Memphis, TN

            Carlene Fulton stormed down the long, plush carpeted corridor leading to the office of the Chief Financial Officer of Fulton Foods. The roll of documents twisted in his tight knuckled fist was moist with the sweat of his hand. His full lips were stretched taunt against his somber brown face. Seeing the vein throbbing at his temple his employees hurried in every direction away from him.
            Without knocking he threw open the doubles door to the executive suite that matched his own in size and comfort and the startled secretary bounded to feet.
            “Good morning, Mr. Fulton.” She forced a smile, but he could see the fear in her eyes.
            “Is he in there?” He practically growled, nodding toward the closed oak paneled door behind her desk.
            “Um, yes sir. Should I let him know—”
            Before she could complete the sentence Carl stormed pass her desk and pushed opened the door slamming it against the wall. He walked to the edge of the desk where the young man sitting behind was distracted by a phone call.
            His nephew, Eliot Wright, who bore such a striking resemblance to a younger version of Carl that many first assumed he was his own child and not that of his only sister.
The younger man glanced up with a slow blink of his eyes. In answer to the unspoken question Carl held up the crumbled papers in his hand. Eliot slightly lifted one naturally arched black eyebrow in silent question his expressive brown eyes showing nothing more than mild curiosity.
Even in his fury Carl found he was impressed by his un-flappableness. His nephew had changed a great deal over the years much to Carl’s pride. This was the strong, forceful man who got the job done no matter what it took, not the timid little boy who almost wet himself when asked his name. And Carl took full credit for the transformation.
 “Look, Steve,” Eliot spoke into the receiver, “Something has come up. Just let me know when you get the meeting setup. Carl tapped his foot rapidly exerting what little patience he had waiting while the call was completed.
            “All right, try to make it sometime this week. Talk to you later.” Eliot returned the phone to the receiver and sat back in his high back leather chair. “Morning, Uncle Carl. I would say good morning, but it’s obviously not.”
            “It certainly is not!” Carl tossed the balled up papers on the desk. “This is the third major account we’ve lost to that little hole in the wall. The third, Eliot! What are you doing about this?!”
            Eliot picked up the papers and attempted to un-mangle them as much as possible.
His eyes glanced over the pages and a low, “hmmm.” was his only answer as he read through the discharge letter from one of their major accounts. “When did you receive this?”
            “This morning—by email no less! They didn’t even have the decency to call and tell us they were canceling the contract.” He leaned across the desk to point out something in the email. “See that?”
            Eliot’s brows crinkled in confusion. “That can’t be right.”