I took the report off the printer and went looking for Kwan. He was working in the conference room. He looked up and saw the report I was holding. “You’ve written a novella about a man who cuts off his nose to spite his face?” Sometimes I think he’s psychic. “How’d you hear?” “About what?” Of course he hadn’t. But now I had to tell him. “I’ve given up coffee.” It was one of the few times I’ve ever seen Kwan at a loss for words. “No big deal,” I said. I wasn’t about to admit that I’d struck a bargain with a seventeen-year-old. “Just felt like I was becoming overly dependent.” “I know there have been times before when I’ve thought you were losing your mind. But now I’m sure of it.” Then with glee, “If this gets ugly, I hope I can watch.” “Don’t worry. You’ll have a front-row seat.” I offered him the report. “Could you take a look at this for me?” He glanced at the cover page and took the report from me. He opened it and started to read through the introductory summary.
