Greg seriously considered suicide. The nuts and bolts of one's existence can rattle loose with one bump, and there are moments when a man thinks the last few feet of the film have snapped loose from the reel. When that happens, he hears his blood thundering in his ears. Or perhaps the film freezes and he hears nothing at all.

A little over six months had passed since Greg Sanbetter left the security and perks of his job at Brody and MacAbee. Thinking he would prosper more quickly at Prudential Equity, He had quit and that proved to be a catastrophic decision. After just four months with the new company he was laid off, the result of a corporate buy out and subsequent shakeup and Greg had tumbled into deep depression.

Now, for the first time in nearly a year, he felt invigorated. Failures of the past were just that . . . past. He realized that his twelve years with Brody hadn't been such a bad deal. Satisfying, really. He shouldn't have been greedy -- shouldn't have left. Life was good, but when salary boosts didn't come fast enough . . . well, no matter, all that was behind him now.
He soon learned in looking for a new position, that he was either overqualified or underqualified for the current trends. He had mortgaged too many tomorrows only to fail at getting through the present day. He had his wife and kids to consider.

He checked his watch as he stepped into the elevator. He figured he would be right on time; the interview wasn't for forty minutes.

Mondays were always a hassle, but today he had to stay centered and project a very positive attitude from start to finish. He was sick of spinning his wheels, beginning each day with a mental melt-down, like other poor souls who clung to the sides of the planet with suction cup hands. His future depended on him landing this job.

Three men and a woman followed him into the elevator. They were all nicely tailored and manicured and carried an expensive-looking leather briefcases, along with their obvious incurable air of importance.

Greg was a fairly tall man with a medium build, a tanned face and icy blue eyes. Middle-age flab had yet to catch up with him and he still had most of his hair. A bit inflexible at times, he was nevertheless hardworking and efficient. Dedicated, and loyal. When a man turns forty however, he learns that very few successful enterprises need, or want, his services. Today, Greg would meet with Brad Holcumb, and hopefully the man would be from the old school, where an individual's merit and track record mattered in the hiring process.

Stopping on the eighty-fourth floor, the elevator opened onto a large reception area decorated with black lacquered furniture and a marbled floor. The brass doors whisked shut behind Greg as he stepped out and spotted a Starbucks. Heading that way, he took in the plush decor as he merged with the swelling brigade of commuters who dodged one another like reality robots in a foot race. Crystal chandeliers dotted the ceiling and lavish, wine-colored carpet muffled his steps. As he moved along, Greg noted the glittery strokes reflecting the conceit of associates who leased in the building. It's all about status, he thought. But that was what made the financial world go 'round in Manhattan, wasn't it? The poor suffer, the rich are slightly inconvenienced.

Marbled walls glistened in the golden rays of early morning sun that streamed in through an immense wall of windows on the right. The stunning sunrise appeared as a perfect orange disk--easing into big, rambunctious clouds, pink and purple and leaking bolts of sunlight. Greg edged over to the huge windows. What a spectacular view, he thought.

From this height, the city seemed sculpted and silent, but busy. People looked like bugs on the street below, the cabs, like yellow matchbox cars. Neighboring buildings jutted into the sky in every direction. Some higher, but mostly lower. Greg considered the magic of being equal to their grandeur from where he stood. He felt small but, at the same time, empowered in some strange way. It put a charge in his blood.

Glancing at his watch again, he decided there would be time to use the restroom and grab a coffee. A black man stood off to the left of the men's room. He was busy, buffing a pair of loafers at his shoeshine stand.

"Good morning, Suh. How ya' doin'?" His head appeared a bit lopsided and his eyes were piercing and dark. Michael Jackson's Thriller blared from a boom box on a shelf behind his stand.

"Shine today?" said the man.
"No, thanks, partner. Maybe another time. Beautiful sun coming up out there," Greg said, as he went in the restroom and sidled up to a urinal. The shine man followed him at a considerable distance and spoke again.

"Yes, Suh, our good Lord and Savior has blessed us with another fine day, ain't it wonderful?" He lowered the volume on the radio as he spoke.
Greg agreed. "Makes life worth living," he added.

