Risk

The yellow file was a splash of aggressive color against the muted beige of the underwriting department. Martin Porchnik watched Jason, the burly claims adjuster, approach, a smirk already etched on his face, a premonition of doom settling in Martin's gut.
“Good afternoon, ‘Underwear’ department. Whose day can I ruin today?” Jason's voice boomed, carrying a theatrical flourish as he surveyed the cubicles. “Anybody have a file for Ultimate Diecasting?”
Martin flinched. That name. It lodged in his memory like a particularly stubborn shard of glass, one of the 'shittiest' files he’d ever encountered. He knew, with a certainty that chilled him, that this was going to be a bad one. He looked down at his desk, pretending to be engrossed in a stack of papers, hoping the earth would swallow him whole.
“Heads are going to roll over this one,” Jason announced, his grin widening, clearly relishing the impending chaos.
“Not one of mine,” Darlene chirped from her desk.
“It’s not me,” Dave called out from his cubicle in the back.
Martin sighed, a quiet exhalation of resignation. “It’s me,” he mumbled, raising his hand weakly. All eyes swiveled to him, a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity. He could only shrug. What're ya gonna do?