First move: The Approach.

Henry told Zizi to look for Clara. She reluctantly obeyed, getting deeper into the room. Once he made sure she got safely to her destination, he began to slowly walk towards the General's table, on an angle that assured that they would see him coming. Last thing you want is to creep up on anyone. And easy enough, a few feet from the table, they both managed to spot Henry, focusing their attention on him.

As befitting of his position, Murray stood up to greet him with a hearty half-hug. The General, however, stayed in his seat. He was also a seasoned negotiator, or at least understood the impact of a good power move right off the bat. Henry could not stop a creeping smile from forming on his face, relishing the challenge.

Second move: Engage.

"General McMan. It's an honor to finally meet you."

Henry shook his coarse, callused hand. His handshake was firm and strong, but not overly so. With his free left hand, he gently grabbed the General's arm, giving it a tight squeeze. What might have seemed an inconsequential move to the untrained eye was actually a solid power move to shift the momentum towards Henry. In a seated position, there was not much the General could do other than to tap out of the handshake by cupping Henry's hands with both of his own. The whole episode took only a few seconds, but it gave both of the men a taste of the other's capabilities. The worst was over. Now it was time to take it easy.

Third move: Build a rapport.

Sitting next to the General, Henry ordered the same beer he was drinking. "Would you like another, General?"

He briefly considered the offer, but ultimately shook his head in negative. "I have another commitment later. I prefer to have a clear head for these kinds of affairs."

"The only affair I wouldn't get drunk for is a marital one," Murray remarked, "it's bad for performance."

The General glared straight at him with a deadpan expression on his face. Murray did the same, briefly having a staring contest with the General. After a few moments, both men burst into a hefty laugh, patting each other roughly on the back.

"Oh, Murray, you fat bastard. You haven't changed a bit since we met," the General said while smiling at Murray like a long-lost brother.

Murray took a sip of his drink, careful not to spill it mid-laugh. "By the looks of you, a few centuries ago, you Irish bastard."

Henry was taken aback with how familiar their relationship was. His confidence waned briefly, feeling a stranger in strange lands. "Murray told me you guys met a long time ago, right?"

"Pat and I go way back," said Murray. "We both grew up on the same street in Queens, childhood friends and all that stuff. We even enrolled in the Army at the same time."

The General interrupted. "Although he got fed up with it pretty quickly. He had a hard-on for anything with a skirt, including one of our drill sergeants' daughter."

Murray chimed in with a hearty chortle. "At least I don't have a hard-on for anything with the red, white and blue. But hell, I forgot about that girl. Kelly? Kathy?"

"Katherine," corrected the General.

"She was worth it. Best half hour of my life."

"The sergeant chased him out of his house with a rifle," added the General with a laugh. "Murray had to run five blocks while buck naked during winter."

"And I came out easy!"

Henry resented Murray at that moment. He worked so hard to put the power on his side, with the suit, the approach, the ambuance, only to be washed away by the juvenile banalities of a couple of old fools. He quickly rapped his fingers on the table to get Murray's attention. Once their eyes locked in, he managed to inject a hefty dose of contempt into him, before standing up from his seat.

"I am sorry, General. I must take Murray away. We are about to begin and need to make some final adjustments. Murray, on me."

"Sorry, Pat. Duty calls. You know how it goes. Enjoy the booze, its free!" And with that, the pair left toward the podium. Henry wanted to scream his guts out but knew Murray was drunk enough not to give a shit in the world about what he had to say. They found the way to their table on the first row, with Henry nudging Murray to sit next to his own wife.

"He is already too drunk to work. Keep an eye on him. Order a soup, or a coffee, or whatever. I need him sober, ASAP."

"I'm a functional drunk, bitch. Lemme at em!" commented Murray, not being a functional drunk.

Clara let out a sigh, covering the ears of little Zacky, who was sitting on her lap. "You are about as functional as your prostate, Mur. You are embarrassing us!"

