“Greg?” David croaked, his voice barely a squeak under the pressure of Wyatt’s grip.

“That’s right,” Greg said, turning to look at Wyatt and then down at me, curled on the floor holding my belly with wet streaks drying on my cheeks.

“I’d know that lying face anywhere.

That’s the crook who stole more than two hundred thousand dollars from Mid-State Logistics before they kicked him out.”

“Shut up, Greg!” David choked, his legs flailing again.

“He cleaned out the regional severance fund,” Greg shouted to the whole store, his voice ringing off the metal light fixtures overhead.