"Thank you for saying that," he replied. "But I need to tell you something, if you'll let me." She nodded. He held his toolbox handle with both hands, drawing strength from the familiar weight.
"If my number had been six hundred and seventeen," he said, "would we still be talking?" The question settled over the lobby. Victoria opened her mouth, then closed it.
Daniel continued before she could find an answer designed to make her look better. "I had the same work order five minutes ago that I have now. I told you the same thing. The only difference is that you turned a card over."
Victoria looked at the badge again. It had not made him more truthful or more deserving of courtesy. She understood that much immediately, but understanding was not yet the same as knowing what to do with it. Around them, a few employees shifted their weight. Daniel thought of the people whose names appeared on their badges but whose histories nobody would ever pull from a forgotten archive. The ones who might be told to leave without a number capable of stopping the CEO in her tracks.
"I don't want a special exception," Daniel said. "I want what happened to me not to happen to somebody else tomorrow." He paused, aware that he was speaking to a woman who controlled decisions far larger than his own job.
"The people who work here are carrying more than you can see. Some of them are raising children alone. Some are trying to care for parents who can't look after themselves. Some are choosing between getting to work and buying groceries, and they're ashamed to say it because they think the company will see them differently."