Former math prodigy.
Current broke man trying to get a job mopping restrooms before my landlord put my daughter and me on the street.
Clare looked down at the application again.
“Come with me,” she said.
Not to HR.
Not to the interview room.
Her office.
The elevator ride was silent except for the soft hum above us. I could feel the security guard looking at my worn jacket. I could feel the receptionist still trying to understand why the CEO had personally collected a janitor applicant from the lobby.
Clare’s office overlooked the river.
Glass walls. White furniture. Family photos turned toward her desk, not the room. A framed newspaper cover on the wall called her “The Woman Who Rebuilt American Freight.”
Continue on the next page:
