In two hours, Palmer Aarington would look like any one of a number of young men in florescent ties entering the Hugo Building, but at 5:13 A.M. he stood out. With an overstuffed leather briefcase in one hand and the Wall Street Journal in the other, he checked his reflection in the glass door and pushed it open.
"Good morning, Frank," he said a little too loudly to the security guard sitting at the front desk. He offered the white-haired man a friendly smile and a wave with the hand carrying the newspaper. How's Mary doing?
"Much better. Thank you for asking, Mr. Aarington. Early again, huh?"
"Need to get as much done as I can before things get hectic today." Palmer watched Frank noting the time in his log. He walked briskly to the elevator and punched the button with two quick jabs of his index finger.
At the twenty-third floor, he scanned the empty halls and smiled. Heading directly to the coffee room, he measured two cups of coffee.
Coffee brewing, Palmer proceeded to his cubicle, where he removed his jacket and placed it carefully behind his chair, rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt. Reaching into his briefcase, he took out some papers and arranged them on his desk. He booted up his computer, grabbed his coffee mug and returned to the kitchen area where he poured himself half a cup, no cream or sugar. 
Returning to his cubicle, he placed the coffee next to his computer and called up a work folder. As he waited for it to appear, he adjusted the photograph of his twin nephews in their Little League outfits, so it could be seen more readily from the hallway.
From his briefcase, Palmer removed the Daily News, turning it to the back page where the sports headlines shouted, "Yanks Tweak Tigers' Tail." Opening the Journal, he placed the tabloid inside and checked the box score.
He glanced at his Rolex to make sure it was still before six. In twenty minutes Mr. Bolton would arrive. Palmer wanted to make certain he would be in perfect position to proffer the first kiss of the day to the boss's ass.