Throwaway because some coworkers know my main account.
I’m Ethan Ramirez, 31M, living in Austin, Texas. I’ve been a software engineer at a fintech startup for four years. We’re a fast-growing company, about 150 people now, and I’ve always been the guy who ships reliable code on time. Solid performance reviews, led several key features, and I was told multiple times I was “on track” for senior engineer.
Last spring we started building a new fraud-detection module—easily the most critical project the company had that year. It involved machine learning models, real-time processing, and integration with our core payment system. Our CTO personally asked me to lead it because of my prior work on similar risk systems. I designed the architecture, wrote the core algorithms, built the training pipeline, ran all the experiments, and got us to 98% accuracy in testing. I worked insane hours—60-70 a week for months—while mentoring two junior devs and coordinating with data science.
My coworker, Brad (35M), joined the project about halfway through. He’d been hired six months earlier as another mid-level engineer. Brad is great at talking to stakeholders and making slick slide decks, but he struggles with the deep technical stuff. I brought him on to help with the API layer and some frontend monitoring dashboards. He did decent work there, but the heavy lifting—the part that made the module actually work—was all mine. I shared my repo, explained the models in detail, and gave him credit in stand-ups for his contributions.
The big moment came when we demoed to the executive team and a potential Series C investor. I had a conflict—an important family thing I couldn’t move—so Brad volunteered to present. I prepped him thoroughly: sent him my slides, walked him through the talking points, even rehearsed with him. I said, “Just make sure to note that I led the architecture and model development.”
He did not do that.
In the recording I watched later, Brad said things like “I built the fraud engine from the ground up,” “my model design achieved industry-leading accuracy,” and “I drove the entire technical direction.” My name came up once, as “Ethan helped with some supporting code.” The CTO congratulated him on the spot, saying it was “senior-level ownership.” The investor asked follow-ups directly to Brad.
After that, Brad became the go-to guy for anything fraud-related. He started leading the client calls, updating the execs, and even got quoted in our funding announcement as the “lead engineer behind our new AI fraud protection.”
Promotion cycle came around. There was one senior engineer spot open. I applied with my full portfolio, including detailed write-ups of the fraud module. Brad applied too. Guess who got it.
My manager said Brad had “really stepped up and shown leadership on the fraud project.” When I pointed out that I’d been the technical lead from day one, he shrugged and said, “Brad was more visible to leadership.”
I went to HR with everything: commit history showing I authored 85% of the code, my initial project assignment email from the CTO, meeting notes, even Slack messages where Brad asked me for help on basic parts of the system. I wasn’t demanding the promotion back—just wanted accurate attribution and to prevent this in the future.
HR investigated for three weeks. Their conclusion: “Both engineers made valuable contributions,” no evidence of “deliberate misconduct,” and that “presentation style is subjective.” They recommended I “work on executive communication skills” and offered a generic online course.
Brad got the title, the 25% raise, and a bigger equity grant. I got nothing.
I stuck it out for another five months, finished the next iteration of the module (which Brad again presented), then accepted an offer at a bigger company for senior engineer pay and better culture. I left quietly.
I’m doing well now, but it still stings. I poured my heart into that project, solved hard problems, and watched someone else collect the rewards because he was better at self-promotion. HR just protected the narrative that suited leadership. Hard lesson: document everything and never let someone else present your work alone.
Thanks for reading.
