Henry's ostentatious office was virtually unchanged. A few trinkets and books had been removed and placed into a cardboard box, but otherwise, everything was in place.

"If you are asking why there are so few things in the box, it's because the rest was bought on company money," said Gopal, leaning against the door. "Which means, they now belong to Glocal. Funny how that works. I think I'm going to make this my new office. Add some elephants here and there, and a fountain by the wall. You know, really spruce up the place."

It was obviously meant to provoke Henry, but nothing came out of him. Henry stood in the middle of the room, looking at the infinite vastness of the void inside himself. On his mind, the word "fired" kept repeating on a loop, with nothing else to focus on.

"I think he broke," commented Murray, pushing Henry down onto the leather couch. He tried snapping his fingers in front of his face, but nothing, not even a faint sliver of recognition.

"Well, that's a shame. I came here to give him a gift."

Gopal approached Henry, taking a pill bottle out of his breast pocket and placing it gently on Henry's hand.

"Listen, I know it's hard to stop cold-turkey. Take this as a good-bye gift. It ain't gonna give you the same kick as the liquid stuff you sell — which. By the way, holy shit if it isn't strong — but it'll get you back." He then proceeded to ruffle Henry's wispy hair like a kid. "Don't spend it all in one place, sport."

Henry shifted his attention to the big golden G on the cap of the bottle. He began to etch the edge of the cap over and over again with his thumb without speaking a word.

"You are not fun at all," commented Reddy, patting Henry on the head a couple of times.

"Okay, enough fucking around, what the fuck are you doing here, Reddy?" asked Murray.

"Besides messing with Dallas Buyer's Club over there? Just making sure the board meeting went according to plan. The boss figured out that I'll be an asset on the transition team since I used to work here back in the day. But I also wanted to speak with your Slim Jim buddy over there," said Reddy, pointing at William, who was in front of the bookshelves admiring a particularly dusty tome.

Silence fell in the room momentarily. Seeing that William was unresponsive, Murray intervened with a cough.

"Wa..." trailed William, lazily looking behind him.

"I said," repeated Reddy, taking a couple of steps towards William, "I have some business with you. Well, not me. You have some visitors down in the lobby."

William stared at him with caution, putting the book back on the shelf. "What visitors?"

"Why don't I call them up?"

Reddy walked up to Henry's desk — Henry's former desk — and pressed a red button on the intercom reading Lobby.

"Front desk. How can I help you, Mr. White?" said a friendly voice.

"Mike, my man, this is Gopal. Tell our friends to come up to the CEO's office. Double time."

"Of course, Mr. Reddy," replied the voice, killing communications immediately.

"They should be arriving any time now. Want a cigar while we wait? Where do you keep the key, Henry?"

Henry was still unresponsive, continuing thumbing the cap. Fired, fired, fired, fired, fired...

Reddy sat on Henry's ergonomic leather chair, immersing himself in the experience. "I gotta say, you have class. This chair is going to stay right here."

"What visitors?" asked William again, closing on Reddy's new set-up.

"Patience is a virtue. Say, Murray old chap, why don't you pour us a glass of amber? I prefer it neat."

Murray snickered. "Who died and made you my boss?"

"Tut-tut," said Reddy, wagging his finger playfully. "Didn't you hear the good news? I'll head this joint while the merging finalizes. I have previous experience with the pencil pushers here, and the higher-ups thought I would be a friendly face for the transition." Reddy pointed at his face, making an exaggerated smile.

Murray pounded his fist on the table, making everyone in the room — including Henry — to jump in their place. "That wasn't the deal!" he yelled.

A sober Henry would've picked that something was weird with what he said. What deal? Is there something he didn't know? Were they conspiring against him? But it wasn't the case with drugged Henry. Henry's mind attached to that last word instead. Deal, deal, deal, deal, deal...

Before Reddy could retort, a knock on the door took the attention from the argument.

"It's open!" yelled Reddy with a smirk while putting his feet on the desk.

Murray immediately recognized the man entering the room as the crusty cop he had met a few weeks ago. Two police officers stood behind him in attention.

"Detective Dunne," said William, "what are you doing here?"

Graham placed another foot inside the room, putting his arms behind his back. "Mr. Wolfe, Mr. Prendergast, lucky to have you two here at the same time. I'd like you both to please accompany me to the station. I wanna ask you some questions."

William tried stepping forward to comply but was stopped by Murray's palm pushing him back by the chest.

"You wait a minute. What's this about? You can't just walk in here like a big dick in a locker room."

"Official business. I can tell you more at the station."

