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father and Robert. Her degrees were in mechanical engineering and physics.  Numbers were easy so she had no problem with budgets or financial analyses but was completely lost when talk turned to updating the benefits package or marketing.  Every time she missed a meeting or sat while information went in one ear and out the other she felt like she was letting her father down.
    A dinner date notation for Thursday gave her pause.  Her assistant knew better than to schedule anything without prior approval.  She clicked on the tab for the date and paled.  Dinner with Walt Prask. 
    The ink was still wet on Prask’s divorce papers.  Ex-wife number five was a surgically enhanced bottle blonde two years younger than his daughter Claire, Georgiana’s childhood friend.  Jerome Collier had publicly lambasted Prask’s business ethics, but it was Prask’s skeevy behavior and suggestive remarks that bothered Georgiana. 
    She couldn’t risk calling Yvonne, her assistant, and waking Tab.  An email would have to do.  She opened the program prepared to ask Yvonne what in the hell the younger woman had been thinking when she noticed an email from a senior member of Collier Analytic’s Board of Directors.
    Expecting a politely worded chastisement for her less than stellar performance at the last teleconference, she opened the message.  Bile rose in the back of her throat.  Prask had gone behind her back and made an offer directly to the board.  They were losing faith in her, despite the positive financial numbers, and were considering the offer.
    Anger boiling like hot oil in her veins, she tapped out a terse email response and copied in every director.  She owned a majority of shares in the company, and she was still CEO and executive chairman of the board.  They couldn’t make a deal without her signature, and they’d lost their collective minds if they thought they could bully her.  ‘ Collier Analytics is not and will never be for sale! ’ was her final line.
    Trembling with fury and secretly pleased to finally feel something other than misery or apathy, she shut down her email program.  Dan would be disappointed when he learned of her impulsive action, but she’d deal with that in the morning.  If he couldn’t figure out a way to strike a deal between their companies without turning her into a hypocrite, she was certain his everything-rolls-off-my-back son could.  Taking the company private had been her father’s backup plan for everything, and there was no reason she couldn’t do the same.
    Tab sniffled.  The hands clutching her sides flexed.  She rested her cheek on the top of his head and quietly sang.  She was too tired to remember any lullabies, but she figured Tab wouldn’t mind the substitution of her favorite song.  Before the accident, he’d made a game of stealing her CDs and seeing how long it took for her to notice the loss.
    Once he was settled, she wiggled back against the headboard and opened a program on her tablet.  Throughout the numerous interviews with lawyers and law enforcement officials, Tab’s story had remained consistent.  He’d felt something shift in the car just before he lost control.  He’d tried the brakes, but they hadn’t responded.  Neither had the steering wheel.  The officers blamed it on a kid not being able to handle the powerful, modified engine, but Georgiana knew better.  Tab wasn’t a liar, and he had spent his sixteenth birthday at a racetrack. 
    The totaled SUV was at Dan’s house, but she’d used a 3-D scanner to upload everything into NORA’s database.  She hoped that if she rebuilt the SUV, virtually and physically, she could find the source of the shift Tab had felt.  Hopefully whatever she found would make Tab realize that mechanical failure was at fault, not him.
    She put Prask, Robert Norwood, the board, and her impossibly long to-do list out of her mind.  It had been ages since she’d last assembled a car, but the familiarity was