The conference room at McKinsey & Company buzzed with the kind of energy that only came from mixing politics, pizza, and alcohol at 11 AM on a Monday. Someone had dragged in the largest flat-screen TV from the executive suite, and now fifteen government policy analysts crowded around folding tables covered with Domino's boxes and an impressive collection of beer bottles that would have horrified HR if anyone had been paying attention.

Sarah Chen nursed her Diet Coke and tried to look appropriately enthusiastic as her colleagues provided running commentary on the inauguration ceremony. Due to the severe weather conditions the inauguration was held inside the U.S. Capitol rotunda. Her gaze intensified as the camera panned across the crowd of dignitaries, politicians, and carefully selected supporters.

"Look at all those people," muttered the cynical Jake Morrison, one of the senior analysts. Gesturing at the screen with a slice of pepperoni pizza. "A lot less than last time! Not good for Trump’s ego.”

"Crowd size is always disputed," replied Amanda Walsh, the team's resident expert on political optics. "Remember 2017? Trump bragged, but there were ongoing arguments about attendance numbers for weeks."

Oscar Lieburgh stood near the back of the room, already on his third beer despite the early hour. As a newly ordained partner of the firm, he had the luxury of day-drinking during major political events, though Sarah suspected his alcohol consumption had less to do with celebration and more to do with whatever personal demons had been chasing him since his divorce six months earlier.

The ceremony proceeded with the familiar pomp and circumstance of American political theatre. Supreme Court justices in their black robes, military bands playing patriotic songs, and politicians wearing their most serious expressions as they participated in the peaceful transfer of power that defined democratic governance.

Then Melania Trump appeared on screen, and the room erupted.

"Holy shit, look at that hat!" someone called out.

"It's like she's going to a Kentucky Derby, not an inauguration," Amanda laughed.

The First Lady's wide-brimmed hat was indeed spectacular, a black creation that looked more like high fashion than a political accessory. As the newly sworn President Trump turned to kiss his wife, the hat's dramatic brim created an almost comedic barrier between them.

"Hamburglar!" shouted Jake, and suddenly everyone laughed and repeated the joke. "She's blocking him out!"

Sarah found herself smiling despite her professional reservations about mocking political figures. There was something genuinely amusing about the unintentional physical comedy playing out on national television.

"Wait," said Marcus Chen, no relation despite the shared surname, "where's Michelle Obama? I haven't seen her in any of the shots."

The room quieted as everyone focused on the screen, scanning the crowd of former presidents and first ladies. Carter, Bush, Clinton, Obama, but no Michelle Obama.

"There's Barack," Amanda pointed out, "but I don't see her anywhere."

As if responding to their collective curiosity, one of the television commentators addressed the absence: "We can confirm that former First Lady Michelle Obama will not be attending today's ceremony. Sources close to the Obama family indicate this was a personal decision based on her strong disagreement with the President-elect's policies and rhetoric."

"Damn," whispered Jake. "That's a pretty serious snub."

Sarah felt a familiar tightness in her stomach. Political divisions had become so intense, so personal, that even the traditional courtesies of democratic transition were breaking down. She thought about her complicated relationship with politics, how her father's Republican connections had opened doors while simultaneously creating expectations she wasn't sure she wanted to fulfill.

The camera zoomed in on the crowd of VIPs seated behind the inaugural platform, and Sarah's breath caught. There, in the third row, she could clearly see Luis Pérez in his perfectly tailored coat, his silver hair gleaming in the sunlight. Her father looked completely at home among the political elite, chatting with someone she didn't recognize, probably another major donor or business leader.

"Look at all those rich bastards," Oscar muttered, his words slightly slurred. "Probably cost ten grand just to get a seat in that section."

Sarah kept her expression neutral, grateful that none of her colleagues knew about her family's political connections. The last thing she wanted was questions about how her father had secured such prominent seating or what his presence there might mean for her own career trajectory.

The ceremony continued with the traditional elements, the oath of office, the inaugural address, the parade preparations. Sarah found herself analysing the President's speech with her consultant's eye, noting the themes and rhetoric that would likely shape policy priorities over the coming months.

Now when the new president was stating his oath of office, Patrick O’Kelly, as a staunch Catholic who this point in time had not proffered a comment, observed that Trump didn’t place his hand on the Bible.

“Look at the hypocrite, I remember during the campaign he stated he was a Christian. Something about which testament in the Holy Bible was his preference.”

Several eyebrows were raised as the oath continued.

The latter part of the coverage shifted to the Oval Office, where the new President was already seated behind his desk, a mountain of executive orders waiting for his signature.

"Jesus," breathed Amanda, "look at all that paperwork. It's like Christmas morning for policy wonks."

The commentators began explaining the significance of various orders as Trump signed them with dramatic flourishes. Immigration enforcement, regulatory rollbacks, and energy policy changes. Each signature represented months or years of future work for consulting firms like McKinsey.

"Energy sector deregulation," Jake noted, making mental notes. "That's going to generate a lot of compliance work."

"Border security funding," added Marcus. "DHS is going to need policy analysis for implementation."

Then the commentator mentioned something that made Oscar suddenly sit up straighter.

"One of the most significant organizational changes will be the creation of the Department of Government Efficiency, or DOGE, which will be headed by entrepreneur Elon Musk with a mandate to streamline federal operations and reduce wasteful spending."

"Wait, what?" Oscar set down his beer bottle with unusual focus. "Did they just say Elon Musk is running a new government department?"

