Tyler smiled. He pointed the microphone at her like a weapon. You, ma'am, in the
gray, come on up here. Whitney shook her head once, calm.
The crowd turned to look at her. Phones came up. A few people laughed. Tyler
smiled wider. He snapped his fingers.
Two of his senior students, both over six feet, both former college wrestlers, stood
up from the front row. They walked down the aisle, straight toward row 20.
Whitney set her coffee cup down on the empty seat next to her slowly, carefully.
She knew what was about to happen. She also knew with absolute certainty that
there was no version of the next ten minutes where she walked out of this building
the same woman who had walked in. The two students reached row 20 in fifteen
seconds.
The taller one, blonde crew cut, grabbed Whitney's left arm. The other, thick neck,
tattoos down his knuckles, grabbed her right. Come on, sweetheart. Coach wants to
meet you. Don't make this hard.