He had been standing there for some time.

The Panel Reconvenes

“Well,” Tom Okafor said, when the boardroom door had closed behind Ryan Mercer. “That was a morning.”

“It was.” Priya Nair set her stylus on the table and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I almost felt sorry for him.”

“I did feel sorry for him,” Helen Brandt said. “I think that’s different from what you meant.”

“Maybe.”

Walter had returned to his chair at the head of the table. He looked tired, now that the performance was over, the way an actor looks when the lights go up. The wine-colored tie was slightly crooked. His tea had gone cold. Daniel Osei, who had a lawyer’s instinct for ending conversations before they got uncomfortable, was gathering his papers.

“I have to ask,” Osei said. “Walter, are you comfortable with how that went? The final exchange got heated, and in the event of any claim—”

“He won’t make a claim.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I can know a little.” Walter folded his hands. “He’s the kind of man who would be ashamed to. He’ll go home and he’ll think about it, and he’ll be furious for a week, and then he’ll feel something much worse. That’s usually how it goes.”

“Usually?” Priya said. “How many times have you done this?”

“Thirty-six,” Walter said. “Thirty-seven, now.”

“And how many of them ever came back?”

Walter considered. “Two.”

“Two?”

“One’s in the room now,” Tom Okafor said dryly. “I was number nine.”

Priya blinked at him. “You never told me that.”

“I didn’t tell anyone. I was a shift supervisor at a competitor. I walked into this building in a bad mood, and I told an old man on a bench to move because he was blocking the light.” He smiled grimly. “Walter let me keep my pride for about three hours. Then he took it. I spent two years on a dock before he’d let me near an office.”

“Two years,” Helen said. “You’re making this sound like a punishment.”

“It was a gift,” Okafor said. “I didn’t know that for a long time.”

There was a brief, comfortable silence. Outside, a cloud passed across the sun, and the room dimmed and brightened again.

“Which brings us,” Walter said, “to the next candidate.”

“Leah Santos,” Helen said, flipping open a folder. “Thirty-four. Eleven years with a mid-sized freight network in the Southwest. She’s been director of regional operations for the last three. Her numbers are strong, though not spectacular. She’s turned around two struggling depots. Her references are warm.”

“Warm?” Walter said.

“Everyone says she’s good to work for. One of them said she remembered his daughter’s name and sent a card when his mother died.”

“That’s useful,” Walter said. “But it isn’t the same as competent.”

“No,” Helen agreed. “That’s what the interview is for.”

Walter nodded slowly. Then, in a voice so quiet that the others leaned in to hear, he said, “She’s already in the building.”

“What?”

“She arrived early. Maribel just texted me.” He held up his phone. “She has taken the archive box I left on the bench and carried it to the break room, because she thought it might get damp.”

Priya laughed out loud. Okafor shook his head. Helen smiled behind her hand.

“You left a box?” Priya said. “In addition to yourself?”

“I try to vary the test,” Walter said. “Otherwise the candidates begin to hear about it.”

“And did she ask anyone’s permission?”

“She asked Maribel if it was all right.”

“Hm.” Priya tapped her stylus. “That’s either very kind or very calculating.”

“It could be both,” Walter said. “Most good things are.”

“That’s not fair,” Helen said. “You can’t make every kind act suspicious.”

“I’m not,” Walter said. “I’m being careful. I’d like to find out which one it is.”

He folded his tea napkin into a very small square and tucked it away.

“Let’s bring her in.”

Leah

Leah Santos did not stand when she entered the boardroom, because she did not need to. She walked to the foot of the table, set down her satchel, and waited for someone to speak. She was smaller than she had looked in the waiting room. She was also steadier.

“Ms. Santos,” Tom Okafor said. “Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for having me. I’m grateful for the chance.”

“Please sit.”

She did. Then, without any visible nervousness, she did something no candidate had done in the history of these interviews. She looked at each person at the table in turn and said, simply, “I’m sorry to be a little dusty. I carried a box.”

A small, startled laugh went round the room.

“I’d like to know,” Walter Hale said, “why you carried the box.”