“Mrs. Russell, I’m Mr. Cavanaugh, here about your son’s assessment scores.”
The large man adjusted his glasses – an affectation in a world of perfect vision repair – and opened his glossy red folder. Another affectation, it held a single sheet of SmartPaper, which had been tuned to Benjamin’s assessment. He seemed ready with a presentation.
Trudy Russell cut him off. “What’s his aptitude?”
The man frowned. “Math. And problem solving.”
“He just turned five,” she said, “prime recruitment age. I’d want an advance on an eight-year contract, at least.”
“Provided his education proceeds on schedule…”
Benjamin’s mother settled in to negotiate.
Author’s Note: The pressure to decide our futures comes earlier and earlier… fortunately, mommy’s here to save the day. Or at least negotiate for a higher advance.