“Take your wife. Take your two little daughters. Take your old car.”
“Pack your furniture into a rental truck before five o’clock this afternoon.”
“And drive across the state line to Wyoming.”
Carter tapped the glass with his heavy gold signet ring:
TACK.
“Because if your face appears within forty miles of the Denver financial district on Monday morning…”
He leaned in until his cold eyes filled my entire rear-view mirror:
“…I will ensure that your name is entered into the national banking blacklist as a suspected corporate saboteur.”
“You will not be able to open a checking account in this country.”
“You will not be able to lease a trailer in an oil field.”
“And your daughters… will spend their childhood learning what their father’s pride tastes like when the pantry is empty.”
Carter turned on his heel.
He walked toward the front entrance of Vanguard Creative Group, his hand-welted leather shoes making no sound against the concrete.
