“It was for the focal point experiment,” I said.

“I still have a scar on my knuckle from where the light caught me,” he said.

He set the notebook back in the box and looked at me.

“How did he get them?” Derek asked.

“He pulled them out of the bin twelve years ago,” I said. “He hid them behind the furnace.”

Derek let out a slow, heavy breath.

“Maybe he’s finally waking up,” he said.

He slumped into one of the mesh office chairs near the desk.

“How was the final interview with the consulting group?” I asked.

Derek stared at his polished leather shoes.

“They offered me the job,” he said. “Associate partner track. Chicago office.”

“That’s what you wanted, right?” I asked. “The top tier.”

“It’s what Mom wanted,” Derek said. “They showed me the projected salary, the bonus structure, the corporate housing.”

He rubbed his temples.

“But during the dinner, they just talked about maximizing efficiency for a medical supply company,” he said. “They wanted to lay off four hundred factory workers to bump the stock price by two percent.”