“My dad owns every law firm in this province,” the lawyer’s daughter laughed after ramming her brand-new Tesla into my old Subaru

That was good. It meant the situation hadn’t escalated somewhere beyond my sight while I’d been kneading dough.

I hovered the mouse over the drafts folder for a moment, then clicked it open.

The unsent email to the journalists sat there, attachments ready, subject line neutral and deadly. I reread it once, then closed it again.

I didn’t delete it. Not continue reading …