I shouldn’t be here. Any moment now security will show up at my office door and hurriedly usher me out of the building. Clearly someone made a mistake, missed a phone call, filed a piece of paper in the wrong folder, and I slipped through the cracks. This makes no sense. Children raised in poverty by a single mother in a small Midwest farm town [Beaverton, Michigan; pop. 1,071] do not go on to start their own research lab at a world-class genetics institute in the idyllic setting of coastal Maine. These positions are reserved for the private-school kids from wealthy families who grew up with their own tutors and excelled in lacrosse and polo. I should still be stocking shelves at my local grocery store. Maybe if I keep a low profile, no one will notice and I can delay my inevitable firing - and the adjective-laden exposé in the local newspaper that will most assuredly accompany it. No doubt the headline has already been written. But until that day, let’s agree to keep this little secret between us.