Zizi, unaware of the banter happening in front of her, whispered to Henry. "Honey, we need to dance. I want to dance." Zizi grabbed the cuff of Henry's suit, tugging it gently like a bratty child.

"Bear, it is not that kind of party. It's a formal dinner."

She did not seem to like that answer, as she began to tug even harder. Henry could see an empty champagne cup in front of her, explaining her brattyness. When it came to booze, she was a lightweight. "Why make a party in a ballroom if there's no room for balls?"

Murray laughed his ass off at her dumb joke, attracting the attention of the nearby tables.

Judging by Zizi's deadpan expressions, it was not a joke. Her gaze was deeply fixated on Henry's eyes, slightly glassy, but they were met with cold scorn.

Murray staggered up, grabbing Zizi by the shoulders. "C'mon kid, let's paint the town red."

Before Henry could protest, Zizi shoved her purse into Henry's hands and went away with Murray, giggling.

Clara laid a reassuring hand on Henry's arm. "Let the kids dance the drunk away, sweety. Sit down, unwind a little. It's your party, let the Oompa-Loompas work the backstage. Waiter!"

As a young girl brought them drinks, Henry saw how Murray gave some confusing instructions to the live jazz band on stage, something about a splashy C. The room resonated with the blasts of drums and keyboards, and an upright bass plucking away at the snappy, syncopated beat. Murray and Zizi were trying erratically and quite miserably to match the beat.

Zizi's gown was not made for dancing, holding it up to her mid-calves as she went by. Her high heels laid discarded near the stage at some point. Their energy seemed to be contagious, as some of the youngest couples were making their way to the stage to join the fray. Henry's hands were drawn to the empty champagne glass on the table, the rim smudged with red lipstick.

"So who had the bright idea to get my wife drunk?"

Clara sipped her own champagne, being surprisingly bashful all of a sudden. Guilty-like, even. "Jesus, Henry, she's not one of your fancy-shmancy antiques. She's got moxie. Let her unwind a little. Look how happy she is."

She did look stunning, with a few dribbles of sweat on her forehead, having a cheeky smile and a spring to every step. It was a lovely sight, but not one Henry approved of.

"You know she is taking a delicate medication, right? There's no telling what that kind of physical activity might do to her." To he honest, Henry already thought she looked a bit off. "Please, Clara, keep an eye on her. Just in case, she's got a key for a room in her purse. If anything happens-"

"I know, I'll put her to sleep like a horse with a broken knee." She took a glance at her phone, frowning a bit. "It's getting kinda late. When's that presentation again?"

"Sir, we are set to take the stage. We will begin in five."

It was Linda who, coincidentally, appeared next to them to usher Henry backstage at that moment. She made some signs to Murray, who in turn, gave instructions to the band to stop playing. People began to take their seats as the lights began to dim.

After a few minutes, the voice of the announcer — which should've been Murray, who given his drunken stupor had to be replaced by a HR manager assistants — warmed up the stage for Henry to appear. True to his word, no ads or videos were presented. On Henry's hand was a tiny remote for him to flip his two-slide slideshow. The first one being the logo of Geber Labs projected above his head. As soon as he took the podium, Henry was met with some applause, sparse enough to be weak but loud enough to make it awkward.

"Thank you, thank you! On behalf of this big family that we like to call Geber Laboratories, we welcome you to our annual New Year's investors' dinner."

The introduction elicited a more animated response from the crowd than before. Henry could have sworn he heard a heckler mixed in there coming from the back, but paid no mind to it.

"Before enjoying this evening's delights, I would like to say a few words. Don't worry; I am hungry too, so I'll keep it short." The audience chuckled at this little jab, bringing a lighter mood to the room.

"This has been a less than ideal year for us, and that's no state secret. Regulators have been onto us, sales have been down thanks to alternatives flooding the market, and a booming recession. We all know how it goes. But we at Geber Labs do not take our threats as a deterrent to innovation, but as a stepping stone for pushing our boundaries and limits."

