I sat behind my expansive new desk, leaning back into the rich leather as I gazed out the window toward the loading docks of Longroad Logistics. The afternoon sun beat down on the asphalt, creating a shimmering heat haze. At that moment, I caught sight of Kate Walsh walking across the yard with young Hannah Newberry. As fate would have it, a gust of wind or perhaps a simple slip caused the stack of documents in the secretary's hand to spill, fluttering across the ground like wounded birds.
Both women immediately knelt to gather the papers. Across the way, a team of five or six dockworkers who had been mid-task loading a forty-foot container suddenly froze. They stood there, tools forgotten, their eyes wide and fixed with predatory intensity on the space between Kate’s legs. I felt a jolt
