Chapter Thirty
Thirty
The next two days with Connor pass in a happy bubble of stolen kisses and secret glances. We’re busy on all the opposite days, but make plans for the weekend, texting back and forth through the evenings until we’re back together each morning to pick the conversation up where we left off.
By the time the product department’s all-hands comes around on Thursday, I’d forgotten all about it.
When the calendar reminder pops up in the morning, I remember with a jolt that I’d meant to follow up with Andy.
He’s been suspiciously silent since we spoke on Monday, working, I hope, on a prototype that will help people understand how great the integrated templates could be.
I fire him off a quick message.
ANNIE: Hey. Good luck at the AH today. Please be careful not to give away that you know anything about Brad’s potential plans—it’s really confidential!!
It’s fully forty-five minutes before he replies.
ANDY: All good
I breathe a sigh of relief. Everything is under control.
Connor won’t be happy if he knows I tipped them off, but when the alternative is doing nothing and watching more of my friends get laid off, I tell myself it was worth the risk.
Andy will do what Andy does best, and Connor will be none the wiser.
—
The product department’s all-hands meeting is a quarterly get-together where the entire department (plus a few interlopers) meet to brainstorm and share updates about what they’re working on. In theory, this leads to innovation. In reality, this leads to mudslinging.
When you put a bunch of spoiled, competitive product managers in a room, only chaos can follow.
Product squads are tribal by nature—we spend all our time working in little pods, after all—but it feels particularly toxic at Taskio.
All-hands meetings have the air of a Real Housewives reunion, except worse, because none of these people are being paid to generate this level of drama.
It feels particularly charged when I get to the pit today.
The hum of conversation has an edge to it, somehow.
I wonder how much of this is because the last round of layoffs is still fresh in everyone’s minds, or if it’s just the fact that we all know Brad will be in attendance. The man is a panic attack on legs.
Martin, John, and I all walk down together, and I leave them near the front to say hello to some of my old Jotter crew.
Connor is on the opposite side of the room, leaning against the wall and chatting away with Sven, no doubt about their two favorite subjects, software and data.
Ben already warned us he’d be late—I watch him slip in at the back just as Brad goes up front to deliver a ridiculously self-important introduction to the session, telling the crowd it’s time for us to operate in our zone of genius and that we are all just fireworks, giving off sparks.
The session follows its predictable format—an endless stream of product managers talking about the features they’re working on, some exciting (a new calendar view), and some not (a green button will be reverting to its original blue).
Though Brad promised to let the product squads “do their thing,” he has not been a passive spectator—he interrupts frequently. I don’t know how anyone can stand it. I never paid him much attention when I worked in Product. I’ve really come to hate him since joining DatStrat.
Next is Andy. I cross my fingers behind my back, willing him to do well.
I expected him to launch straight into the use case for the integrated template library, but he takes things in a different direction, mostly talking about the ethos of Jotter, instead, and some of the big-picture ideas Jotter’s product team had before the companies merged.
These updates are supposed to be a couple of minutes apiece.
Andy has held the floor for over five minutes now and doesn’t look like he’s slowing down.
It gradually dawns on me that he’s doing something much bigger than trying to save his product squad.
Too late, I realize he’s probably going for the shock factor.
“As you’re all well aware, most of Jotter’s product teams disbanded and joined existing squads when we merged.
Except for three squads, who continued to work on existing projects that, though very different for Taskio, would, to borrow Mr. Pincer’s phrasing, make a tangible impact when brought to market.
Two of those projects were effectively killed last month when their squads got laid off.
Here’s why it would be a mistake to kill the integrated templates too… ”
Oh, shit. It can only be seconds until the other guys realize what I’ve done.
Connor figures it out first. He looks up at me slowly, his eyes boring into mine in an absolute death stare from all the way across the room. I can’t bear it; I duck my head like the chicken that I am.
Sixty seconds later I see Ben’s head snap up when Andy mentions the rollout of Version 3.0. The longer he speaks, the bigger Ben’s frown grows. Then his eyes roam, seeking out Connor. The two of them exchange a look. My skin prickles.
