Sherman Pritchard gazed down the long conference table. The polished oak surface gleamed like a mirror, reflecting the combatants on either side. Mexican stand-off be damned, this was war. A cold war, but war nonetheless. Victory could go to either side. Both waited for one final event--his death. When that happened, one would annihilate the other. The hell of it was, Sherman knew who would win and he didn't like it one single bit.

His gaze shifted to the left to his family, the enemy. All in all, they were a rag-tag motley bunch of hangers-on that guilt forced him to hire. Nieces, nephews, cousins, and brother, and not a one loyal to anything but the promise of money in their pocket. All waited his demise like the vultures they were. His heirs by law, and they'd fight to the last body to control what he owned. A team of lawyers waited in the wings for the word to activate. With it, all Sherman had worked his life to build would lay in ruins. The reputation of Pritchard Electronics would go in the crapper.

A glance to the right where his loyal staff stared down the family calmed him. They'd worked long hours to help keep the company on solid ground in this rough economy. This was their battle, too. Sherman owed them something for their dedication; certainly something more than to have to fight after his death to keep PE alive and prosperous.

He closed his arthritic hand around his pencil. Gone were the days when he could twirl it through his long fingers while pondering a briefing by the department heads. Gone were the days when he could do a lot of things. Gone were the days ... forever.

He never should've hired family. He'd been advised against it. But the thought that someone would go hungry because he was too selfish to give them a job had never set well with him. And look what his good deeds had gotten him. Even knowing all this, he didn't have the heart to fire any of them. They weren't bad workers, just greedy. As long as his staff was there to take the major reins, everything ran smoothly. But there was too much to lose and it wasn't a risk Sherman was willing to take. A slick lawyer could argue next of kin rights, then where would it all be?

Sherman gave a soft sigh and settled his tired bones into his leather chair. There was one who clearly fit the bill as next of kin--confident, loyal, dedicated, with a head on his shoulders that combined both common sense and business acumen. Again, Sherman's conscience wouldn't allow him to reveal that heir. It would involve too much explanation, too much hurt for everyone involved. There had to be another way.

A movement to his right caught Sherman's gaze. Tracie Edwards sipped at her ever-present bottle of water while his nephew droned on about his latest statistical analysis of heaven-only-knew what. Finally, she'd had enough. Her green-eyed laser stare silenced him.

"Did you or did you not verify the shipping status of the microprocessors from Taiwan?"

George slumped into his chair. "No."

"This after not only I but Sherman and Wyatt asked you and you indicated it was ... and I quote 'a done deal?'"

He slumped farther as if hoping to make himself a smaller target. Impossible considering his girth and the depth of his mistake. At least there was one relative Sherman wouldn't have to worry about anymore. Tracie was going to make mincemeat of him.

"This is the third time in six months something like this has happened, George. We have twenty-five thousand orders we can't place because of your ineptitude." She flipped a paper. "Last year you were sick ten to fifteen days out of each month. That would equate to two weeks each month. We won't go into your vacation days."

He straightened as he drew breath to defend himself.

Tracie held up her beautifully manicured hand. "Yes, I know. It was your vacation and you had the right to take it."

She dropped her hand and laced her fingers before her. "But not at the expense of this company. We are a team, George, and you don't seem to want to be a part of it. All of us are overburdened, then to have to take up the slack in your absence ... Well, that's inexcusable. It's time you moved on to pursuits more in line with your talents, whatever those might be. A severance check awaits you in accounting."

"But ... my desk--"

"Your personal items will be sent to you." With the flick on her red nail, Tracie punched the buzzer on the phone next to her. Seconds later a pair of security guards entered the conference room.

George looked around for someone, anyone to leap to his defense. Family stared at the table. Staff stared at him. There was little more he could do. Shoving his papers together, he slunk from the room.

Anxious to have Tracie's favor, Sherman's niece jumped in. "I'll get on those microprocessors."

"No need." Frank Wilson snapped his daybook closed. "We went to an alternate source."

A frown tugged her eyebrows together. She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "And you let my brother--"

"He had more than enough chances," Frank said.

Tracie followed her co-worker's action and closed her notebook. "You're the one who brought his mistakes to our attention, Cynthia. You knew the ramifications. No one has complained more than you. What else were we to do?"

Silence descended.

Sherman hid a smile behind his hand. God, she was great. He'd hired her right out of college and never regretted it for a second. The youngest CEO in the business and she clearly deserved that honor. Beautiful, intelligent, savvy. She'd given up a lot, too much perhaps. But she never once complained and she never would. She certainly deserved to keep all she'd worked for.

A glimmer of an idea slammed into him. A thought so ludicrous, Sherman nearly laughed out loud. But with each second that ticked by, it changed into a full-fledged, if not crazy, idea.

It might work. He nodded slowly. Yes, it just might work. He curled his fingers over the arms of his chair and pushed himself to his feet. "That's it for today, people. It's time for lunch."

Family scattered like rats deserting a sinking ship. Staff lingered.

"Tracie, I'd like you to join me for lunch today."

The others chuckled.

"I don't think you could keep up with Tracie at lunch," Frank said. "She's a machine on that treadmill."

Sherman smiled. She never ate, always worked out what she called her stress. Claimed it made her more agreeable the rest of the day.

"Maybe she'll make an exception today and pick over a salad with me."

If she minded, it didn't show. "Let me grab my purse and I'll be right with you," she said with a smile.

More than a few heads turned to watch her walk out the door. And who could blame them? She was a looker, even with her dark blonde hair twisted into place on her head. Her body was killer perfect.

If I was a younger man...

Sherman pulled in a breath to stoke his resolve. He'd need a dead-on sales pitch to pull this one off.