Late again. Can’t really afford it anymore. Jarkko knows it himself. The conference room is full of big shoes, and there aren’t enough fingers to look through anymore.

The vast building size is comparable to the sweat beads on Jarkkos forehead. Up the stairs, conference room number seven, as the lobby information screen dictates. Todays lunch seems to be lasagne. The sweat recedes, even though Jarkkos steps intensify. There’s still a chance.