Emma found me in my office on Thursday evening, staring at my laptop, my eyes glazed over. I had been looking at the league table for the past hour, running scenarios, calculating permutations, trying to figure out exactly what we needed to do to secure promotion.
"You look terrible," she said.
"Thanks," I said. "That's exactly what I needed to hear."
"I'm serious, Danny. When was the last time you slept?"
I tried to remember. Tuesday? Monday? I honestly could not recall.
"I'm fine," I said.
"You're not fine. You're a wreck." She sat down across from me, her expression serious and concerned. "You made the right call with JJ. You know that, right?"
"Do I?" I asked. "Because right now, it feels like I've just bet everything on a hand of cards that I haven't even looked at yet."
"You've looked at the cards," she said. "You've done your research. You've talked to your contacts. You know that club would have destroyed him."
