It’s important to me that I work hard, even in a bureaucratic environment where it’s not necessarily encouraged or rewarded. You see, I’m not the smartest guy in the world, or the best educated. My background doesn’t suit me for the job. But my ace in the hole is that I work harder than anyone around me, even when I don’t have to. I am the bane of an office filled with bureaucrats, and I’m proud of it. It’s the only thing I’ve got.

Before doing anything, though, I punched the button to retrieve my voice mail.

“Jack, this is Julie Perala. At the agency…”

I stared at the speaker. Her voice was tight, cautious, not the confident and compassionate Julie Perala from the adoption agency Melissa and I had spent hours with while we went through the long process of adopting Angelina, our nine-month-old. My first thought was that we somehow owed them more money.

“Jack, I hate to call you at work on a Friday. I hope you get this and can call me back right away. I need to talk with you immediately-before Sunday, if possible.”

She left the agency number and her cell-phone number, and I wrote them down.

Then: “Jack, I’m so sorry.”

After a few beats of silence, as if she wanted to say more but wouldn’t or couldn’t, she hung up.

I sat back in my chair, then listened to the message again and checked the time stamp. It had arrived at 8:45 Friday evening.

I tried the agency number first, not surprised that it went straight to voice mail. Then I called her cell.

“Yes?”

“Julie, this is Jack McGuane.”

“Oh.”

“You said to call immediately. You’ve got me scared here with your message. What’s going on?”

“You don’t know?”

“How would I know? Know what?”

There was anger and panic in her voice.

“Martin Dearborn hasn’t called you? He’s your attorney, isn’t he? Our lawyers were supposed to call him. Oh dear.”

My heart sped up, and the receiver became slick in my hand. “Julie, I don’t know anything. Dearborn never called. Please, what is this about?”