Henry's smoking room was an ode to indulgence. Rich velvet curtains adorned every window in deep burgundy, combining with the dual sofas against the walls. A glass coffee table with worn-out books on top, mostly for aesthetic purposes, held ashtrays for easy access.

Not even that room was outside of the grasp of Zizi's artistic prowess, sporting at least three different ink paintings, ranging from the bizarre to the macabre. Of course, a fully equipped bar was also at hand, as well as a humidor and the occasional bowl of cashew nuts.

An old wooden radio played an upbeat blues, with the raspy voice of Louis Armstrong above every instrument. The smoke of his cigar, mixed with the oaken flavor of the whiskey in his mouth, left a musky aftertaste on his tongue. An acquired taste that took him years to develop.

Murray was the first one to speak, as always. "So, she seems to be holding up nicely."

"Who?"

"Zizi? Your wife. Small, big eyes, smells like mint and peaches."

"I know, I know. Yes, she's fine," said Henry dismissively while flicking the cigar over the ashtray. "But, the new medicine is making her a bit..."

"Wonky?" said Murray.

"I was going to say 'off,'" blurted Henry, cutting Murray off, "but yes, I suppose that would be fair to say. She stays awake longer, and according to Jennifer and Jacob, her narcolepsy episodes have been reduced. She does seem to suffer some disorientation after waking up."

Murray sipped on his glass, savoring the taste for a moment. "Well, I'll tell the flying monkeys at the lab to adjust the formula. Still, can't shake the feeling that we are using her as a guinea pig."

Murray was not entirely wrong.

Zizi was suffering from chronic narcolepsy, with cataplexy attacks. That means that whenever she had strong emotions, be it laughter, dread, anxiety, anything, she suffered a sudden loss of control in her muscles, turning the person into a human ragdoll. A loss controls, all in the snap of a finger. What a dreadful life.

Could it be fixed? No. Just controlled by a parade of pills she had to take every morning to make sure she didn't remember anything funny while walking down the stairs and cracking her bones when her brain decides it's automatic sleepy-time. But Henry was doing the best he could to at least reduce the number of pills she took every morning.

That he could make some money out of it was a nice extra. Of course, all off the books. The FDA would've never approved such tests.

"You do that. Did you bring the revised speech for tomorrow?" Henry was not much for idle chat. All business, no play.

"Shit. Knew I had forgotten something. It's on my desk. I'll call somebody to bring it up."

While Murray fiddled with his phone, a head peeked over the door, with another, smaller head peeking beneath it. "Knock knock," said Zizi. "Dinner is ready, boys. Wash your hands before sitting down. And crack open a window, it's getting stuffy in here."

Giggling like a little kid entering a treehouse with a "No girls allowed" sign, she opened one of the window panes. She gasped at the view of the snowy street as the tracks of passing cars marked the fresh snow.

There, seeing her astonished over something he so utterly despised, Henry thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Then, why did he cheat on her? And that is the sour feeling swirling in his stomach.

She suddenly bolted out of the room, making Henry yell at her down the hallway. "Hey, slow down! You'll get hurt!"

"Can't!" said Zizi, turning around while walking backward, "need to make a Snow Angel while the snow is soft and new!"

She might've been frail, but she was full of spirit. "At least wear a coat!"

"M'kay!" She yelled back, disappearing down the corridor. A few moments later, Henry saw through the window how she sprinted towards the small park in front of the mansion, hand in hand with Zack, with Clara and Jacob behind, holding Zizi's coat, beckoning her to return inside.

A few seconds after that, while playing a snowball fight, she seizes up, falling head-first into the snow.

Murray's raspy voice chimed right next to Henry, taking him a bit off guard. "At least snow is soft."

Without an answer from Henry, Murray kept talking. "Seeing her that cheerful again makes me happy. She's a short glass of fresh water, that kid. Puts into perspective what we're all about, helping people and shit. The old man would've been proud of you."

It was Henry's turn to snicker. "Proud is a strong word."

