“I’m trying to accurately represent what happened.” I pull out my tablet with shaking hands and start scrolling. “Here. March 15th. Email thread with Frank Moretti. I specifically asked about the ventilation requirements for high-heat oil processing. He assured me the system was overspecced by twenty percent.”
“I guess not. So yeah, someone sucks at math. But that someone isn’t me.” I look up at him, holding his gaze even though my heart is trying to pull an Alien and rip itself out of my chest. “I did my job, Bastian. I asked the right questions. I documented everything. If the engineers gave us bad numbers, that’s not on me.”
Nylah shifts in her seat. The CMO, Rebecca, coughs nervously. A senior designer named Kyle (not Shithead Kyle and not Security Guard Kyle, another Kyle—I’m just n
