The First Counsel

* * *

By the time I get off the phone with Nora, I'm already late for Simon's weekly meeting. Dashing out of my office, I head straight for the West Wing. "Hey, Phil," I say as I blow by the desk of my favorite Secret Service officer.

He shoots out of his seat and grabs me by the arm.

"What're you--"

"I need to see your ID," he says in a cold voice.

"Are you kidding me? You know I'm--"

"Now, Michael."

Pulling away, I remain calm. Reaching for the ID around my neck, I realize I've tucked it into the front pocket of my dress shirt. It shouldn't matter. He's never stopped me before.

He gives it a quick look and lets me pass. "Thanks," he says.

"No sweat." He's just being careful, I tell myself. Approaching the elevator, I assume he's going to make amends by opening the elevator door for me. I look over at him, but he doesn't care. Pretending not to notice, I hit the elevator call button myself. Word's starting to get out. It's going to be a crappy day.