Fatal Error

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‘Are you ready?’

Guy was smiling at me. A smile that held confidence and anxiety in equal proportion. The confidence was there for all to see. Only I, his friend for seventeen years, could see the anxiety.

I glanced around the large room with its white-painted brick walls and blue pipes, its cheap desks bearing expensive computers, its chairs in bright green and purple, the table football and the pinball machine, both at rest, both ignored, and the whiteboards covered with scribbles detailing flowcharts, timetables, schedules and missed deadlines. The room was bustling with young men and women in T-shirts and combat trousers tapping away at keyboards, staring at screens, talking on telephones, rushing from desk to desk, pretending that this was just a normal day.

It wasn’t.

Today we would find out whether ninetyminutes.com, the company Guy and I had founded a mere five months before, had a future.

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