Thirty Veterans in Leather Vests Arrived at My Front Door on Tuesday Morning

his face pale as he realized none of the thirty men were going to help him.

“You cannot do this, Marcus,” George called up, his voice shaking. “We have a signed contract.”

Marcus did not answer him. He walked down the stairs, his heavy boots sounding like thunder on the old wood, and George backed down the steps until he was out in the gravel lot.

I continue reading …