Gemotions

I felt a chill in the air, a coldness that had nothing to do with the season. The *Journal of Historical Studies* had published the article. Finch's name. I saw red, a flash of pure, unadulterated fury. My fists clenched.

I decided on a different approach. I found his pattern. He needed to present his research at a conference next month. I’d be there.

The conference hall was packed. Finch stood at the podium, basking in the spotlight. I waited until his presentation’s Q&A, and then I rose, cleared my throat. "Mr. Finch," I said, my voice steady, "Could you elaborate on the unique source material used in your analysis?"

He stammered. He blustered. His face flushed a deep, unsettling crimson.

He knew what was coming.