Peterson was a celebrity on Cotton Street, the object of everyone's envy.
Who wouldn't envy a man who had been a prisoner yesterday, so frightened of the jailers that he'd wet his pants, only to become one of Lord Annan's Advisors overnight?
The man did nothing all day but wander the streets or visit the prison. He even had the nerve to claim the prison was full of talent—
The people of Cotton Street were indignant. If someone like Peterson could catch Lord Annan's eye, why couldn't they?
Anywhere else, rumors would have turned the whole thing into a shining example of unfairness. But in Free City, who could say it wasn't proof that the dream was possible?
The residents of Cotton Street took such pride in it that they cleaned the street as carefully as their own homes. They scrubbed the cement road until it gleamed, and not a single piece of laundry hanging outside had a patch.
No second Peterson appeared, but Cotton Street was named Free City's model street for months on end.
Even the damn drunks knew to walk on the right.
When the official responsible for Cotton Street asked Peterson how he'd managed it, Peterson smiled confidently. "By making people jealous."
When Annan found Peterson, he was squatting in the prison with the subordinates Annan had just assigned him.
"Lord Annan, let me explain..."
"I understand. There really is plenty of talent in the prison."
Peterson froze as if struck. Tears filled his eyes.
At last, someone understood him—and it was Lord Annan...
"But put your talent search on hold. I have something else for you." Annan told him about his plan to recruit more Advisors to handle the Wealth Church's affairs.
Peterson's gratitude vanished at once. "Lord Annan, do I have to?"
"Yes."
Peterson