The Backup Asset

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He stared at the back of his hands in disbelief. They were shaking so hard it made for a difficult task to get another taste of coffee. Using both hands, he grabbed the mug and took a sip of steaming liquid, warming his frozen hands on contact with the white glazed ceramic. He smiled a little, as his eyes focused in passing on the message written in red lettering on the side of the mug. A gift from his coworkers, it read, “I do math well, what’s your excuse?” How appropriate, he thought, I don’t do this very well, and I need to get better at it. Grow a pair, for Christ’s sake, he admonished himself, giving his trembling hands another disgusted glance.

He made an effort to set the mug on his desk without spilling any coffee, but that didn’t work as planned. His hands were shaking too much. A few droplets stained the scattered papers on his desk, most of which bore the stamp TOP SECRET.

“Fuck,” he muttered, under his breath, and rushed to get some Kleenex.

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