your concerns instead of doing my fucking job.”
Did I say that, or did I think it?
The silence in the room says it’s the former, but I can’t be bothered to care when there’s a rabid grizzly gnawing at my brain. Why does my head hurt so much?
Then someone gasps. The cameras catch it. One flash. Two.