John is third to piece it together. He gently whacks Martin, the back of his arm connecting to his chest. Martin leans in, then nods at whatever John has whispered. They both look queasy.
I am in trouble, I am in so much trouble.
It feels like the temperature of the room has plummeted by about four hundred degrees, but I am panicked, and warm, and desperately trying not to show it.
The mention of Version 3.0 sends a wave of murmurs flying around the room, and Brad is quick to try and cut Andy off at the pass, saying product decisions for V3 have yet to be made.
“Really? I’ve heard you want to roll it out as early as September. Is this incorrect?”
Shit. Shit shit shit.
Brad has no choice but to acknowledge that it’s something the leadership team is considering. Andy responds by asking if the accelerated timeline has anything to do with rumors of an upcoming flotation.
Brad says he doesn’t know where Andy would have heard that. Andy looks him dead in the eye and says he has it on good authority it was under discussion with Data Strategy as recently as this week.
OK. Now I’m fucked.
The room explodes. Andy’s update is completely forgotten as product managers shoot question after question in Brad’s direction, and it takes him several minutes to get the room back under control.
Brad turns his head toward Connor at one point.
The look he gives him is absolutely lethal.
My stomach drops when I realize that Connor has probably been petitioning Brad behind the scenes already.
He’s probably assuming Andy’s coup is also Connor’s doing.
The questions keep coming. Andy has clearly given a heads-up to some of the more senior squad leaders—several push Brad on strategies and timelines for V3. He could get fired for this. I don’t think he cares.
The general consensus is much the same as Sven and Connor’s from last week: they’re dreaming if they want V3 to roll out in September with a whole host of new features.
Brad finally gets so exasperated that he just shuts the session down with an ominous warning that any updates will always come through official channels.
—
I lose Connor in the crowd, but find Andy as he’s being patted on the back by another Jotter product manager.
“Andy, what the hell was that,” I hiss at him, drawing him away from the others.
“I thought about what you said. It was time to expose Brad’s hypocrisy.”
“I did not say any of that!”
“Why tell me, then?”
“I was trying to warn you to get your ass in gear before Brad got any big ideas about more layoffs, not giving you the detonator to blow up Version 3.0. Don’t you realize how serious this is? Connor could get fired. So could you.”
“Relax,” Andy says. “Your big-deal boss is practically a founder of the company, he has equity coming out of his asshole. He’s not going to get fired. And they can’t fire me. It will look too shady.”
“OK, then what about me?” I snap. “I wasn’t supposed to share any of that with you. I’m going to be in so much trouble! I try to help you and this is the thanks I get? How could you not tell me? What happened to sticking together?”
“Look, I’m sorry,” he says, sounding anything but. “It was a risk I had to take. You’ll talk yourself out of it. You always do.”
“And if I can’t? Brad is not just going to let this go.”
“He won’t have a choice. Listen, I’ve got to go, I’ll catch up with you later, OK?”
—
Connor is waiting for me outside the elevator bays. He’s leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and his jaw set.
He straightens when I step out of the elevator, then turns without a word. I follow. It feels like I’m off to my execution.
He walks only as far as the first available conference room, a huge space with an enormous boardroom table as its centerpiece. It’s soundproofed and encased on all sides by glass walls. Connor pulls the sliding door shut as soon as I step past him. I wonder if one of us will soon be screaming.
That might actually be preferable. Connor’s deadly, silent calm is extremely unnerving. I squirm under his stare.
“I can explain.”
“What were you thinking, Annie? Did you honestly just try and stage a coup in the middle of an all-hands?”
“No. Connor, I swear, I had no idea he was going to do that. I even messaged him before the meeting reminding him not to let on that he knew anything.”
Wrong thing to say. His nostrils flare. “Is that supposed to make it better?”
I’m really flapping now. “No. I messed up, OK? But I swear to you, Connor, I never thought it would get this out of hand.”
