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Wrong answer.I slam my fist into Graham's jaw.
His head snaps back. The crack of the blow fills the office, and droplets of blood spatter onto Graham and me. The bastard staggers backward. His eyes go wide, and his face takes on a greyish tone. He holds a palm to his jaw as he flails for his chair, grabs it with one hand, and topples onto it.
I pull my fist back, preparing for another blow.
Graham cringes.
Emery rushes forward to grasp my arm.
Startled, I stare at my wife.
"Stop," she says. "Please, Rory. He's not worth it."
"MacTaggart, you've lost your mind," Graham says, but his voice has developed a slight whine. "I should tell the police about this."
"Go on, then," I say. "I'm a solicitor, ye bod ceann. Do ye think I'll stay locked up?"
He slouches deeper into his chair.
"I'm the only witness," Emery tells Graham. "And I'll testify you started it."
The ball of human slime blinks once, slowly, his gaze on my wife. "You'd lie?"
"It's as truthful as your article," Emery says. "And you did instigate this with your made-up story about us."
I squint at Graham. "No one believes your article. Retract it and apologize, or I will file a defamation lawsuit that will divest you of any and all assets you have left after the divorce."
Graham's pallor deepens. "Aye, I'll print a retraction."
I open my mouth, about to remind him of my earlier demand.
"And an apology," Graham hastens to add.
I nod. "Good. You can start your apologies now."
Graham swallows hard, wriggling in his seat the way slimy worms always do. He studies the disordered papers on his desk and mutters, "I'm sorry for what I've done to you."
Glancing at Emery, I wait for her response.
She shrugs. "Great, he apologized. Can we go now?"
"If you're satisfied, I am."
Emery turns toward the door, and I usher her out of the office with a hand on her back. While the door shuts behind us, I stop to scan the street. "How did you get here?"
"In the Jag."
My voice sounded flat, almost cold, when I asked the question. I feel cold too, though it's probably the aftereffects of adrenaline. Shouldn't I be experiencing a sense of triumph? Instead, I feel numb.
I spot the Jaguar and hustle Emery down the block to where she parked. Without a word, I pull the driver's door open and wave for her to get inside.
Emery does not move.
I wave again.
She stares up at me, her brows wrinkled. "Are you okay?"
"Fine." I step away from the car. "Go home. I'll follow in the Mercedes."
