The morning started like any other. Mark Chen sat at his desk, reviewing the latest batch of AI-generated code. The CodePilot system had produced another set of trading algorithms overnight, and his job was to verify that the code met the company's standards. He scrolled through the lines on his screen. The code looked clean—well-structured, efficient. CodePilot had been getting better over the past year. The system had been running for two years now without any major issues. At 9:47 AM, his phone buzzed. A message from David Morrison, VP of Engineering. Can you come to my office? We need to discuss something. Mark's stomach tightened. David's messages were always brief, always vague. He had learned not to read too much into them. Sure. I'll be there in five. --- At 9:52 AM, Mark walked into David's office. David was on the phone, his hand covering the receiver. He looked up when Mark entered, his expression neutral. "Close the door." Mark closed the door. He sat in the chair across from David's desk. "Thanks for coming." David's voice was calm. "I wanted to give you a heads-up about something." Mark waited. David's pause was deliberate. "We've had an incident with the trading system this morning." Mark's heart rate increased. "What kind of incident?" "Some unusual activity. The system executed a series of trades that resulted in significant losses." David's eyes stayed on Mark's face, watching for reaction. "How significant?" David's fingers moved across his desk, stopping at a tablet. He turned the screen toward Mark. "Eighty-seven million." The number hung in the air between them. Mark felt his world tilt. Eighty-seven million dollars? "That's correct." David's voice was flat. "The losses occurred over approximately forty-seven minutes, starting at 3:23 AM Eastern time." Mark's mind raced. He had been the code reviewer for two years. He had signed off on thousands of lines of code. He had approved releases. He had documented his review process. "When did this start?" he asked, his voice tight. "3:23 AM. The trading desk in Chicago noticed the anomaly and escalated it to our risk management team. By the time they shut down the system, the damage was done." David nodded slowly. "I've already contacted Legal and Risk. We're having an all-hands meeting in thirty minutes. Conference room B." Mark swallowed. His mouth was dry. "Do you know what caused it?" "That's what we're trying to determine." David's pen tapped against his notebook. "The initial analysis suggests there was an edge case in the trading algorithm. Something that wasn't caught in testing." Edge case. Mark had heard that term before. Every bug was an edge case when your system worked perfectly 99% of the time. "What kind of edge case?" David's expression remained neutral. "We're still analyzing. But preliminary findings suggest it was a combination of market conditions that triggered a cascade of trades. The algorithm was designed to handle normal volatility, but this morning's conditions were... unusual." Unusual. That was one word Mark had learned to hate in this job. "I understand." Mark's voice was steady. "What happens now?" David leaned back in his chair. "We're going to conduct a thorough review. I need to understand exactly what happened, how it happened, and who was involved." The last part landed like a weight on Mark's chest. Who was involved. "Of course," Mark said. "I was the primary reviewer for the trading system code. I signed off on all the CodePilot-generated modules over the past two years." David nodded. His pen moved across the page again. "Just to clarify for the record—your role was to review and approve all AI-generated code before it goes into production?" Mark hesitated. He needed to be careful here. His answer would be documented, would be used later, could be used against him. "My role is to oversee the AI's output and ensure it meets our quality standards," Mark said. "I review the code structure, check for potential issues, and approve it for deployment." David wrote something down. "And did you identify any issues with this particular code before deployment?" No, Mark thought. I didn't see anything wrong. The code passed all our tests. "I reviewed the code when it was generated," Mark said carefully. "It passed all standard tests. There were no obvious issues at the time of review." David nodded again. "Did you document your review?" Yes. I always document. "Yes, I have documentation of my review process." "Good." David's voice was still flat. "I'll need to see that documentation. And I'll need you to walk through your review process for this particular code." "Of course." Mark's voice was steady, but his hands were sweating under the table. "I'm happy to cooperate fully." David's eyes stayed on Mark's face for a moment longer than necessary. "I appreciate that, Mark. This is a difficult situation for everyone. I just want to make sure we understand the process." What process? Mark wanted to ask. But he didn't. "I understand," Mark said. "When is the all-hands meeting?" "Thirty minutes. Conference room B." David's pen moved again. "I'll see you there." Mark stood up. His legs felt unsteady. David leaned forward. "One more thing, Mark. For your own records, you might want to gather any documentation you have about your review process. Emails, notes, anything that might be relevant." Mark's stomach dropped. For your own records. That meant for the company's records. For evidence. "I'll put something together," Mark said. "I have all my review notes in my files." "Good." David's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I'll see you at the meeting." --- Mark walked out of David's office. Each step down the corridor seemed to stretch endlessly. His colleague Lisa from accounting passed him, her expression carefully neutral as she nodded. At his desk, Mark sat down. His hands were shaking. He opened his email and started typing. To: David Morrison Subject: Review Documentation David, As discussed, I have attached my review documentation for the trading system code. Please let me know if you need anything else. Best, Mark He attached his files and hit send. His phone buzzed immediately. A text from his wife. How was work today? Mark stared at the message. How could he possibly explain? He typed back: Long day. Tell you at home. As he gathered his things, he passed Sarah's desk. She was staring at her screen, her expression unreadable. Their eyes met for a moment. She looked away first. She's protecting herself, Mark thought. We're all protecting ourselves. He was being set up. And he was walking right into it.