“What the hell did you do?”
“Nothing! Or, not that much. I told him I’d heard a rumor about the rollout of Version 3.0 and…encouraged them to present something at the all-hands. I wasn’t specific! I dropped a few hints.”
“That worked out well, didn’t it,” he says, his voice hard.
“You don’t need to be a dick about this,” I say, my own temper flaring to life.
“Look, I’m sorry I went around you, and that Andy took the nuclear option and pissed Brad off, but what was I supposed to do?
Leave them there like sitting ducks? When one tiny little heads-up could potentially save all their jobs? ”
“Considering I specifically told you not to repeat that information, yes, that’s exactly what I expected you to do.”
“But you were wrong.”
“Guess what, Annie? I don’t give a shit. You can’t just hit the override button on every little thing that happens in your life that you don’t agree with. I’ve told you again and again, our work is confidential.”
“Connor, just two months ago I watched half my old product team get laid off. I got laid off, remember? And you didn’t want to hear it!”
“Yeah? Tell me something, Annie, when did you share this information with your best friend Andy?”
I hesitate. “Why does that matter?”
“It matters. When?”
Does anyone have a shovel? I am about to be digging my own grave.
“Monday. Right after the meeting.”
His laugh is hollow. “Of course. And you never thought to—I don’t know—talk to me about it? Or maybe give any of us the same heads-up you gave him?”
“I forgot,” I say lamely.
“That’s convenient, isn’t it?”
“I’ll fix it,” I promise him. “I’ll tell Brad it was—”
“Don’t even finish that thought,” he warns me.
“You turning yourself in is the last thing that will fix this. Did you even take one minute to think about what the consequences of leaking that information might be? How I might feel about it? Or did none of that matter, because you wanted to teach me a lesson?”
“Is that what you think I was doing?”
“No, I think you had a tantrum the second your will was crossed and that was the last you thought about it. A bit of a pattern, I’m noticing.”
I reel back. “What is that supposed to mean? Do you know what, fine. You’re right.
Maybe I didn’t think it through enough and I could have handled it better, but at least I did something instead of just sitting around following the rules!
And at least Andy tried to put a stop to Brad’s nonsense instead of doing what you’re doing, lying down dead and letting him walk all over you.
You have so much power here, and all you seem to want to use it for is to help enforce a bunch of decisions made by a cowboy in a suit who you don’t even agree with anyway! ”
By the time I get to the end of my impassioned speech, I am panting.
Connor looks like he’s just taken a gut punch.
I watch as he processes all the information, pulling his cap off and scratching at his hair the way he does when he’s stuck on some code he can’t wrap his head around.
He puts it back on, then rubs at his eyes.
The silence is agony. It just stretches on and on.
A rap on the glass door makes both of us jump, and we turn toward the sound. Brad is on the other side of the door, sliding it open.
“There you are,” he says to Connor. “I need to speak to you in my office.”
Connor swallows. “Sure.”
Brad is so visibly pissed off he looks menacing; like his temper is on a tight leash and any second he could set it loose. And he will. On Connor.
I quail. Connor is right—I didn’t stop to think about my actions. It wasn’t until Andy was up there that I realized it’s him, not me, who would suffer the consequences.
“Mr. Pincer,” I call, halting both Brad and Connor in their tracks.
I can tell by the look on his face that he hadn’t even noticed me in the room. His next words confirm it. “Who is this?” Brad says to Connor, rather than me.
“I’m on the data strategy team,” I tell him, knowing full well he won’t care what my name is. “I just wanted to say I’m so sorry about the all-hands. It was my fault.”
“Don’t,” Connor warns me urgently under his breath.
Brad says nothing, but turns toward me more fully. At least I know he’s listening.
“I was the one who shared the information with the product team about Version 3.0 and the possibility of the flotation. I spoke without thinking. I apologize.”
Brad’s lip curls. He flicks his gaze toward Connor. “My office.”
He walks away. Connor shakes his head at me, then follows him.