My pregnant daughter ran into my office, her face covered in fresh b:ruises. Her husband, a beloved local politician, casually strolled in behind her, shutting the door.

Grant stared at the screens like a man watching his own execution.

“My lawyers—”

“Have already been contacted,” I interrupted. “So has the attorney general. So has the federal prosecutor. So has every sponsor who called me last month asking why we were being pressured to bury the Voss investigation.”

His confidence cracked.

Not shattered.

Cracked.

Enough continue reading …