Once upon a fiscal quarter, while I pondered budget slaughter,
Over spreadsheets dull and dusty, warnings we chose to ignore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As if someone gently rapping, rapping at our server’s core.
“’Tis a glitch,” I muttered lowly, “tapping at our server’s core—
Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was bleak in late September,
And our funds, like dying embers, barely lit the office floor.
Eagerly we shunned assessments, deemed them costly, mere investments—
SOC alerts? Just petty pests meant to disturb our budget war.
“Let them wait,” I said with laughter, “we’ve survived such things before—
Audits, scans, and nothing more.”
But the tapping turned to screaming, screens went black, no longer gleaming,
Tenants locked out, systems teeming with a threat we can’t ignore.
From one property it started, then our network was bombarded—
Files encrypted, hope departed, ransom notes began to pour.
“OpenGrid,” they signed the message, “pay us now or lose much more.”
Terror gripped me to the core.
Then the breach, like plague, did travel—corporate systems came unravelled,
Emails leaked and secrets babbled, chaos spread from shore to shore.
Legal called with voices shaking, clients fled, our brand was breaking—
All because of one mistaking: “We don’t need a SOC to score.”
Now I sit in silent mourning, wishing we had done much more—
Vowing this: Never Again, forevermore.
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