Off Limits
The storm outside seemed to pause, the thunder rolling away across the black waters of the Puget Sound, leaving nothing but the steady, rhythmic dripping of a leak somewhere in the rafters behind us.
Jeremy looked down at his bruised knuckles, then back up at my face. The absolute certainty of his rage was gone, replaced by a profound, heavy sorrow that looked older than the warehouse itself. He reached into his utility jacket pocket, pulled out a clean white handkerchief, and tossed it onto the rusted oil drum between us.
"You're a fool, Peter," Jeremy said quietly, his shoulders finally dropping from their defensive stance. "You’re a brilliant, multi-billion-dollar fool."