The Seventh Email

The first anonymous email arrived on a grey Monday in March. It went to the whole team and had one sentence: “Meetings would be shorter if they started with the decision.” Clara almost laughed. Nobody answered.

The second email came a week later, and the third a week after that. Each one was short, polite and right: a better template for reports, a warning about a client who always paid late. Colleagues whispered by the coffee machine. Was it the new manager? The intern?

Clara decided to find out. She made a list of what the emails knew. After the sixth email, she saw a pattern. The writer knew about problems from the last five years, and always used the same strange phrase: “with the benefit of hindsight”.

The seventh email arrived on a Friday, and it was only for Clara. “You are the only one who noticed the pattern. Come to the archive room at five.” She almost ignored it. The archive room was in the basement, and nobody used it now.

At five o’clock, Clara pushed open the heavy door. An old man was sitting among the boxes with a thermos and a very old laptop. “Mr Hale,” he said, smiling. “I started this company, and I still have the password. I only wanted to see if anyone was listening.”

Clara sat down on a box. “We were,” she said. “We just didn’t know it was you.” Mr Hale poured two cups of tea. “Then let’s start with the eighth email,” he said. “This time, you can write it.”