Damn, I think I just fucked-up somebody’s $1 billion contract.

The improbable alignment of circumstances precipitated what just happened.

I came back from a dinner where things went south, with 1Billion USD at stake…

It all started with Jacques, calling me 2 days ago:

— Max, dear fellow, I’ve arranged for Laurent to partake in dinner within the refined confines of my office this upcoming Wednesday. Would you be intrigued to grace us with your esteemed company?

— Sure, I like Laurent. I’ll be there. See you.

Jacques is the funniest depressive guy I’ve ever met, running a successful cyber-security company for 20 years.

Today, at half-past seven, I was on Rue Saint Dominique in the fancy 7th district of Paris, full of old, quiet wealth that’s not often shown off. But these rich folks might be the first to face Guillotine 🔪.

We engaged in light chatter for a bit, then I popped the question that would set everything in motion. It was a simple query, yet it triggered a series of ordinary events leading to an unexpected finale…

— Jacques, do you need help with the dishes?

I’m a pretty good cook, so (my ego) cried to impress: Laurent is a CxO in one of the largest companies in the world, with a seven-zeros paycheck. Shame on you, ego.

In essence, my duty was to prepare the mushrooms set to accompany Jacques’ rabbit in mustard. A splendid and delicately prepared dish: onions and garlic, tender rabbit, tangy mustard, rich cream, and lastly, the star of the show (ego speaking): fragrant mushrooms.

Jacques left all groceries in his office, in front of the kitchen. Garlic on the table, onions on the floor, mushrooms on the shelf. I couldn’t fathom how he managed to steer a cybersecurity firm amidst such chaos!

Peper. Salt. Butter. Garlic. Garlic. I Love Garlic. No more than few minutes, on a very hot pan.

We eat.

Best rabbit ever. Juicy, salty, tender, punching. Chewy mushrooms. Perfection.

Laurent refused the second glass of Cote Rotie:

— I have a very important RFP final presentation tomorrow morning. 3 hours in front of 12 board directors. I fight for a 5 years contract. One of the largest deals in France. A billion-dollar deal.

We gave him a respectful nod.

Noticing his good mood, I asked Jacques how he was dealing with his depression lately.

— I’m almost completely done with that. I’ve finally tried them.

— By “them”, you mean, “them”…?! — I asked.

— Yeah, — proudly announced Jacques, — come and see how I did it, right there, in my office.

Jacques led the way to his office, just beyond where we’d been dining in the kitchen.

Then he brutally stopped.

— Where the fuck are my mushrooms?!

Fear seized me from my blunder. A barrage of outcomes, all born from my error, hammered relentlessly at my thoughts.

We just ate Jacque’s magic mushrooms. The ones he was growing for his anti-depression psilocybin therapy.

Each and every one.

Jacques pointed to a bag full of button mushrooms, under the table.

Now, it’s almost 1 AM in the morning. Laurent’s meeting is in 7 hours.

Jacques and I fixed our gaze upon him.

Laurent’s head tilted slowly, a well of unspoken disappointment dwelling in his eyes.

— Sorry Laurent.