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‘What’s your name?’ the guard asks. He’s wearing a navy-blue shirt with a clip-on tie. ‘Nathan,’ the boy says. ‘Nathan what?’ The boy peers at the building behind the guard. It’s a three-storey, crowned by the company’s logo: three arrows converging into a larger arrow. A light-up sign reads SFK ADVERTISING. ‘Listen to me young man, no one goes in that building unless I write their name in this book.’ The guard holds up a hardcover notebook with DENNIS written on the cover. ‘Nathan Peters.’ The guard writes NATHAN PETERS. It is the last in a long column of names. The guard’s letters are sharp and hard—he writes as if digging the words into the page: 2:15 PM, in a column that reads TIME IN. ‘Who you here to see?’ ‘The CEO.’ The guard picks up the phone. ‘Cathy, I have a Nathan Peters here to see Mr. Sharma.’ He…