The red ribbon from the opening ceremony hung in tatters from Grady’s rifle. He’d wrapped it around the barrel and stock as a sort of improvised sling.

“I bought and paid for this building.” Grady said, staring directly at Fellowes through the glass. “And you’re not getting it back until my wrongs are redressed.”

“It’s a Carnegie library,” said Fellowes, never for a moment taking his eyes off the barrel of Grady’s rifle. “You didn’t pay for it any more than I did.”

“I have paid, several times over, even!” Grady shouted. The scars on his face brightened with rising, angry blood. “First as a millworker for U.S. Steel, lining Andy C’s pockets! Then as a tenant, with taxes to help build and equip it! And finally in blood, defending it against Hun machine guns in the Ardennes!”