The Start of the Story

The shuttle bus stopped in front of the gatehouse of an enormous building that seemed to spread for miles in either direction. At least ten stories tall, it cast an ominous shadow upon the ground, and the surrounding fence, barbed and electrified, gave off its “No Trespassing” message loud and clear. Phil felt a twinge of misgiving, but he couldn’t just stay on the bus, especially not on the first day of his new job. The other passengers had already exited the bus and were waved through the gate as they flashed their ID tags.

Whatever you would call the opposite of a jackpot, that was what Phil Travers had won for himself. He was middle-aged, living with his sick, elderly mother, and up until just a few days ago, habitually unemployed. This was the only job to come his way in months, and if it worked out, things might finally turn around for Phil. There was nothing for it but to get off the bus and go see what was in that building.

As promised, Mr. Gabriel was at the gatehouse waiting, standing tall and rigid in his dark suit. “Good morning, Philip. Welcome to our company,” he said, extending his hand.

Phil self-consciously smoothed down his slightly outdated sports jacket and took Mr. Gabriel’s hand. It was unpleasantly cool, just as it had been in the interview last week. “Thanks, Mr. Gabriel. I appreciate it.”

They walked toward the building. The temperature dropped noticeably as they entered its shadow and then again as they entered the building itself. They had to pass through another security check in the echoing granite-floored lobby. “Wow! Security’s tight around here,” said Phil, nervously eyeing the tight-lipped security guard who approached with a metal wand.

“Of course. It is the nature of the business.”

Security gave Phil the green light, and as they walked through the metal detector, Phil said, “Um, Mr. Gabriel, I’m still a little unclear about what the business is. What is it that I’ll be doing here?”

“Socks, Phil. That is where everyone starts.”

“Socks.” echoed Phil. “Making socks?”

“Not exactly,” said Mr. Gabriel, heading for the elevators. “This way, please.”