A More Perfect Union

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Commuting in Silicon Valley hasn’t improved with time. Basically, it still stinks, and basically, I was in a lousy mood when I finally got to work. I had too much to do to be stuck in freaking traffic jams for an hour. I’d have to reschedule the meeting with the head of the company—a career-limiting move if there ever was one—and be making apologies all day to everyone else for not having supplied my input on their ideas.

Sometimes I wish I hadn’t gotten that freaking promotion. Being the Director of Programming for Data Security Services was turning out to be a pain in the butt.

I hurried in from the parking lot and hustled down the hall toward my corner office that was supposed to compensate me for the ulcer I was developing. I tore into my outer office, snapped “Good morning, sorry I’m late,” to my secretary, who was sitting very still, and ran right into two huge dudes with dark suits and dark sunglasses who were blocking my door.

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