Thirteen men sat. In any other situation they’d be bored to tears. Instead, the feeling in the room was tense and uncomfortable. The air conditioner sputtered but did no more than move the hot air around. Most had their coats off, ties undone, and collars and sleeves unbuttoned.

Mr. Maneall sweated as he fingered the folded up scrap of paper in his pocket. His was a cold sweat while he tried not to think about what the paper said. It was impossible. No matter where he looked, he could see those five alarming words clearly in his head.

A disembodied voice boomed through the static of the loud speaker placed at the top of the wall next to the clock.

“The vote is for Mr. Adam. Mr. Adam, Please exit the room.”

Older than the other men, Adam slowly rose to his feet, face stunned. There was no dignity in the glare he shot at the room as he left.

The voice sounded again. “Close your eyes. Excellent. Now, by a show of hands, who wants to terminate Mr. Adam?”

Fingering the paper again, Maneall raised his hand.