Henry and Jabin Geber, the proverbial "old man" and Zizi's father, never saw eye to eye on some matters, Zizi having been one of them. He wanted her to marry someone like Murray, former military, great education, from a great family. Not some upstart amateur from Florida.

Murray patted him reassuringly on the back, sensing a bit of discomfort at the mention of his deceased father-in-law. "Well, at least he would've been grateful to you for taking such good care of his treasured daughter. Now, what was that about dinner?"

The meal was simple, yet delicious. The appetizer was a kabocha squash cream, with croutons and cheese on top. The entree consisted of cheesy lasagna, paired with a glass of Murray's wine for everyone but Zack and Zizi, much to her dismay. Cherry pie a-la-mode was the dessert for everyone but Murray, who chose a glass of whiskey to wash everything down. Murray was what a person would call, an "honest" drunk, so he would have pretty loose lips whenever a few cups went down his jowls. This was one of those moments.

"Fuck!" He exclaimed, throwing his phone on the table.

Both Clara and Zizi yelled "Language!" in unison.

"Shit, right. Zacky. Sorry. Some of the investors got wind that Glocal was trying to get that V.A deal."

Henry had a personal policy of never talking about work with Zizi around. Murray did not. Murray, if anything, was guilty of oversharing to Clara. But, to be honest, Clara had always been the smarter of the two. Which made for explosive dinners when sensitive subjects were addressed.

Henry threw him his most paralyzing stare, the one that once made an intern cry and toss his career aside to pursue a culinary education instead, but Murray was not even looking at him for it to take effect. To make things worse, Zizi became inquisitive.

"That's... not a good thing, right? But tomorrow's the investor's dinner, right? New Year's in a few days, everyone will be in a boozy mood. I'm sure whatever problem there is, Murray can smooth them over."

"I dunno, Zizi," replied Murray, thumbing the rim of his glass, "what would you do if you were on a boat and suddenly a pack of rats went scurrying through your feet as water leaks in? Would you sit down and have a cup with the Captain about the boat totally not leaking? Or would you kick and scream to get to the lifeboat first? You three would survive of course. Women and children first and all. Sexism, if you ask me."

"And the boat would be?" asked Zizi.

"Murray, silence!"

Henry's sudden outburst took everyone by surprise. Murray was doing the only thing he wasn't supposed to do: run his fat mouth. "You, go outside, damage control."

With a disdainful mumble, and downing what remained of the glass in one go, he slipped away to make the appropriate phone calls. The room became dead quiet; only the sound of Zack's dessert spoon scraping the plate broke through the silence.

Zizi gently squeezed Henry's hand in reassurance. He hated that. It made him feel pitiful and weak. He was supposed to take care of her, not the other way around.

Murray re-entered the dining room only after everyone had cleared their dishes.

"Funny thing about rats and leaks, we seem to have both. Somebody got a hold of our internal memo about tomorrow's event and sent it to Glocal, and the bastards sent it to some of our investors. Gossips, herpes, and colds, it all spreads like wildfire. Also, wildfires."

That was the last thing Henry needed at the moment. He almost asked if the meeting with the General was compromised, but that would have been too revealing for Zizi, who already had a pained expression on her face. It was not the worse news Murray brought from the outside, however, as Henry saw a fidgeting figure behind him.

"Oh yeah, I found this kitten outside. She has a package with your name on her hands."

Henry's heart almost stopped. The zing was not lost on Linda, who flushed all the way to her neck, trying the best not to show it, and failing miserably.

"Here is the final draft of the speech, sir," said Linda while placing the manila envelope on a nearby table. Almost as an afterthought, she produced a small memo from her purse. "Also, the General called."

Henry seemed to have wasted his heart-skip. That was way worse.

"What did he say?" asked Murray, full of dread.

"He requested us to move the meeting half an hour earlier. It seems that he has a commitment later that evening."

Henry practically deflated with relief. Good, the meeting was still on.

"Excuse me," said Zizi, dragging Henry away from his moment of peace to the cold, hard reality, "who exactly are you?"

