FADE IN: INT. MERIDIAN RISK SOLUTIONS, RAY'S OFFICE, FOURTH FLOOR, MORNING A rain-streaked window. Through the glass: grey water, a working waterfront, cranes standing still in the November light. Container ships at anchor. The city behind them, low and practical, the kind of place that does not attract postcards. RAY OKEKE (58) stands at the window with a manila folder. He is reading. His face is broad and deliberate, the kind of face that has learned over many years to give nothing away and has succeeded. He wears a grey suit. The suit is not new but it is cared for. He has the posture of a man who spent three decades in rooms where posture was information. The office is spare. A desk, a chair, a shelf with three physical binders organized by date. A printer he bought himself. No photographs. No diplomas. On the far edge of the desk: a clock. Battery-powered. Cheap white face, black numerals. It ticks. Ray turns from the window. He sits. He opens the folder on