At ten to ten on a Thursday morning, ten minutes before the biggest pitch of my life, I opened the laptop in the boardroom and clicked on my presentation.

A little grey box popped up.

The file you are looking for does not exist.

I clicked again. Same box.

I opened the shared drive. The folder called HARTLEY'S PITCH – FINAL was empty. I checked the recycle bin. Empty. I checked the laptop's own folders. Empty.

Fifty-two slides. Six weeks of work. Every photo, every chart, every word.

Gone.

Through the glass wall of the boardroom, I could see the reception desk. Four people from Hartley's Biscuits were taking off their coats. Their chief executive was laughing at something our boss had said.

The biggest account our agency had ever pitched for. Twenty million pounds.

In ten minutes.

Behind me, the boardroom door opened. Olivia Sinclair walked in, carrying two cups of coffee and a small silver memory stick.

She looked at the empty screen. Then at me.

“Oh no, Becca,” she said softly. “What have you done?”