"Yes, Suh. I made up my mind not to die of anything but old age. Stopped smoking because I was afraid of cancer. Swore off whiskey cuz I was scared of ramming my car into a tree." He chuckled. "And I gave up hunting cuz I was scared of blowing my own head off." He paused.

"I Quit chasing skirt because I was afraid of being murdered by a jealous husband. I shaved the odds, like I set out to do. Missed out on a ton of fun, I suppose, but that's all right. Most of those friends are planted in the ground now, but I'm still here." He grinned and gave him two thumbs up.
"Good for you," said Greg. He checked himself in the mirror, smoothed his brown hair that grew down over his forehead in a wedge, and rubbed his clean shaven face.
"Big meeting today, Suh?" He put down the shoes and tinkered with the bottles of cologne displayed on a white cloth next to the stand.

"Yeah, you could say that," Greg answered as he headed for the door. "See you, my friend, take care."

"Yes, Suh! You have a good day, now and remember, God carries us to places for a reason."

Greg nodded. "You have a great day, too, my friend." He worked his way over to Starbucks where a line was forming. The fragrance of early morning coffee helped coax customers inside. Greg took his place in the back of the line.

A petite brunette wearing a hairnet had flying hands blending lattes. The line moved slowly. It was amazing how many different concoctions people chose to drink first thing in the morning. He wondered why Starbucks didn't have a separate line for people who just wanted a cup of coffee. The guy in front of him chose to pay for his blended cappuccino with a credit card.
The poor suffer, the rich are slightly inconvenienced, Greg thought. He side-stepped the man, ordered a large coffee, paid cash and found a seat.

He watched as a flurry of people outside, scurried about like ants on a disturbed hill. Many were formally dressed and looked like extras in an old Carey Grant movie . . . decked out and good-looking.

*********

Financial Services of America was located in suite 8425. The lock snicked closed behind Greg. The nameplate on the receptionist's desk said "Miss J. Hudson."

A modest looking blonde woman sat behind the desk. Attractive, except for small, tight-looking lips, she was especially trim and well dressed, wearing a fuchsia colored business suit, with a sprig of white flowers in her lapel. Her hair was bobbed and she wore tiny gold earrings. She tucked her purse beneath her desk when Greg entered.

She smiled. "Good morning, Sir. May I help you?"

"Yes, I have an appointment with Mr. Holcumb at nine o'clock. Greg Sanbetter' the name."

"Very well" She glanced at the planner on the blotter in front of her. "Yes, Mr. Sanbetter, please have a seat. Can I bring you some coffee or tea? Juice?"

"No, thank you," said Greg.
Very well, I'll let Mr. Holcumb know you're here." She moved as if she was balancing a book on her head as she crossed the room and disappeared around the corner.

Greg eyed the sugar slathered jelly donut nestled in a napkin on her desk. He wished he had grabbed something to eat at Starbucks.

He took a seat and tucked his briefcase between his feet. Picking up a copy of Business Week, he pretended to be absorbed.

Feeling much like a kid waiting outside the principal's office, his hands trembled and he attempted to steady them as he flipped through the pages. His skin suddenly felt too tight for his body.

Ms. Hudson returned moments later and beamed as she smoothed her dress and sat down. "I'm afraid it will be just a few more minutes. Mr. Holcumb is on a conference call, but he knows you're here. Sure you won't have some coffee?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks." He glanced up and saw her dip down behind her desk. When she resurfaced, she was chewing and had traces of red jelly on her lips. Greg smiled as he continued to thumb through his magazine.

A full twenty minutes passed before Ms. Hudson's phone buzzed. "Yes, Sir. Yes." There was a long pause before she finally said, "No--that's tomorrow. Yes, Sir." She hung up, scribbled a note and smiled. "Mr. Holcumb will see you now, Mr. Sanbetter."

"Thank you," said Greg as he placed the magazine back on the end table and grabbed his briefcase, and followed her down a short hallway, past three leather-padded doors to Holcumb's inner sanctum.

It was a plush corner office with huge windows. Holcumb was talking on his cell phone when he saw Greg and motioned for him to take one of three plush chairs in front of his desk. Then, he slowly swiveled his chair around and gazed out the window while he finished his conversation.

