A Morning at 102.0

Three years earlier, in Washington, he had worked on a confidential climate risk memo. By the time it reached the public briefing stage, the language had been softened. The phrases “cascading failure” and “infrastructure collapse” had been removed, replaced by words suitable for television and committee testimony. He had signed off on that version. Not the mastermind, but not innocent either. In the living room, his daughter Sofia opened and closed the refrigerator door as if checking whether the last piece of cool air would fall out. “We’re out of milk,” she said. “I’ll get some this morning,” he said, turning. “You said that last time too.” She still wasn’t looking at him. “Then you stayed in the car on the phone until noon.”