"That's okay," Emily said defiantly, pulling away from her. "I can clean up. Mom always used to yell at me because I didn't put away things I took out."

"But things are different now, you are different now. I don't want you to struggle to make things clean for me."

Emily knew her grandmother was trying to be nice but the last thing she wanted was the old woman's pity. Emily's legs still ached whenever she moved she figured they probably would for the rest of her life but she refused to let the car accident stop her from doing normal things, even cleaning.

"You don't have to feel bad for me," Emily said, continuing to pick up and put everything away. "Just because my legs don't work good doesn't mean I'm worthless now."

"I don't think you're worthless, dear. That's not what I was trying to say. Let's change the subject," Emily's grandmother said.

Over the past few months, Emily had taken notice that her grandmother did not like talking about her disability. Emily knew the old woman loved her but she could not help notice the uneasy glances she received from her grandmother, especially when they were in public. The old woman would never admit it but Emily had the feeling she felt ashamed of what happened to her granddaughter. Emily was beginning to grow used to this sort of reception from her grandmother and figured the best way to deal with it was acting as normal as possible.

The last toy Emily picked up was an antique doll. As she was about to put it into a trunk, her grandmother stopped her.

"It's Linda," her grandmother said. Emily glanced around her, confused what the old woman was talking about.

"Who's Linda?"

"That doll was your mother's favorite when she was your age."

Just as her grandmother did not like to talk about Emily's disability, Emily did not like to talk about her mother. Dealing with her father leaving had been difficult enough but when her mother died in the car accident, Emily felt a whole new level of pain and sorrow. The last thing Emily could remember was how she'd made her mother so angry in the car. She died hating me...

Emily threw the doll into an open box, having no desire to hear more of her grandmother's reminiscence.

"You have to be careful with that," her grandmother said, rushing over to pull out the doll. Emily sat back down at the desk and opened her notebook, hoping her grandmother would take the hint to leave her alone. She didn't. The old woman walked over to Emily, placing her hand on the girl's shoulder.

Emily quickly shut her notebook.

"What are you writing? I've never seen children do homework during the summer," her grandmother said.

"Nothing," Emily responded, keeping her head turned in defiance.

Emily's grandmother finally turned to leave but stopped when she noticed something else on the ground. She bent over and picked up a bunch of crumpled paper. Emily wanted to jump out of the seat and snatch the paper but knew that would only draw more curiosity. She hoped her grandmother wouldn't flatten the paper and see what it said. Much to Emily's relief, her grandmother showed no interest in the paper and walked out of the attic. Emily listened intently to the sound of retreating footsteps, making sure her grandmother was far away before she started the next letter. Before the sound completely disappeared, Emily thought she heard another noise, a noise that she dreaded.

The noise of paper.

She held her breath momentarily when the sound of footsteps stopped and her worst fears were confirmed when the footsteps started again, this time growing louder as they approached. Her grandmother reappeared in the room, holding the wrinkled paper. Emily avoided the old woman's disappointed gaze, hoping she would go away if ignored long enough. She didn't.

"What is this? You are writing letters to the President?" her grandmother asked, using the annoyed tone of voice that usually preceded her yelling.

"Yes," Emily said, wanting to lie but seeing no point hiding what was obviously true.

"And what secret mission would your father be on?"

While Emily knew her father was off doing something very important, she did not know more than that. She knew this explanation would not be good enough for her grandmother. Emily chose to remain silent, praying that her grandmother would drop the subject and leave her alone.

"I asked you a question, young lady. It is very rude to ignore someone when they talk to you," she lectured. "Now tell me. What kind of secret mission do you think your father is on?"

Emily remained quiet and tears began streaming down her face. She realized that she had to come clean with her grandmother, no matter how angry it would make the old woman.

"Tell me now," her grandmother barked, finally raising her voice.

"I don't know," Emily burst out. "You read the letter so you should see that's what I want to know, too. But I know it's important and that he never would've gone if he knew I'd be stuck living with you."

Her grandmother's pained expression was quickly replaced by another familiar expression: pity.

"Did your father tell you that?" she asked, her voice much softer now. "Because you have to understand that it isn't true. I don't know why he left but I'm sure it has more to do with the fact that he only cares about himself."

She tried to put a hand on Emily's shoulder again but the girl shrugged it off.

"Fine, keep writing your letters. But you have a better chance of writing to God and asking him to give back your mother."

All of Emily's emotions, her frustration about her letter-writing failure and the sadness about her mother's death and father's departure, collided into a violent rage. She wanted so badly to stand up and whack her grandmother in the head with one of her crutches, if only to shut the old woman up.

JUST GO AWAY, she screamed in her mind, hoping the old woman would sense her anger and leave the attic.

"Your father twice left you and your mother; this time it's for good."

Emily finally yelled back. "My father would not leave me."

She stood up from the desk and threw her notebook among the boxes of junk. Emily clumsily stormed out of the attic, not even slowing while making the treacherous walk down the steep attic steps.

"How much longer do you think we'll be able to survive?"

