“What do you have?” Martina asked Mitch when she got to him. Adam had left the television, making his way to Mitch. Vera couldn’t imagine withstanding such pressure. Her inner scolding was bad enough.

“I’ll be able to advance it,” Mitch told Martina. Vera couldn’t read anything from his delivery of this sentence. She vowed to practice that kind of presentation in front of the mirror in her dance studio. It seemed an all-body performance—a full exploration in physical terms of self-assured boredom.

She watched Martina intercept Adam and say, “He can match it and advance it.” Vera wondered why Martina’s attitude—an extravagantly unflappable mirthlessness—was extolled. It was almost like Mitch’s, but it had less impatience in it. Vera added it into her poses to practice.

“Good,” Adam said. “Good.” His version of the tone was different yet again. It popped a question into Vera’s head: had he ever been in love? It was impossible, given the temperature of his voice. This was a big story, wasn’t it? Vera looked around. She could feel excitement. But she couldn’t, as Stanley often instructed her to, find the details that conveyed it. You can’t just say it was exciting, he often advised. Were eyes open wide? Were feet tapping? What did you see?

Vera watched Mitch closely. He disconnected his headset. He signed on. Vera twisted a little to read. There was already a message, Martina saying, Can you have a top for me for the 2 o’clock? He messaged, Yes. He looked at his watch. He opened a file with phone numbers and contacts.

The calls went poorly. One contact was out of the office for two weeks, checking in for messages; Mitch left one. Another was hospitalized with elective surgery. Mitch called all three major hospitals, found the room number, called, and got no answer. A third was in a meeting. The fourth was on the other line. The fifth took the call and commiserated but couldn’t contribute. The sixth was swamped, in the middle of markups, couldn’t talk until five. The seventh gave him the name of someone in an attorney’s office who knew someone on the committee who’d boasted about the report. The eighth gave him the name of a man she’d hired whom the committee had interviewed just last night, and they’d brought up the report; she was sure the guy was listed. Fifteen minutes: gone. He had only twenty minutes until the two o’clock meeting. Vera couldn’t actually see his anxiety. Maybe her pulse was too quick.