The conference room smelled of stale coffee and tension. Mark arrived five minutes early. The room was already half-full—Sarah in her usual corner, Michael Torres from Legal reviewing something on his tablet, Jennifer Walsh from HR arranging papers with deliberate precision. David stood at the head of the table, his notebook open, his pen already moving. No one looked up when Mark entered. That was worse than if they had. "Good," David said, glancing at his watch. "Let's begin." Mark took the only remaining seat—directly across from David. The position felt deliberate, like a witness stand. "Thank you all for coming on short notice," David began. His voice carried the particular calm of someone who had rehearsed this moment. "As you know, we experienced a significant incident with our trading system. Eighty-seven million in losses. The board wants answers." He let the number hang in the air. No one spoke. "I've been reviewing the documentation from all parties involved. Today, I want to go over the timeline and clarify each person's role." David's eyes moved around the table, landing briefly on each face. "Let's start with Mark Chen, our Senior AI Code Reviewer." Mark's mouth went dry. "Of course." "Can you walk us through your review process for the trading algorithm that caused the incident?" Mark had prepared for this. "I received the code on March 15th. I reviewed it according to our standard protocol—structure analysis, potential issue identification, test suite execution. The code passed all tests." "Did you read every line?" The question was a trap. "I reviewed the key sections. The full module was over two thousand lines." "So you didn't read all of it." "I reviewed enough to make an informed decision." David's pen moved. "Based on what?" "Industry standards. Testing protocols. Two years of successful operation." "Yet we still had an incident." The room was silent. David turned to Sarah. "Can you describe the QA process?" Sarah's voice was professional, detached. "We run the standard test suite on all AI-generated code. For trading algorithms, we also perform volatility pattern analysis." "Did this code pass those tests?" "Yes." "Did you do any additional testing?" A pause. "We followed the standard protocol." David nodded slowly. "So the testing protocol was approved. The code passed all tests. Yet we have eighty-seven million in losses." He looked around the table. "How does that happen?" No one answered. "This isn't meant to assign blame," David continued. "The board simply wants to understand the process. What failed? Where did the breakdown occur?" Michael Torres leaned forward. "From a legal perspective, we need to establish what happened and document the decision chain. Insurance and liability will depend on this documentation." "Jennifer?" David asked. "HR's role is to ensure fair treatment for all parties." Jennifer's voice was measured. "We're not here to assign fault. We're here to understand." Mark watched David's pen move across the page. Every word was being recorded. Every silence was significant. "Let's continue tomorrow," David said finally. "I'll schedule individual meetings with each of you. Mark, you'll meet with me at 2 PM." The meeting ended without conclusion. No one was blamed. No one was cleared. The uncertainty was worse than any verdict. As Mark stood to leave, David's voice stopped him. "One more thing, Mark. Please send me your complete review documentation by end of day." Another piece of paper in the trail, Mark thought. Another step toward whatever ending David has planned. He nodded and walked out. --- At 5:47 PM, Mark sat at his desk, staring at the documentation he'd compiled. Two years of code reviews. Thousands of decisions. All of it about to be examined, questioned, dissected. His inbox showed 23 new messages. Colleagues distancing themselves. The corporate equivalent of thoughts and prayers. He closed his laptop without responding. Tomorrow, the real interrogation would begin.