At 7:05, he walked Lily to the school gate, waited until she waved from beside her teacher, and continued toward the bus stop. The city had awakened around him: delivery trucks idling beside loading docks, bakery exhaust spilling warm air onto the sidewalk, office workers moving quickly with paper cups held in gloved hands. Daniel liked the journey because it gave him twenty minutes to settle his thoughts before anyone asked him to solve a problem. He checked his phone for messages from school and from the maintenance supervisor. Then he opened a photo of Lily holding the history poster and smiled before putting the phone away.
Grant Technologies occupied a broad modern building downtown, all reflective glass and polished concrete. A company directory in the entrance lobby listed departments spread across fourteen floors, from product research to sales operations, finance, executive administration, and facilities. The building's annual maintenance budget was larger than the entire value of the workshop where Daniel had begun working. He knew that because someone in finance had once asked him to explain a replacement pump costing more than expected. Daniel had shown the accountant the full repair history, the preventive maintenance schedule, and the manufacturer's warranty terms until she understood that replacing one failing part now would avoid replacing three larger ones later.
It was the sort of conversation he had nearly every day. His role was officially senior facilities technician, though most employees called him Dan from maintenance, and some had never learned his name at all. He repaired access doors that refused to latch, air-conditioning units that overheated in conference rooms, conference microphones that died before presentations, and lights that flickered over people