He was sure that others held their suspicions, too, if privately, for fear of being labeled narrow-minded or racist, yet it didn’t seem all that unreasonable. All the terrorists were Arabs, weren’t they? And what was the big difference between Shiites and Sunnis, anyway? They all looked the same to him.

The interminable ride ended after some 20 minutes. Benson hurried up the stairs to the street, breathing in the fresh air. He strolled into the lobby of the historic Chase Bank of America building. The floors and walls were Italian marble, the vaulted ceilings covered with reliefs depicting the founding of the Republic. He liked the history and the magnificence of the place. It made everything done here somehow seem more important.

Benson rode up in an elevator packed with grim-faced office workers, all of whom stared straight ahead, looking at nothing. Amid the uncomfortable silence, they each finally arrived at their floors, hurriedly stepping off. For Benson, an office on the top floor meant the journey could take several awkward minutes. He could have run the stairs in far less time, but despite the morale-boosting posters in the lunchrooms exhorting the employees to get some exercise, the security department wouldn’t allow it anymore, the bastards.

Benson stepped off the elevator. A young woman was waiting for him. She smiled warmly at his approach.

“Good morning, Tina.”

“Good morning, Mr. Benson. Everything is ready, sir.”

Fifteen minutes late, Benson took his seat at the head of a large conference table and prepared to open the meeting. He was distracted from the task at hand by the overhead lights. They gave off a low buzzing sound that he found irritating. The new eco-lights may have saved a few pennies, but they were harsh and unnatural. He turned them off and rolled up the window blinds instead, letting the sunlight stream into the room. Moving back to his seat, he prepared to greet everyone but was cut off before he could begin.

“Okay, so I’d like to offer the ‘thought for the day’ before we get started?” said Kay, a pale, middle-aged woman with a boyish haircut.

Someone in the room groaned at her announcement, but she paid not the slightest heed. Her story went on at length. Some people sat upright, respectfully paying attention; others slumped in their chairs. A young man was preoccupied with his laptop, a constant frown on his face. The keyboard tapping annoyed Benson even more than Kay’s reflection. With a circular motion of his hand he implored Kay to wrap it up. The meeting had begun late and it was getting ever later.

“So I’m, like, pissed about my muddy shoes, right? So then I see a man walking around with no feet.” And with that, Kay sat back with a smug expression.

Benson stared at her with a mix of pity and amusement.

“What?” Benson said, shaking his head. “What?”

“See — well, you go around kinda sorry for yourself, you know, and it’s like, hey! There’s someone—”

“Yes, I get it. There will be no more of these ‘thoughts for the day,’ thank you very much.”

He looked at his watch and gave Kay a withering glance, the meaning of which seemed entirely lost on her. Getting down to business, he presented a series of schematics for a more efficient underwriting process. It had taken many months of work from many departments to pull it together.

“So that’s the plan,” Benson said, summing up his presentation. “This will eliminate useless busywork, unnecessary approvals and delays, and we’ll pass the savings on to our customers.