"I don't know. Junior has already pissed off half our clients. At the rate he's going, we probably only have a few years left."

Owen Caruso and George Nolan stood by the water cooler just down the hall from their corporate offices. Owen and George were in their early 60s, both having put in over 25 years at Ainsworth Industries. Both men worked their way up the corporate ladder, earning impressive titles and high salaries with the company because of positive work ethics and years of loyalty.

"Maybe it's time we retired," Owen joked.

"We're certainly old enough," George agreed. "But we couldn't condemn the rest of the employees like that. Besides, if Tyler knew we left his kid in charge alone while the company was failing, he'd roll over in his grave."

"Roll over? Hell, he'd bust right out of the ground and haunt us for the rest of our lives."

"We tried to warn him that the space station fiasco would kill the company if it didn't work."

"Yeah but you should have known that would only motivate Tyler more," Owen said. "Besides, the kid had more to do with that space station mess than the old man."

When the two men spoke about Tyler Jr., the sneers on their faces made them look like they were discussing the devil.

"Yeah, the old man must have been more off his rocker in the end than we thought," George replied, getting a nod from his working partner. "I can't believe he actually allowed that idiot kid of his to ruin everything."

"I know. The kid is killing the business," Owen reiterated.

"Yeah," George said. "The same way he probably killed his old man."

That rumor had spread across the company on more than one occasion. The circumstances surrounding the death of Tyler Ainsworth Sr. were fishy and the disgruntled employees of Ainsworth Industries were not the only people to notice this. After Tyler Jr. supposedly found his father dead at the bottom of the steps and called the police, enough suspicion had been raised to warrant a criminal investigation.

Those first few days following Tyler Sr.'s death had been very nerve-racking for everyone, especially the senior employees who helped Tyler Sr. build the company from the ground up. With the company owner dead and his successor under heavy police investigation, Ainsworth Industries seemed to be dead in the water. Although there were high-ranking employees who could carry the torch if Tyler Jr. was incarcerated, there was doubt within the company that the US Navy would keep contracts with a company that had to endure so much scandal.

Although most of the employees at Ainsworth Industries had little respect and often an intense dislike - for Tyler Jr., they were still relieved when the police ruled Senior's death an accident. With the company's major contracts still in place, Ainsworth Industries seemed destined to continue doing business as normal.

"Hell, you know how Senior was. If the kid killed him, the old bastard probably deserved it," Owen chuckled. "I just wish he would've told his kid not to open his big damn mouth and ruin everything we all worked so hard for."

A week after Junior's name had been cleared, the new head of Ainsworth Industries called a press conference. George and Owen watched in horror as 'the kid' just had to air his grievances. There had been no reason to call this press conference and many employees wondered what the kid's motivation had been. Whatever his reasoning, it only led to one thing: a steady decline in business.

"What are you two laughing about?" a snide voice asked.

George and Owen immediately stopped talking when they realized Marc Hudson was behind them. One year ago, the two men would not have even noticed Marc's presence. If the 26-year-old former mail boy had dared speak to them with such contempt in his voice, the two would've fired him on the spot. The two longtime employees considered themselves part of the 'old school,' real men who preferred to 'speak softly and carry big sticks.' Marc Hudson - with his preppie clothes and posh demeanor - drew ire from them the moment he'd been promoted as Tyler Ainsworth Jr.'s assistant.

Or crony, as the two men liked to consider him.

"Oh nothing," Owen said, hoping Marc would understand his dismissive tone.

"I heard you talking about 'the kid,'" Marc said.

The older men knew they'd been caught but both refused to admit it. Instead, they remained quiet, shrugging.

"Look, you don't have to step on eggshells around me," Marc explained, feeding off the nervous tension he sensed from the two men. "Just because I like to keep Tyler informed of exactly what his employees are saying about him, doesn't mean the two of you should stop talking badly about him."

George refused to stand pat and absorb such threats, especially from the assistant of the biggest idiot of all.

"I've worked here way too long to take threats from some snot-nosed little punk like you," George said, taking a step toward Marc. Owen held back his angry friend as Marc recoiled with fear. The young man was much smaller than the other two, yet he did not let George's intimidation tactics wipe the grin from his face.

"Look, Marc. We weren't talking about Tyler. If you must know, George was saying how strange it seems that you've never had a girlfriend before. I was just explaining to him that nowadays, little guys like you don't always look for pleasure from the... female sex," Owen replied, causing the two men to laugh.

"Oh, a gay joke. How wonderful," Marc replied, making the two men laugh even harder. "I don't think you'll be laughing quite as much when you have your meeting with Tyler in an hour."

With that, Marc strutted away.

Tyler Ainsworth Jr. was doing a bad job of acting apologetic but it was so hard to show sympathy when he was laughing on the inside. He knew the two men standing in front of him could not have thought he was being sincere. But Tyler was a businessman now, the head of a major company and needed to follow certain rules of engagement. One of those rules: 'You must try to show sympathy when unexpectedly firing an employee, especially one who'd shown loyalty to the company.'

