He stood looking at me with his polished Brooks Bros shoes and $2,000 suit, Mr. Daniel Patrick McCullough himself. His salt and pepper hair and slim frame just accented how much of a prick he actually is. "What the f**k do you mean she isn't here? She works here, doesn't she?" When the corners of his mouth began to turn up into the McCullough sneer I recognized my nemesis and interlocutor. In the back of my mind I thought of the missing Christmas Party hour and in the forefront, all the long evening hours away from home working diligently for her boss. "Donaldson, you can leave now or you can be escorted out. Linda is staying in a safe place and you have no more say in her affairs." I started to allow my better judgement to get the best of me and began to turn toward the door. Then he made