Greg noticed the New York Times and Wall Street Journal which lay on one side of the desk. Family pictures, including a rather attractive brunette woman and three young children were displayed on a credenza behind him. Softball trophies, blue ribbons from equestrian shows, and more family photos were displayed on a mahogany bookshelf. Holcumb's suit jacket was draped over the back of his chair.

Holcomb was a short, fifty-fivish man. Barely five feet tall, he weighed at least two hundred pounds, Greg thought. With thinning brown hair and considerably small brown eyes. His skin was the color of day-old lard.

A minute or so later, Holcumb finally snapped his cell-phone shut. He glanced at his watch, spun his chair back around and stood to shake Greg's hand.

"Greg Sanbetter! Glad you could make it. Sorry, I kept you waiting."
The two men shook hands and smiled. "Some things a man just has to handle himself, ya' know what I mean?" said Holcumb.
"Yes, Sir."

"You had no trouble finding us, of course." He skirted around and perched his plump rump on the edge of the desk. One Gucci loafer dangled in the air.

"No, sir, good directions, thank you."

"Good--good." He thrust his hands deep into his pockets and strolled over to the windows "Well, it's certainly going to be a beautiful day out there, isn't it?"
He removed his glasses, put one of the ear hooks in the corner of his mouth and let them dangle before he said, "Yes, Sir. A bit hot for this time of year, I think. But no complaint here. I'm always impressed with the view from up here. We love it. It's a splendid view of the city. None better."

He paused briefly and continued. "The weather has held up nicely, especially since the lousy Labor Day we just had. Can you believe that rain all damned weekend?"

"No, Sir, it poured out by our place out on the Island, too."

"Yeah. We took the family out to Jones Beach, but we spent most of our time sitting under a gazebo, playing Rummy. Can you imagine? The grand-kids about drove me nuts. But, family, is what it's all about, don't you agree?"
He raised his eyebrows in a what-do-you-think sort of way.

"Yes, Sir. Always. Family first," said Greg.

"Right. Say, can I have Janie get you a cup of coffee?"

"No, I'm fine, Mr. Holcumb. Thanks."

"Well, then, let's get right down to it, shall we?" He eased back behind his desk. His facial expression changing into a more serious mode.

"Yes, Sir."

"Greg, we're one damned stable outfit here at Financial Services. Most of our people have been with us for more than ten years, but we have an opening and we need somebody who's ahead of the curve to fill that spot ASAP."

His tone of voice dropped to a near-whisper. "The thing is we had to let one of our key guys go. I personally regretted it; he was one hell of a good man, mind you, but he had accrued too many personal problems. Just one of those guys who will always have his elevator stuck between floors, ya' know what I mean?" He shook his head.

"Yes, Sir."

"Now, I've reviewed your resume, and I have to tell you --I'm pleased. It's very impressive. You've been around the red tape rhubarb for spell a while, haven't you?"

"Yes, Sir, I do know the business."

"Uhh huh." He thumbed through Greg's paperwork. "I see you were with Brody and Mac for quite a while, eh?"

"Almost twelve years, Sir."

"Excellent. By the way, you can do away with that 'sir' business. None of that with me, Greg. Call me Brad. I put my pants on the same way as you." He grinned. "Granted, mine may fit a bit tighter, but they go on the same way, one leg at a time." He tilted his chair back.

Studying Greg for a moment, he said, "I'll be frank with you, Greg. I've worn your shoes too. I know what you're feeling, but let me tell you something I've learned through the years. We shouldn't live in the past or for tomorrow's problems. Sometimes life is a shit-flavored popsicle." He sighed. "You know, tomorrow has no more existence than yesterday, but we can always control now. Know what I mean?
"Yes, sir."
We live in a world of now. Me--I have to think about the now, just as you do. Our entire operation is as tight as a Goldfish's asshole. The only people in our way are usually the damned lawyers. I'll bet you had to deal with those bastards over at Brody's too."

"Yes, Si . . . uuh, Brad." Greg realized having a conversation with Holcumb was like catching a moving train. You could either get aboard fast or miss golden opportunities.

Holcumb continued : "You know the difference between a dead skunk on the highway and a dead lawyer on the highway?"

Brad shook his head. "No, sir."

"Well, there's skid marks in front of the skunk."

They both laughed.

"So, tell me, Greg --do you have any experience with retirement folios and the like? I notice it doesn't specify here on your resume."