It was the first time Zizi had come in contact with Henry's assistant, a deliberate move on his part in line with his no-mixing policy.

"Oh," said Linda, taken a bit off guard, "I am-"

"Leaving. She was leaving," interrupted Henry, not entirely hiding his emotions.

She made a small bow at the party to signal her retreat, but Zizi was having none of it.

"Nonsense, it's freezing outside. Take a seat. Do you like pie? Jacob! Can we have a piece of pie for...?"

"Linda," said the woman, meekly. "Linda Herschel."

Henry threw her a piercing gaze that suggested her job lingered on her decision of whether to sit down or leave. Lucky for Henry, she decided on the latter.

"I really cannot stay, Ma'am. It's rather late and I have to take the subway, then a bus. It's a hassle."

She was not completely wrong, evidenced by Zacky groggily headbutting the air with lips smeared full of pie. It was way past anyone's bed-time. Clara stood up, taking a napkin to Zacky's lips.

"Murray, Zacky is getting sleepy. Time for us to say night-night. Thanks for the meal, Zizi, it was wicked good. Want a ride, Linda? Mur?"

In a moment, the room was cleared, goodbyes were given, and hugs were traded. Zizi hugged Zacky as hard as she could, patting his head several times until it was time to let go. Henry couldn't take his eyes out of Linda, but Zizi couldn't stop watching Zack.

"He's so cute, isn't he?"

Zizi's comment came out of the left field. It seemed to have a neutral tone to it. But Henry knew. He knew there was something else there.

"I suppose," said Henry. "You should prepare for bed. I want you well rested for tomorrow."

"And Clara, such a loving mother," Zizi continued without acknowledging Henry.

It was too late. Every time Murray decided to showcase his offspring around "Aunty Zizi," her maternal instincts kicked into overdrive.

Sensing what was coming, Henry escorted Zizi back to the divan from his seat. As he feared, a few tears were dribbling down her cheeks already. Kneeling beside her, he started to rub her hands as gently as his own rough hands would allow him. That action alone seemed to open her floodgates to even more tears.

"It's just that... something in me just... I'm sorry honey. I'm a mess. I know. Forgive me. Please forgive me." He knew it was ultimately his fault that it came to this. It was not her decision to forego that chapter of their life, it was his'.

There was no consolation he could give her. "Not now, bear. Not now. It's-"

"Not a good moment. I know. It's never a good moment for you! But what about me!? When will it be a good moment for me!?" Zizi stood up, batting his hand away "If not a promotion, it's a merger. If not a merger, the launch of a new product. And what is your excuse now!? What is this crap about Glocal and the investors and a thing about a General?" Her tears were of rage now, nails digging into her arms. "There is never a perfect moment to have a kid. There's always shit. That's life, Henry! A never-ending river of shit. I'm no spring chicken anymore! What else do I have to wait for? How long do I have to wait?"

And that was enough for her brain to flip the switch.

Her whole frame went limp on her, fully collapsing in front of Henry. If it weren't for his quick reflexes, catching her at the last second, she would have been terribly hurt. Cataplexy attacks took the worst moment to appear, but he was fortunate for the timing of this one. Paternity was not a topic he enjoyed discussing, least of all that particular day.

Did it make him feel bad? Yes. But it had saved him from an awkward situation.

Henry laid her limp body on the divan, tucking her in the tossed away blanket. He knelt beside her, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb. Her breathing was like a metronome, slow at first, then it started picking up as she began to come back.

He had to pick his words carefully.

"Sorry... it's just... I understand, bear. Our time will come. When we are ready. Both of us."

She wiped away a few stray tears with trembled hands, with a whispered m'kay" leaving her lips, almost resigned. She was too weak to fight it out.

That night, he watched her sleep all night without him sleeping a wink, reading the speech and making notes.

Everything was crumbling around him. He only had one shot to save his company.

Little did he know that the company would be the least of his problems.

24 HOURS BEFORE THE DISASTER