How a Fourteen-Dollar Yellow Baby Blanket Brought Down a Regional Director
I went down on one knee on the linoleum, holding my stomach with both hands while the pain spread into my lower back.
“Sign it!” David snarled, leaning over me and slapping the top page of the quitclaim deed down on the wooden ledge four inches from my eyes.
“Sign your name right now, or so help me God!”
“Hey!” a voice thundered from the center aisle.
A man came out from behind the customer service counter by the entrance.
He was huge, well over six feet, with a wide chest and a thick red beard that covered his neck all the way down to his navy blue store vest.
His plastic name tag said Wyatt.
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