Daniel was returning his tools when a young marketing associate stopped him near the elevator to ask if he could adjust a door that kept closing on her team's rolling cart. He explained that he had to return to facilities first but would enter the request for the afternoon. She thanked him, relieved. It was an ordinary exchange, one of dozens that might have happened on any other day, and Daniel continued toward the main lobby with no idea that his path would intersect with a decision already forming above him.
Victoria emerged from the executive elevator just after ten, speaking into a wireless headset. The hospital delegation had requested new security assurances, and she wanted Martin's report completed before the afternoon presentation. She ended the call abruptly when she saw Daniel crossing the lobby with a toolbox and a folded maintenance form. His faded navy work shirt carried the company logo, but she noticed the smudge on his sleeve before she noticed the name embroidered beneath it. Martin, following a step behind her, said, "That's the employee I was asking about. He was in the restricted corridor."
Victoria stopped. "You," she said, loud enough for several people at the reception desk to hear. Daniel turned immediately. "Yes, ma'am?" She approached him in brisk steps that made her heels strike the polished floor like a countdown. "What were you doing in the executive wing?"
"There was a problem with the security door," Daniel answered. "Claire's office requested a repair. I have the work order if you'd like to see it."
He lifted the folded paper slightly, keeping his toolbox close to his leg. Victoria did not look at the page. "That corridor is restricted," she said. "You don't decide which parts of this building you can enter because you happen to carry tools."