"Well, no, Sir, not directly. But I've handled endowments and will-specifications."

"Uuuh huh. Reason I ask is, we're in the process of expanding into that end of the business. It's gold, Greg, pure gold. Insurance companies control the banking industry. They own the real estate." He paused. "The banks catch a virus and Wall Street has diarrhea for a week. People don't seem to sweat the future more now than they did when we were coming up, you know? Course, now, with your background, it wouldn't take much for you to catch on the new methods and particulars--right?"

"No, Sir, I'm confident I could handle most anything you've got concerning investments, He smiled. "I'm a fast learner."

"Uuh huh. Well, let me just ask you - - what happened over there at Brody and MaCabee, anyway? Why did you leave?"

Greg felt a charge of adrenaline drop into his blood. Here we go, he thought. That was the punch line. Here comes the knockout. He scooted up in his chair; his mouth suddenly dry. His upper lip a constellation of tiny droplets.

"Well, actually, it was a mutual agreement, Mr. Holcumb. They were making changes just like you folks, only those changes would have me marking time or moving backwards instead of forwards -- if you know what I mean. Lots of things changed as a consequence. I figured I could do better, so I resigned--on the best of terms, I might add."

"I see. Well, it's nothing to wear on your chest, but I can't blame a man for trying to better himself. What the hell, we all want that, don't we? This country is the land of opportunity, but you have to work for it, sweat for it, sacrifice for its bounty, right?"

"Yes, sir."

Holcumb put his glasses aside. "Greg. I appreciate your honesty. I'm told that's how it happened all right." He grinned. "My people did some checking. Procedure and policy, you know. We just needed to confirm, that's all."

"Yes, Sir." His stomach lurched.

"Okay then. He clasped his meaty hands together. "No sense playing games here, Greg. You'll find I'm not one to pussy-foot around. I like you. I like what I see on your resume. I think you'll be a good fit here at Financial, and, based on what they've learned so far, my number two and three guys concur. You'll meet them soon enough, too."

He stood and skirted back around the desk and extended his hand. "Congratulations, Greg, I'd like you to join our team. It's a done deal as far as I'm concerned. Welcome aboard."

Greg shook his hand and smiled. "Thank you, Sir." He felt a chill race down his spine. At last! I'm actually in. I've got a job!

"There you go with that 'Sir' stuff again. It's Brad! Just Brad is fine. Now, listen, Greg, Janie will get you set up with the necessary paperwork out there, okay? The usual stuff, you know, where you agree to sign over your first-born." He snickered.

"Yes, Sir, and, thanks. Uuuh, Brad . . . sorry. Uuuuh, when do I . . . ?"

"Start? Hell, I don't think we should dilly-dally around, do you? This is short notice I suppose, but tomorrow, if that's okay with you?"

"Tuesday, you mean?"

"Yes, why is that a problem?"

"No. Of course not. That'll be great," said Greg

Holcumb adjusted his glasses and flipped through pages of his desk calendar.

"Yes, tomorrow. Let's see, that's September 11th. Good. Oh, wait! Check that . . . Hold the phone, Greg. I see here, I've got to leave town tomorrow. Yeah, United 93 out of Newark to Frisco in the morning. Brokers meeting. Red eye coming back, too, I suppose. Sorry. I want to be here to intro you to the boys myself. How about we start you on Thursday, September 13th? That work for you?"

"Sure. That will be fine," said Greg, his voice low and raspy from the dryness in his throat.

"Well, that's it then. Good. We'll see you Thursday morning." They shook hands again.

"Yes, Brad . Have a safe trip. I'll see you when you get back . . . and thank you."

"No problem. Take care Greg."

An hour later, after he filled out the paperwork, Greg proudly strolled back to the elevators. He could feel the worrisome weight leave his shoulders for the first time in months.

Mr. Shoeshine stood outside the restroom with his hands behind his back. They waved at each other and smiled. Greg thought about calling Karen but decided to wait and surprise her and the kids when he got home.

He left the World Trade Center, confident that his life was about to change for the better. Overhead, the sky was a shattering blue. The air was heavy and damp but clean-smelling. All was well with the world.

He looked up at the sun glistening off the south tower and smiled.

Get ready, family. Daddy's coming home with the best news ever. Our whole world will change after today