Gemotions

The spreadsheet shimmered, mocking him. He leaned back, his chair creaking a mournful protest. The data, the painstaking analysis, the perfectly crafted projections – all of it mirrored the document he'd just received from the other team. A cold sweat slicked his palms. He scrubbed at his temples, the pressure doing nothing to ease the sudden, pounding throb behind his eyes.

“That can’t be right,” he muttered, his voice barely a rasp. He clicked the mouse again, comparing the file names, the timestamps, the subtle formatting choices. Everything was identical, as if they'd been looking at the same map.

He grabbed his phone, his fingers fumbling with the keys. The number for his project lead swam before his eyes. He inhaled deeply, the air feeling thin and insufficient, and pressed the call button. The waiting tone seemed to stretch on for an eternity.