The rain had been falling over Chicago since dawn.
By nine o'clock, the windows of the thirty-eighth floor were covered with tiny streams of water, turning the skyline into a blurred painting of steel, glass, and gray clouds.
Inside the headquarters of Sterling International, however, everything was bright.
The floors were polished until they reflected the ceiling lights.
The walls were covered with expensive artwork.
Executives walked quickly through the corridors carrying leather folders and phones.
Assistants whispered into headsets.
Elevators opened and closed every few minutes.
Everyone seemed to know exactly where they belonged.
Everyone except the young man standing beside the reception desk.
His name was Daniel Park.
He was twenty-four years old.
He worked in the mailroom.
His uniform was dark blue.
The words MAILROOM were embroidered in white across the chest.
His shoes were inexpensive.
His hair was neatly trimmed.
And his expression was calm.
Daniel had been working at Sterling International for eleven months.
Most people barely noticed him.
He delivered packages.
Sorted documents.
Carried boxes.
Collected outgoing mail.
Made coffee when someone asked.
Fixed small problems before they became large ones.
He knew which executive preferred documents delivered before eight.
He knew which assistant had a fear of elevators.
He knew which conference room door stuck when the weather was humid.
He knew which employees forgot their access cards most often.
Daniel noticed everything.
But almost nobody noticed Daniel.
That morning, he was carrying a stack of envelopes toward the executive offices when an elderly woman stepped out of the elevator.
She was seventy-one years old.
Her name was Eleanor Whitmore.
She had been with Sterling International for thirty-six years.
For the last fifteen, she had served as executive vice president.
She was one of the most powerful people in the company.
She wore a cream-colored suit.
Her silver hair was styled perfectly.
A diamond bracelet rested around her wrist.
She walked with a polished confidence that made people move aside without being asked.
Two assistants followed behind her.
"Ms. Whitmore," one of them said, "the board meeting has been moved to eleven."
"I know."
"And Mr. Collins wants the revised figures."
"I know."
"And your nine-thirty appointment—"
"I said I know."
The assistant immediately stopped speaking.
Eleanor walked toward the executive conference room.
Then she noticed Daniel.
He was standing beside the glass conference table.
A package was resting in front of him.
He had been asked to deliver it personally.
Eleanor stopped.
"What are you doing here?"
Daniel looked up.
"Good morning, Ms. Whitmore."
She didn't return the greeting.
"I asked what you were doing here."
"I'm delivering a package."
"To whom?"
"Mr. Collins."
"He isn't here."
"I was told to leave it on the conference table."
"Then leave it."
Daniel nodded.
He placed the package carefully on the table.
He turned to leave.
Eleanor stopped him.
"Wait."
Daniel turned.
"Yes?"
She pointed at the package.
"Did you open that?"
Daniel looked surprised.
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Then why is the seal damaged?"
Daniel looked at the package.
"The seal isn't damaged."
Eleanor stepped closer.
"Don't argue with me."
"I'm not arguing."
"You are."
Daniel remained quiet.
One of the assistants looked uncomfortable.
Eleanor pointed toward the package.
"Open it."
Daniel hesitated.
"I can't."
"Excuse me?"
"It's addressed to Mr. Collins."
"I am ordering you to open it."
Daniel looked at the label.
"I understand."
"Then do it."