Daniel Stockman was standing in the middle of the office, his No Coffee No Work mug in his hand, and talking.

Just talking. It was almost prattling, Kivi thought, like Daniel was unable to help himself. It was sort of embarrassing, the way the others had all reached the same conclusion to let him go.

Last night, Mendy had been acting silly at suppertime, copying whatever Kivi or Malky had said. Do you want to go to your room? Do you want to go to your room? Mendy, sheifele, I don’t like how you’re acting. Mendy, sheifele, I don’t like how you’re acting.

He’d been laughing uproariously, then suddenly burst into tears, seeing no way out of the mess he was creating.

Kivi was reminded of that as he watched Daniel chattering about knowing how to seize the moment, and back when he had a haberdashery, he’d dressed some of the most successful businessmen and they all had this in common….

Kivi realized he was embarrassed in front of Wagner, as if Daniel’s little spiel was reinforcing what Wagner had indicated, that the whole office wasn’t exactly a breeding ground of future titans.

And somehow, it was his fault.

Kivi sighed and went back into his office.

He wasn’t a loser, even if Daniel was falling apart, but the vibe in this little office — the island he’d created — was clearly depressing.

He wished his relationship with Wagner was still good, so that he could unburden himself and discuss what could be done. In his new property, Fountain Street, he’d be pickier.

The thought of Fountain Street lifted his spirits, a reminder that he was getting stuff done, too, and he picked up a paper.

The artist’s rendering of Fountain Street. That, and the e-mails that came from Spectra — his two sources of happiness.

He reviewed the daily e-mails from Sitman with diligence, feeling very businessman-like as he went over the itemized list of how the fund had performed and where they were going next. Kivi found himself listening when they listed off the stock prices on the radio at the top of the hour, as if it were relevant information for him.

He wasn’t completely sure what the Dow was, but it felt right. They were winners. He needed more time with people like them, he thought. Boys Night Out. He fingered his phone and checked out the chat. Garfinkel had posted an article from The Real Deal about a Lakewood developer who’d gone into partnership with Fortress for a Manhattan condo tower.

Bauer made a sticking-tongue-out emoji, to which Sitman responded by writing “lol” and Kivi was reminded, again, that he hadn’t arrived yet.

He didn’t follow any of this.

Outside his office, Daniel Stockman was still talking about projecting success.

Kivi needed to get out.

“Malk? Lunch?” he texted.

He knew that Malky would bristle at the insinuation that she did nothing all day and sat around waiting for lunch invitations, but after a moment, she would relax and say “sure.”

Then she’d call her friends and cancel whatever lunch plans they had, because Kivi “was under so much stress, can you believe, he texted me just like that and said let’s go to lunch, I have to do this.”

“Yes,” her friends would say, “we understand, what a special wife you are to put your day on hold and go sit in Ottimo….”

(Excerpted from Mishpacha, Issue 733)