It was Greg.

Greg stopped two feet from the register lane, lifted his hand and pointed a finger straight at David’s face.

“Well, well,” Greg said, his voice thick with sarcastic corporate politeness.

“If it isn’t David Miller.

Mr.

High-Performing Executive himself.”

David stopped kicking for a split second.

His eyes bulged as he stared down at Greg, and the dark purple in his face drained away to an ashen gray.