At nine fifty-eight Brandon was still performing for the interns, mimicking my voice, asking loudly if I was lost on my way to the food pantry. At nine fifty-nine the elevator opened and Colonel Aisha Reyes stepped out in full dress uniform, followed by two aides carrying sealed briefing folders. She scanned the lobby, saw me, and her posture shifted the way it always did. Doctor Corwin, she said, we are ready for you upstairs, the Secretary is on the secure line already. Brandon’s laugh cut off mid-syllable. I rolled forward. Denise, I said gently, please note the time Mr. Vale obstructed a cleared advisor from entering the building. Denise was already typing. Brandon stammered that it was a joke, that he did not know. I stopped my chair level with his belt buckle so he had to look down at me. Son, I said, I lost my legs in Kandahar pulling three Marines out of a Humvee. I have chaired the accessibility compliance board for this facility since before you finished high school. Every ramp you walked over this morning exists because I signed it into the building code. He tried to apologize. I raised the same finger that had stopped Denise earlier. Colonel Reyes cleared her throat. Mr. Vale, she said, your uncle asked me personally to evaluate new procurement hires this quarter. My evaluation just concluded. The interns stepped away from Brandon like he was radioactive. I turned my chair toward the elevator. Denise called out that my access chime was green. As the doors slid shut I heard Brandon ask, very quietly, if there was any way to take back the last ten minutes. Colonel Reyes answered before I could. Doctor Corwin has a longer memory than these cameras, she said. And the cameras never forget. The doors closed on his face going the color of wet paper.
