Inside, Richard Cole sat in his leather armchair with a glass of bourbon in his hand, watching the television, comfortable, certain, a man who believed he had won.

On the screen, a news channel ran its late bulletin, and along the bottom the ticker crawled: execution of Elena Cole halted seventy-five minutes before scheduled time, new evidence surfaces.

The glass slipped from Richard’s hand and shattered on the hardwood floor.

He shot to his feet, his mind lurching into panic, because it was not possible, it could not be possible.

How could there be new evidence?