The room's attention shifted to the screen as the commentator continued: "The Department of Government Efficiency represents one of the administration's most ambitious attempts to apply private sector methods to government operations. Musk, known for his work creating Tesla and SpaceX, will have broad authority to review federal contracts, eliminate redundant agencies, and modernize government technology systems."

Oscar's expression had changed completely. The alcohol-induced lethargy was replaced by something Sarah recognized from their client development meetings, the predatory focus of a consultant who had just spotted a major opportunity.

"I went to school with Elon," Oscar announced suddenly, his voice carrying across the room. "Pretoria Boys High School, same grade, 1988."

Everyone turned to look at him. Oscar rarely spoke about his South African background, and he certainly never name-dropped connections to billionaire entrepreneurs.

"No shit?" Jake leaned forward. "What was he like?"

Oscar laughed, but something was calculating in his expression. "Total geek. Spent all his time with the computer nerds. This was back when personal computers were still new, Apple IIe, Radio Shack TRS-80, Commodore 64. Most kids didn't know what to do with them, but Elon was already programming at twelve years old."

He walked closer to the television, studying the image of the Oval Office. "Kid was obsessed with technology. Only hung out with other kids who had computers. I remember he knew the operating systems better than most adults."

Sarah watched Oscar's face as he processed the implications. She could practically see the dollar signs reflecting in his eyes.

"You know what this means?" Oscar continued, his voice getting louder with excitement and alcohol. "DOGE is going to need consultants. Lots of them. Government efficiency, technology modernization, contract analysis, that's exactly what we do."

The room was quiet now, everyone recognizing the shift in Oscar's demeanour from casual, alcohol induced commentary to business development mode.

"Think about it," he continued, gesturing expansively. "They're going to be overwhelmed. New department, impossible mandate, political pressure for quick results. They'll need outside expertise."

Amanda looked sceptical. "You think Musk would remember you from high school? That was what, thirty-five years ago?"

"Thirty-seven years," Oscar corrected. "But yeah, he'll remember me. I was the first kid in our class to get a Commodore 64. Elon used to come over to my house to play with it." He paused, smiling at the memory. "Course, he was more interested in the programming manual than the games."

Sarah felt a familiar unease. She'd seen Oscar in full sales mode before, and it usually led to overpromising and underdelivering. But she also recognized the opportunity he was describing. If the new administration was serious about government efficiency, there would indeed be enormous demand for consulting services.

"So what are you thinking?" Marcus asked.

Oscar drained the rest of his beer and set the bottle down with a decisive thunk. "I'm thinking we need to get in on this before every other consulting firm in DC and New York figures out what's happening." He looked around the room, his gaze settling on each team member. "How many of you have flexibility in your schedules over the next few weeks?"

Several hands went up tentatively. Sarah kept hers down, thinking about her existing client commitments and her general wariness of Oscar's more ambitious schemes.

"Perfect," Oscar continued. "We're going to put together a DOGE practice. Government efficiency consulting. I'll reach out to Elon directly old school connections still matter in this business. Meanwhile, you all start researching federal operations, identifying inefficiencies, and developing service offerings."

He walked back to the table and grabbed another beer, his movements now energized by possibility and alcohol. "Think about it, this could be huge. Massive federal contracts, high-profile work, connections throughout the new administration."

Sarah watched her colleagues' faces light up with excitement and ambition. She understood the appeal; working on government efficiency would be prestigious, well-compensated, and potentially career-defining. But something about Oscar's enthusiasm made her nervous.

"What about our existing clients?" she asked.

Oscar waved dismissively. "We'll manage. This is bigger than anything we're currently working on. Besides, government contracts pay better and last longer than private sector engagements."

He raised his beer bottle in a mock toast. "Here's to the Department of Government Efficiency, and to ‘sucking the government tit’ while helping them save money. If that's not the American dream, I don't know what is."

The crude metaphor drew uncomfortable laughter from the room, but Sarah noticed that everyone was still listening intently. Money had a way of overcoming moral squeamishness, especially in the consulting business.

As the television coverage continued and her colleagues began discussing potential service offerings for DOGE, Sarah found herself thinking about the ironies embedded in the situation. A department designed to eliminate government waste was going to generate enormous amounts of consulting revenue. Private sector experts were going to be hired at premium rates to help the government save money. And somehow, this was all going to be justified as efficiency improvement.

She looked back at the screen, where her father was still visible in the crowd of inauguration VIPs, and wondered what he would think about her potential involvement in the new administration's signature initiative. Probably pride mixed with strategic calculation. Luis Pérez had always been good at identifying opportunities that served both principle and profit.

The inauguration ceremony was winding down, but Sarah suspected the real show was just beginning. In a few months, she might find herself working directly with the Department of Government Efficiency, trying to solve problems that seemed designed to resist solution.

The efficiency revolution was about to begin, and everyone in the room was positioning themselves to profit from it.

Oscar finished his beer and looked around the room with the satisfied expression of a man who had just identified his next big score. "Alright, people, party's over. We have work to do. I want research proposals on my desk by Thursday, and I want them good enough to impress someone who built rockets."

As her colleagues began discussing research assignments and potential client strategies, Sarah remained focused on the television screen. The new President was still signing executive orders, each stroke of his pen unleashing forces that would reshape how government operated.

She thought about the rose-covered gazebo in Miami where she once believed that every problem had a solution, every system could be optimized. Looking around the room at her excited colleagues and their ambitious plans, she wondered if they were about to prove that theory or demolish it entirely.

The efficiency revolution was coming, and Sarah Chen was going to have a front-row seat whether she wanted one or not.