“Of course not.” Her smile did not waver, though something moved behind it. Her eyes flicked, very briefly, toward the bench against the wall, and then back. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No. Thank you.”

She walked away. Ryan sipped the water and found it lukewarm.

He was not, by nature, a cruel person. He would have told you that if you had asked. He tipped well. He donated to a food bank once a year and made sure it was visible on his social media. He had mentored two junior analysts, although he had also taken credit, privately, for their best ideas. He considered himself fair.

But there was something in him that bristled at disorder. His whole life had been an act of arranging things so that the right people sat in the right chairs. And in his arrangement, the old man in the cardigan had no chair here.

He watched, against his better judgment, as the man poured tea from the thermos into its small cup-lid, and sipped it, and closed his eyes with a pleasure that seemed entirely out of proportion to the occasion.

Ridiculous, Ryan thought.

The old man opened his eyes and looked across the room, directly at him. There was no embarrassment in the look. No apology. Only a mild, patient curiosity, as if Ryan were a book he was in no hurry to finish.

Ryan looked away first. That annoyed him more than anything.

He decided to handle it. It was not his job to police the waiting room, but he was a person who solved problems, and this was a problem that was sitting ten feet away eating a sandwich. If the company’s staff were too timid to ask the man to move, that was their failing, and it also said something about the culture he might be walking into. Better to correct it now. Better, in fact, to be seen correcting it. Someone might be watching. Someone usually was.

He placed his glass on the table, stood, and buttoned his jacket.

“Excuse me,” he said.

The old man looked up. “Yes?”

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Ryan said, in the voice he used when he was about to be exactly that. “But this area is reserved for interview candidates and company executives. It’s a private floor.”

“Is it?” the old man said mildly.

“It is. There’s a public cafeteria on the ground level. I’m sure you’d be more comfortable there.”

The old man glanced down at the sandwich in his hands and then back up at Ryan. He did not seem offended. He seemed, if anything, interested. “I see,” he said. “And you’re certain I don’t belong here?”

“I’m certain you’re not an interview candidate,” Ryan said. “And you’re clearly not an executive.”

“Clearly,” the old man agreed.

The word hung in the air, and Ryan felt a flicker of something he did not recognize, a tiny pressure behind his ribs. It might have been doubt. He dismissed it.

“Look,” he said, softening his tone just enough to sound reasonable. “I’m not trying to embarrass you. But this is an important day for me, and a lot of people are going to walk through here. It simply doesn’t present well. I’m sure you understand.”

“Doesn’t present well,” the old man repeated, turning the phrase over like a coin. “No. I suppose it doesn’t.”

From the reception desk, Maribel had risen halfway out of her chair. Her hand was pressed flat against the desktop, and her face had gone very still. She looked at the old man. The old man, without turning his head, gave the tiniest shake, barely a movement at all.

She sat back down.

Ryan did not see this. He was watching the old man’s hands, which had begun to rewrap the sandwich with slow, careful folds. He took it as a victory. He felt the small, familiar satisfaction of a thing being put right.

“Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate your understanding.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” the old man said. “I’ve been asked to leave better places than this.”

He said it kindly. Ryan almost smiled.

Gus

The old man packed his lunch away without hurry. The sandwich went back into its wax paper, the wax paper into the paper bag, the thermos cap screwed on with a small, deliberate twist. He smoothed the napkin and folded it into a neat square and tucked it into his cardigan pocket. He reached for his cane and rose from the bench, one hand against the wall for balance.

Ryan watched with his arms folded. He told himself that he felt nothing in particular. The room was now exactly as it should be, polished and silent and prepared. He could return to his chair and his breathing and his opening line.