50

“Mr. Tyler,” one of the techs says. Kristen, by the sound of her voice. “There’s something going to everyone’s email—”

“Shut it the fuck down,” I say. “Now.”

“But people won’t be able to check their messages, it’ll slow down the whole—”

“Shut it down,” I repeat. “We’ll worry about the rest later.”

“And clients?”

“They’ll have to wait for this. Please don’t ask me anything else. Shut it down before it goes to anyone else.”

“Okay,” she says, sounding unsure.

A second later, the screen in front of me disappears. I exhale.

The other line starts ringing immediately—that will be one, or more, of my employees, calling to report that something’s gone wrong with the servers. Or it could be a disgruntled client, upset that the information they usually have at their fingertips, suddenly isn’t there.

What a shit show.

“Can you get rid of the message?” I ask Kristen.

“Yes,” she says. “It’ll take a little while.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can people access the message from their personal account