I didn’t call; I took the subway and made it downtown in ten minutes. A light mist was in the air on John Street when I came up the stairs. I hustled across the street and into the familiar building. I swiped my security card at the stile and walked through. The rolling bar moved an inch and stopped, landing a lateral punch just below the belt, but not low enough to do any damage. Still smarting, I stepped back and swiped it a second time before pushing. Nothing. It still didn’t work. I held up the card to the guard in hopes that he would buzz me through, but instead he waved me over. “Good morning, Mr. Stafford. May I see your card, sir?” “What’s up, Jerold?” Without answering, he ran the card through an electronic reader and kept his attention on the monitor in front of him. When he spoke, he avoided eye contact. “I’m very sorry, Mr.
