Winner Take All by T. Davis Bunn Page B

colluding with Chinese slave-labor factories and abducting Kirsten’s best friend. Marcus crossed a public area done in soothing pastels and Southern tweed and approached a young woman seated at an oversized partner’s desk. The inlaid leather centerpiece had been carved out to hide her phone system. The walls behind her displayed blowups of three overseas factories, as pristine and well groomed as holiday spas. The receptionist looked terrified.
    Before he could speak, the rear glass doors slid open. A trio of blue-jacketed security emerged. “Can I help you, Mr. Glenwood?”
    “I’m here to have a word with your chairman.”
    “Mr. Steadman is not in this afternoon.” They stood an arm’s length apart, hands caught before them, legs slightly spread. “I need to ask you both to turn around and make your way—”
    Amos Culpepper dangled his badge an inch from the man’s nose. “Why don’t y’all just slow down. We’re concerned about all the infractions we noticed on our way in here. We might have to write up every single car in this lot, invite them down to the local lock-up to explain all the broken headlamps and erratic driving we’re going to find when they start leaving this afternoon.”
    To his credit, the muscle did not flinch. “You’re rousting the entire workforce?”
    “Not unless you roust first.” Amos had the country lawman’s ability to shout at a whisper. “I’m inviting you to reconsider, is all. We want to pay your chairman a visit. You say he’s not in. We’ll settle on, who will we settle on, Marcus?”
    Marcus drew out the check, and read the name printed beneath the signature. “Lynwood Hale.”
    “Now, you see how reasonable we are? Why don’t you just call ahead and say we’re on our way upstairs.”
    When the guard hesitated, Amos moved so fast Marcus did not even see his hand in motion. One moment he was standing there with his badge dangling in the muscle’s face. The next, and he had the badge in one hand and the young man’s walkie-talkie in his other.
    Amos froze the other two guards with a look, then motioned with the receiver. “Make the call.”
    The guard retrieved his radio and turned away. One of the other men demanded, “Are you carrying?”
    Amos made the raising of his gaze into a polar crossing. “Sir.”
    The man’s neck was so muscled it formed a continuous angle from his ears to the tips of his shoulders. But he was unable to meet Amos’ eye for long. “Sir.”
    “I’m an officer of the law, son. I’m always armed.” He prodded the first man’s shoulder with a knobby finger. “We’re ready to roll here.”
    The guard had turned sullen by things moving from his control. “This way.”
    “That’s more like it. See how reasonable everybody can be when they try?” When one of the trio tried to step behind them, Amos halted him with “You just move on ahead there. I’ll bring up the rear.”
    “But I’m—”
    “Don’t get me any more riled than I already am, son. Move out.”
    Heads popped out of cubicles up and down the interior hall. All five men crammed into one elevator. Amos kept his back to the doors and held the muscle against the rear wall with his gaze. The Muzak drifting down from overhead was less suited to the tension than gunfire.
    The executive floor was as muted in tone as the reception area. Beige curtains hung the length of the exterior steel and glass wall, dimming both the light and the view. As Marcus gave his name to the senior secretary, Amos Culpepper stepped over and swept aside the drapes. Marcus found himself steadied by the glimpse of the timeworn church and a cemetery resting comfortably in broad meadows of summer green.
    “Mr. Glenwood?” The paunchy man used a pomade on his hair Marcus could smell from across the room. “I’m Lynwood Hale, director of finance.”
    “Which is the chairman’s office?”
    Hale pointed to the double doors behind the secretary. “Through there. But he’s