Michael could feel the tension choking the air. Henry’s hands trembled as he set down the dishcloth.
“Patricia, please,” he whispered. “This job… it’s all I have left.”
Michael’s heart pounded. He had promised himself he would stay hidden, observe before acting. But the sight of Henry’s dignity crumbling, the cruel satisfaction on Troy and Megan’s faces—it was too much.
He stood abruptly, his chair scraping the floor. Every head turned.
“Actually,” Michael said, his voice steady, “the numbers do lie—at least the story they’re telling you does.”
Patricia blinked. “And you are…?”
