The elevator door slid open, breaking his train of thought. Mentally crossing his fingers, Jack marched into the deserted landing. There were only eight offices on the floor. The one he wanted was at the end of the hallway to the right.

Jack paused a second to straighten his tie and push back his hair with his hands. Six feet tall, slender, with pleasant features and a ready smile, he was better looking than he realized. Gathering his courage, he proceeded down the corridor.

The frosted glass door proclaimed Ambrose Ltd., Investments in bold black letters. Etched underneath was the saying, “We Guarantee Your Futures.” Jack grimaced in disgust, his high hopes plummeting. He knew nothing about the commodities and futures market. Another opportunity doomed before it started.

For an instant, he considered just turning around and leaving, not bothering to waste his and the interviewer’s time. Then, with a heavy sigh, he straightened his tie, threw back his shoulders, and put his hand on the doorknob. No matter how slim the chance, he had to make the effort. Otherwise, it was the import-export business, and his relatives. Resolutely, he pushed open the door and stepped into the office.

The room surprised him. Instead of being filled with massive wood and leather furniture, bustling executives, and a constant din, the reception area was almost empty and absolutely quiet. A few chairs pressed up against the side walls. At the far end of the room, a young woman, engrossed in a paperback, sat reading behind an immense desk cluttered with papers. Beyond her was a solitary door leading to an inner sanctum.

The girl glanced up for a second as Jack approached, then plunged back into her novel. “Be with you in a sec,” she said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “As soon as I finish the page.”