Page 1 of Small Sacrifices

Chapter 1: What a start to the day

Reid has another forty minutes until he's late for work and traffic is already slowing to a complete standstill for the second time. Even the death grip he has on the steering wheel doesn't lessen his urge to scream as he stops almost bumper to bumper with a sleek Mercedes that he definitely cannot afford to scratch.

Traffic during the morning commute sucks no matter where you are, but Reid's never seen anything as bad as Sacramento. In front of him, the Mercedes inches forward. Reid resists the urge to blare his horn. Being five minutes late for a government job is a completely different beast to five minutes late to a university lecture.

He turns on the radio to distract himself. Can't road rage if he's thinking about whatever's on the news, right? Wrong. Reid only catches the tail end of the radio show he usually listens to on his morning commute—but it's enough.

"We all know it's innocent until proven guilty," says the female host with a sigh. "But this sure doesn't look good."

Her male counterpart chuckles. "I don't envy the folks in the governor's office. What a start to the week! Well, let's hope the rest of our listeners have it easier. To get you pumped up for the day, here we have…"

The rest of it fades into the background as Reid sits there, trying desperately to focus on the road.

The governor's office.

None of what they had just said sounded good, but Reid likes it even less because he doesn't know what to be nervous about. Just as he realizes it's now even more important for him to get to the office on time, the car in front of him stops again. This time, he does scream.

As Reid navigates his trusty little Toyota through the start-and-stop of Sacramento traffic, he tries to tune into different radio stations. Maybe they'll tell him more. Then, at least, he's not wasting the time it takes him to get to the office.

He only gets snippets. Something about an elementary school and sick children? At least, Reid thinks so. That particular host screams more than he talks, so he's difficult to follow. Not that his guest is any less alarming.

"I don't know how Governor Mackenzie can come back from this. Careers have ended over far less—and this is California! If he has any sense, he'll resign with some semblance of dignity while he still can," she says and clicks her tongue.

Reid doesn't bother to figure out what her deal is. He's too busy riding the high of arriving with ten minutes to spare. And by the time he's finished parking, his radio is playing a local interest story on puppy yoga.

In the resulting silence, Reid takes a deep breath. He'll just have to find out what they're all talking about once he gets to his laptop. Whatever it is, they're likely blowing it out of proportionfor ratings. The governor has to frequently fight off smear campaigns. That's part of why Reid was so excited about starting this job.

Resolving to stop thinking about it doesn't manage to stop his thoughts from circling, though. As Reid waits in the unusually long line for the security check at the employee entrance, his mind keeps coming up with different things that could've gotten people in such a tizzy.

When it's his turn, he's still so distracted that at first, feeling only the lint in the bottom of his pocket doesn't faze him. But then, he doesn't find the cool plastic of his employee ID in his other pocket, either. The security officer on duty, Officer McNaulty, looks deeply unimpressed as she gestures for Reid to step up to a little table in the corner of the drab room. He feels his palms grow clammy as he follows her order.

Looking in and even completely overturning his bag doesn't produce the ID either. By this point, Officer McNaulty has her arms crossed in front of her body and is looking at Reid with an air of tired annoyance. His heart starts pounding just looking at everyone standing in line behind him. He’s wasting so many people’s time.

Reid has to clear his throat twice before he can speak. "Could you look at another form of ID, just this once?"

It turns out that the only thing worse than not having his employee ID is asking to be let in without it. Officer McNaulty's nostrils flare.

"Certainly not," she says. "Why should I risk my job for you? You could be anyone."

That's not good.

Reid's throat tightens, his mouth suddenly dry. "I have my driver's license and my regular ID with me. I can give you my fingerprints. Please, I… I only just got this job."

"Then maybe you should work harder to keep it," McNaulty says, one eyebrow raised.

She looks severe, but not in a mean way. Just deeply professional. Her hair is meticulously slicked back, tidy in a way that Reid's own riot of curls will never be. Her dark gray suit fits her well but is loose enough that she can still move. Presumably to tackle people—just hopefully not him.

Reid bites down on the response that heisworking hard, thank you very much. This ID system is just outdated nonsense and difficult for him to get used to. They're not even allowed to keep the badge on a lanyard because apparently that would look unprofessional. Reid likes lanyards. They keep everything conveniently in view and at hand.

"I know I shouldn't forget my ID," Reid says, softening his tone, "and I'll figure out a way to make sure I don't in the future. But is there any chance I could get in today, just this once?"

The officer's eyes narrow into slits. "You're a weird one. Mr. Maxwell, is it? I remember your glasses."

Oh, thank God. Relief rushes through Reid. The tension that's been coiling tighter in his stomach finally eases. "Yes, that's me. I'm an aide in the Department of Public Relations under Trevon Wright."

A shadow of sympathy flashes across the officer's face. "Mr. Wright'll be busy today, won't he?"

"Probably." If only Reid knew why. What does it mean that the security personnel know?

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