William tried to step forward again, but was stopped by Murray yet again.

"I told you to wait there. And you," Murray said, pointing at Graham, "we ain't going nowhere. Not unless you start talking."

Graham took a deep breath, taking his hands from behind his back. "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Take your pick."

"Oh, I would love to see you try," sneered Murray, squaring up in defense.

Try, try, try, try, repeated Henry over and over again. Such a funny word.

"Okay." Graham raised two fingers, signaling the Officers behind him to move forward. To Murray's surprise, they veered away from Murray, taking a hold of William instead.

"William Wolfe, you are under arrest on suspicion of murder. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can, and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney..."

Whatever else he told William was lost on Henry.

Murder, murder, murder, murder, murder..."Murder?" said Henry, almost in a whisper.

Graham realized there was a homeless-looking person on the couch. He had to admit, he hadn't even felt him in the room.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Graham asked.

"That," said Reddy, standing up from his seat, "is the mighty Henry White, in the flesh."

Graham was taken aback for a second. Henry White had been painted to him as a highly intimidating person whose presence alone sent shivers down the spine of even the greatest of men. The person in front of him barely amounted to an old rag, with unfocused eyes and disheveled hair. His existence was but a footnote in the room, almost losing himself in a turtleneck that seemed a tad too big for him.

"I'm sorry, Mr. White. My name is detective Graham Dunne. I've been assigned to your wife's case. I've tried to contact you for a few days but I wasn't unable to get a hold of you."

"Who murdered who?" said Henry with a slightly wavering voice.

"Hey, fuckwad, what the hell's going on?" echoed Murray.

William remained silent.

"Mr. White, we have reason to believe that your wife's death was not an accident. We believe she was...murdered. I can't say more here. Please come to the station with us and we will fill you in."

Henry blanked out. How? Who? Why? When? What? How? Who? Questions fired on his mind with no answer in sight. But William! Was he the one? Did he kill his wife? Was he not to blame? Was it his fault, and not Henry's?

It was William's fault. He killed Zizi, not Henry.

For the second time that day, Henry jumped from his seat, dead set on choking the life out of William. Sadly for him, his strength waned, and was pushed away by one of the officers with minimum effort.

Henry felt the rough carpet chafe his cheek when he fell to the ground. That window of distraction was all it took for the cops to remove William from the office, with Murray trailing behind them, hurling insults and threats.

Henry stood on wobbly knees, sitting back on the couch.

"Mr. White," said Graham while squatting in front of him, "I know this is a highly irregular situation and you must be more than shocked to hear this. If you allow me to give you a ride to the precinct, I will be more than willing to explain the situation to you."

Henry remained silent, only nodding in consent.

Reddy shoved the box with all of Henry's items into his hands. "Don't forget to take your crap with you. Now, are you going to sit there and fart on my cushions all day, or are you going to go with the nice officer?"

Henry stood up almost immediately and followed Graham down to the lobby. The white hallways were devoid of any decoration, giving Henry a headache just by looking at them. His feet dragged behind as he carried the box with him. People in adjacent offices pointed and snickered at him, with a few of them going so far as to hurl an insult or two. Henry was powerless now; a lion in death's clutches, and it was feeding time for vultures.

Eventually, they reached the lobby. Henry felt a set of eyes follow him the moment he stepped into the room. The stare was so powerful and unnerving that it sent shivers down his spine and stopped him in his tracks. A sense of dread overcame his existence. It didn't felt like the sense of dread he had when high, but something more real, even primal.

The gaze was coming from the painting perched on the receptionist's desk. The stone-cold eyes of Jabin Geber, the founder of Geber Laboratories and Zizi's father, looked down on him with mocking amusement. He had seen those eyes thousands of times every day, until he suddenly didn't. When he assumed his position as CEO, he ordered that painting to be removed. It was a constant reminder of his insecurities, and that, whatever he did, he would never make Jabin proud.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" said Reddy, who inadvertently followed the pair down the lobby. "I found the old man in a storage space in the basement. Figured it's about time to make it shine again. This place is so dull and monochrome. Needs a little color. When I worked here, this place had class. Did you know who was the one who decorated this place before you turned it into a winter hell? I wanna hire them again."

Henry gave the painting one last look full to the brim with his deepest contempt. Reddy already knew the answer, but he wanted to squeeze every last ounce of suffering out of Henry.

"Yes," answered Henry, casting his gaze down to the floor, heavy with grief and guilt over the judging stare of Jabin. "It was Zizi."

12 HOURS BEFORE THE SECOND DISASTER