I stood in the corner of the grand, mahogany-paneled boardroom, my hands clasped loosely behind my back. My dark wool coat was unbuttoned, just enough to give me a clear, unhindered draw to the weapon beneath my left arm if any of the five medical directors sitting at the long table misbehaved.
To them, I was a ghost. A terrifying shadow from the criminal underworld they only read about in the morning papers. But I wasn't the main attraction today. Today, the stage belonged entirely to my wife.
