It rankles enough that he's tempted to say something, even after Callaghan's threats, though for the life of him he can't consciously define just why at first. No one else knows who he is in this place. No one cares. Why should a little piece of plastic with his picture on it even matter? Still, he finds himself hesitating just a bit longer before pulling the card back out and passing it over to Callaghan--again, without saying anything.

Maybe it's the acknowledgment that no one here cares who he is. It's such a foreign concept anymore, after so many years of being the wunderkind of the tech world, the name on every Forbes list, on every guest list for every big name event. Without that little piece of plastic to prove that he's Alistair Krei, who the hell is he?

He clears his throat, smoothes the sleek fabric of one of his sleeves. "Anything else?" If Callaghan's going to turn him upside down and shake him for change, might as well get it over with.