I’m getting a good vibe. The light in her eyes suggests she has a good sense of humor and doesn’t take life—real life—too damned seriously. Just her job.

This is a big deal. Our first interview. I want this job. A lot. Possibility of a 25 percent salary hike, plus bonus. I know I’m qualified, and so does she.

I’m wearing a necktie for the first time in years. I usually just wear jeans and a button-down to work, unless we have a client in or a new business pitch, but this meeting calls for a tie. Lots at stake here. And the damned thing feels like a noose tightening around my neck.

This was the day of the first murder. Somebody I knew. By the end of next week, my life will have changed forever.

Chapter 2

Yesterday…

On bad days the advertising agency profession can get old fast. Especially with lousy clients. But this day is set to remind me why I got in this business in the first place.

We’re presenting a new campaign to a client who’s sat on the same advertising for five years: Chubb Insurance—Marterelli’s biggest client—has become one of those “unapproachable” insurance companies lost in the morass of indistinguishable brands in a category that’s competing on price, and little more. Worse, Chubb is premium priced. We’ve got a scary idea—the kind I love—to take Chubb to the next level. The plan is to confront consumers with the inevitability of some painful loss of assets during their lifetimes. Then we let them know that Chubb will be there to help, with a campaign built around humor to balance the grim forecast.

It’s enough to distract me from the real-life bullshit swirling all around me.

The meeting’s scheduled for eleven a.m. I’m in the office by eight; I stop by the break room, crank up the coffeepot, and head upstairs to go over some notes.

I’m wearing jeans, for sure—Ralph Laurens—pressed, and an oxford cloth open-collar long-sleeved shirt. Got my black-on-black brocade sports jacket slung over a chair, ready for the client. So I’m going formal. Cool New York formal.

“Hey, buenos dias, amigo.” It’s Ramon, our tech guy, at my cubicle door. A tall, dark, and handsome guy, as they say, with a bright, persistent smile on his face. “What’s up? And what am I doing here this early, you ask?”

“Looking for…?”

“No one. Just here to set you guys up in the conference room. Big meeting, huh?”

“Yeah, totally. But we’re ready to kick some client ass. Thanks, man, I’ll see you later.”

“Ciao.” I will definitely see Ramon later.

Back upstairs with my coffee. Now it’s Mary Claire Moriarty, my junior account leader—that’s what I like to call all of us account types. Early twenties, straight out of the Missouri School of Journalism, and she’s a terrific writer, too, so I’ve given her a small part in the pitch. It’s all about teamwork, and providing experience in the trenches for these bright up-and-comers.