Wyatt didn’t run, but his heavy work boots crossed the front aisle in four long, deliberate steps.

He stopped at the end of lane four, planted his feet wide and folded his thick arms across his chest.

“Step away from the lady,” Wyatt said, his voice flat and heavy as concrete.

David whipped his head around, hugging the manila envelope to his chest like a shield.

“Mind your own business,” David said, jabbing his index finger toward the red beard.

“Back off before I get you fired.”