Garrison Vance

The urge to rip the steel microphone stand from its heavy base and drive it through the man’s throat pressed hard against my ribs.

I stood firmly in front of the podium, my broad shoulders blocking Roxie from his view. Every muscle in my body was tense beneath my tailored vest, my chest tightening against the raw ache of my bandaged shoulder. The national media barely registered. The flashing lights of hundreds of cameras, the live television feeds, and the Wall Street compliance reporters crowding the plaza lobby faded into a distant hum.

My entire world had narrowed to the arrogant, mocking blue eyes of the ghost standing...