Charles Scott had barely finished checking his e-mail when he got the call. Mr. Lindsall—The Boss—wanted to see him in his office in ten minutes. It was barely eight, and Charles was still waking up. His coffee was hot, but he put up with the scorched mouth for the sake of some caffeine. A quick recap of his morning mail revealed nothing of significance that would require a meeting with senior management. Confused, but nonetheless curious, Charles left his cubicle at ten after eight, and made his way to Mr. Lindsall's office.
    "Come in, Chuck!" Mr. Lindsall beamed, offering his hand. Charles entered the office and closed the door. His insides grated. He hated being called "Chuck." But Mr. Lindsall was The Boss, so he smiled, shook his hand, and took a seat facing Mr. Lindsall's desk.
    "How long have you been with us, Chuck?" said Mr. Lindsall, his face unnaturally inquisitive. He was trying to show interest; it didn't suit him.
    "About a year, Mr. Lindsall," Charles replied.
    "Ah, yes," Mr. Lindsall smiled. "And in that time, you have shown… um… remarkable… competence." His smile faltered. "You have added twelve new accounts. Increased profits by seventy percent. You reorganized the sales department for efficiency and cost savings. And, if my sources are correct, you have never been late and never taken a sick day."
    "Uh, that's right, sir," said Charles, his cheeks beginning to pink.
    "Is it also true that you have been passed over for promotion four times, and you didn't complain once?"
    "They were good people—deserved it as much as me." Charles tried not to sound too humble.
    "Sam Collins?"
    "He has his degree from M.I.T., doesn't he?" said Charles.
    "Morrison Instructional Training. It's a kind of teacher training school. Kind of."
    "Excuse me?" said Charles. "You mean—?"
    "Oh—you thought he got a degree from the M.I.T!" Mr. Lindsall chuckled. "And then there's Joan Chapman."
    "Ah, a Brown graduate, isn't she? In mathematics." Mr. Lindsall smiled.
    "Taylor Brown Academy. We managed to get that one for her rather cheaply." Charles could hardly believe what he was hearing.
    "But her certificate clearly says ‘Brown' in big letters. Looks like it was from, well, the Brown."
    "Yes," Mr. Lindsall mused, "I suppose that could be misleading. Well, you get what you pay for, and that piece of paper sure looks good. Of course, Miss Chapman can't add to save her life. And multiplication? Well—"
    "But she's the head of accounting!" Mr. Lindsall wasn't at all perturbed.
    "As for you, Chuck," he said, opening a file and picking up the top sheet of paper, "you have a degree from Harvard Business School. And it is the Harvard Business School. I checked. Graduated summer-come…?"
    "Summa cum laude—"
    "Whatever." Mr. Lindsall didn't seem to be impressed. "You see, Chuck—" Mr. Lindsall leaned back in his chair. "In case you haven't noticed, and perhaps you haven't, we here at Lindsall Enterprises pride ourselves on our incompetence."
    Charles blinked.
    "Yes. At the end of the day, when all's said and done, all we really want is to have a good time. Sure, the fancy-sounding degrees make us look good to our clients, and we manage somehow to make the books balance and make some money—"
    "You mean—?"
    "I mean, Chuck, we're all complete incompetents. We're all fakes, phonies, shams. Our qualifications are bogus, as are our skills. Apart from golf—at least for me." He grinned.
    "I don't understand," said Charles.
    "And that's why I'm going to have to let you go."
    "What?" Charles wasn't sure he could take much more.
    "Yes. Come on, Chuck. Don't you get it? We're all fakes and frauds. But you're the real thing. You're the real deal. We can't have you here. You make us all look bad. Heck, one look at your qualifications and performance, and someone might suss what's going on here. Sorry—I have no choice."
    "But…?"
    "Pack your desk and be ready to leave in an hour," Mr. Lindsall said, rising from his chair. "Oh, and one word of this to anyone outside this building…"
    Mr. Lindsall raised his eyebrows. Charles understood.

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