Ethic’s throat constricted, as he reached for the paper towel to dry his hands. Did she know? Did she have super natural abilities to detect his guilt? Was her motherhood like an internal compass that helped her find her daughter’s offender? Ethic was a man whom had faced many things, but this petite woman made him feel like he was a peasant who was preparing to meet the evil queen. How mighty would her wrath be? Logic told him that he had been careful. That there was no way she could identify him, but remorse was a hungry beast and his conscience was feeding it.

“Boss?”

Ethic snapped from his thoughts and stepped out of the office. For some reason, he felt disrespectful, greeting her with grease smeared on his forearms, and the coveralls only half casing him. His strong chest only covered by the dirty wife-beater he wore. He looked like a blue-collar worker who made honest money, but as he shook her hand, the softness of his well-manicured hands told a different story. The hair rose on the back of his neck at their brief connection because he knew his was the last hand she would want to grasp. The ball in his throat made him swallow deeply, moving his Adam’s apple, as he wiped the top of his head, smoothing out his waves. Ethic was nervous. He had crossed many gangsters in his lifetime, none of which had ever made him sweat. This woman made him uneasy, with nothing more than her presence. He felt transparent standing before her.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.