“What a nightmare,” Roberto thought to himself as he stared at the back of three other people’s heads. The elevator was jammed as full as it could possibly get with other early morning nic-fitters and seemed to stop at every floor on the way down, to pick up more.

He struggled to get his phone out of his front pocket and check the time. 8:31am and still 30 floors down to sweet freedom for a few minutes, a cigarette and maybe a bagel. It’s a long way from Morgan Stanley’s offices on the 95th where he’s been training under the financial wizards.

Roberto checked the time again as the lobby came closer, a deep booming echoing from somewhere outside. Thunder? But it was beautiful just a half hour ago.

8:47am and the doors dinged and slid open into the lobby. Chaos greeted Roberto there at the bottom, shouting, running, confusion. Something bad had just happened. He walked out to the exit and looked up. There was a huge amount of smoke, but no source was evident.

He opened his phone and dialed: 911. No answer.