Chapter Five
OWEN
I sleep in fits and starts, my mind churning like a merry-go-round on steroids. By the time my alarm goes off at five a.m., I'm as grouchy as a bear coming out of hibernation. Even this morning's brutal workout does nothing to calm my brain. My mood remains dark all the way to Des Moines, and from the terrified looks on the faces of the Air-Nautilus employees I catch from the corner of my eye on my way to their boardroom, I must look like I'm about to eat their children.
Ask me if I care.
Yet when I lower the boom on Marshall Copeland and his cronies, all I feel is numb. There's no joy in this kind of justice. Maybe I'll feel it later. Maybe when we get to the Whiskey Den after work and we lift a glass, I'll feel the kind of satisfaction that comes from knowing I've p