"I can't believe you're doing this," Owen Caruso said, his jaw slightly agape. "Do you know how long we've been working here?"

"You can't do this," George yelled. "You're father would've never allowed this. He knew the importance of loyalty. Maybe you'd better learn that, too."

"I can appreciate your anger," Tyler said, watching George's face turner redder with every passing second. "But unfortunately, my father isn't here anymore, which means I call the shots."

Tyler's assistant stood in the corner of the room with a smirk. George wanted to rush over and rip the little man's lips right off his face but he had a much more powerful opponent now.

"As I'm sure you know," Tyler said, "the company has been steadily losing business with the government the past year. It might be time for a change, time to bring along some of our younger employees, who might have a fresher perspective on the way we should run things here."

"Bring along the younger employees? Son, you are about as young as they come and look at the failure you've brought to us," Owen said, his calm faade beginning to crumble.

"Mr. Caruso, if you are trying to win your job back, insults aren't the best way to get back in Mr. Ainsworth's good graces," Marc added.

"Is that so Marc? What should we do? Brown-nose like you do all the time?" George shot back.

"I'm just telling it like it is," Owen said. "I agree, the company has lost too much money the past year. But firing your most senior employees will turn this earnings plummet into a damn earning's plummet."

"Maybe," Tyler agreed. "But you two have had a lot of control over the past year. And look at how bad business has been. Before you two gained so much power, our company was in much better shape."

"You're going to blame us now? We said from day one that concentrating too much energy on the space station would hurt the company. And then you had to go run your mouth at that damn press conference after your father's death. Don't you think that by insulting the entire American government, you played the biggest role in the Naval contract cutbacks?"

Tyler turned away from the two men. He knew they were right but there was no way he'd give them the satisfaction of admitting he was wrong.

"I think this company needs a fresh start. And two men in their 60s aren't very fresh," he said, keeping his back turned. "Now please, gentlemen. I would appreciate if you would clear out your offices and leave the premises."

"You little...," Owen began, walking toward Tyler. In one violent swoop of his arm, Owen knocked every object from Tyler's desk. "You ruined this damn company and you want to blame anybody else. But you won't get away with this, I will make sure of that."

Tyler picked his phone off the ground and pushed a button.

"You will hear from our lawyers," George threatened.

"Yes, security. Could you please come to my office and assist George Nolan and Owen Caruso from the premises?"

Utterly defeated, the two men stormed out of the room before security arrived. When Tyler's office door slammed shut, Marc immediately began to clean the mess from the floor, placing every object back on Tyler's desk in the exact place. Tyler sat down in his cushy leather chair, put his hands behind his head and leaned back as far as the chair would tilt. He considered what the two angry men said, deep in thought about the truth they had spoken. In hindsight, his press conference outburst had probably been a poor decision. Yet at the time, Tyler needed anything to steer the focus away from his possible involvement in his father's 'accident.'

"That was certainly unpleasant," Tyler's assistant said, interrupting his boss's thought. "I'm sure you were hoping they would take the news better."

Tyler ignored Marc, something he did often when his assistant attempted to make small talk.

"I guess some people don't know when it's their time to go," the small man said as he continued to clean up the mess.

"Yes, just how some people don't know when they should keep quiet," Tyler said. He noticed the embarrassed look on his assistant's face but did not feel guilty for insulting Marc. "Those two old geezers might have had a point."

"No, sir. I don't believe they could've meant anything they said. Caruso and Nolan were angry that their failures got them fired. You've been doing a great job since your father passed away. I might have only worked in the mail room while your father was alive but since his untimely passing, you have raised the quality of this company and-"

"That's enough, Marc," Tyler interrupted him. "For God's sake, you don't have to pat me on the back about every thing I've done. Christ, I'm not going to fire you so just relax with all the praise."

"I'm sorry, sir," Marc apologized. "I just wanted you to know that not everybody believes you are doing a poor job."

"Everyone? What are you trying to say, Marc? That everybody besides you thinks I'm doing a bad job?" Tyler asked. He knew his personal assistant was not trying to make these bad claims against him but maybe scaring the man would teach him not to talk so damn much.

"No, sir," Marc stuttered. "I'm sorry. I did not mean for you to take it that way."

Tyler began to chuckle at how uncomfortable he'd made Marc.

"You have to relax, Marc," Tyler said. "And you have to learn to stop sucking up so much. It starts getting annoying after a while, you know?"

Marc simply nodded. After all, there did not seem to be a response he could give to satisfy his boss, especially since Tyler seemed to be in the mood to criticize everything.

"Now if you would've let me finish what I was thinking, you would've heard what I meant when I said the two old geezers were right about something. That damn press conference I called: it was a stupid move. I didn't know the government was vindictive enough to cut their business with us just because I criticized them about the space station decision."

"It's ludicrous," Marc agreed. "This country was built on the foundation that people could openly criticize the government. Free speech is the First Amendment. The Navy was totally wrong reducing the amount of work we've done with them."