He allowed a few moments to let it sink in. Timing was everything when making the perfect speech. Every word must be respected and be allowed to use their own weight to deliver his feelings.

"When Jabin Geber, our founder — may his eternal soul rest in peace — came to this country from Lebanon to pursue the American dream, he had nothing more than a box of used and obsolete medical equipment and his sheer force of will. Door to door, hospital to hospital, he sold his equipment, invested in new and improved materials, and slowly but surely, he built a pharmaceutical empire that would last for generations. We still have that moxie in our system, that everlasting will that fuels our every being and pushes us forward. That dream is still alive, in each and every one of you. In each and every one of us." The audience burst into a hefty applause. Henry knew how to pander to a crowd.

"We are still a couple days away from welcoming the New Year, but we have already made our resolution: to make that dream more tangible than ever. Ladies and gentleman, I present to you, DayDream!"

With a click of the remote, a silver cloud replaced the Geber logo, golden letters spelling DayDream in a stylized font going through the underside of the cloud. "We are rebranding our best selling product, Mandrakxin, into a slicker, youthful design that better reflects the new era of our company. Furthermore, we will begin distribution of smaller dose packages, teaming with different distributors around the world to reach uncharted markets. Peace: only a DayDream away."

The ballroom burst into a confused applause, fueled partly by Murray's overtly enthusiastic walrus-like clapping. It wasn't the reception he had hoped for, but it was better than nothing.

"Well, to review the numbers for this quarter, please welcome our CFO, who will break down the numbers for us commonfolk," he said, handing the microphone to the HR guy. With a final bow, he left the stage.

So much for his big speech.

At the end of the stage, a smug-looking Murray was waiting for Henry to come down, seeming at least a bit sober than before. Next to him was a beaming Zizi.

"Honey, that was amazing. Everyone was so invested in your speech!"

Murray smiled like a fool. "Well, can't say I expected more than that. Half those bitches will be selling at the end of the week."

"Can't paint dog turds and call it a Monet, Mr. White," said a third, shrill voice that didn't belong to either Murray nor Zizi.

"I knew it smelled like mediocrity here. Enjoying the free meal, Reddy?" Murray quipped.

The shrill little voice belonged to a shrill little man that flashed the whitest smile Henry had seen, as fake as a three dollar bill. "I wouldn't call it free. It costed you your dignity, or what was left of it anyways."

"Excuse me," interjected Zizi, "it is rude not to introduce yourself to new people."

The man waved his hand in front of his face, dismissing the thought. "Don't worry, ma'am, I won't hold that mistake against you. Gopal Reddy, PR Manager, Glocal Pharmaceuticals. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

He sent a chopping handshake, which Zizi met with some thinly veiled disgust. "Zinet Geber. The pleasure is mine," she said.

"You're Jabin's daughter? I knew your father, way back in the day. He gave me my first big break. Solid man, always driven. Shame for how he went down. Can't say I don't have some respect for your husband for doing it, though."

Henry had enough of his insolence. He would have interrupted if it wasn't for Linda approaching them, followed by the stout figure of General McMan close behind.

"Excellent speech, sir, as always. Everything is ready to start, and the General has insisted on keeping with the schedule."

"If it's not a problem," added the General, in a tone suggesting that it would be a problem if it was a problem.

"Well," said Gopal, clapping his hands, "I'll leave you kids to your games. Goodbye, ma'am. McMan. Rest of the peanut gallery..."

After leaving, Murray grabbed the arm of one of the waiters passing by. "Get that man a burger, the biggest one you have, make it double and serve it raw. I want it to moo."

The General glared at him in horror.

Murray playfully patted him on the back. "Relax, Pat. The kid's a vegetarian. The only God he believes in is his oversized ego."

This earned a dry chuckle from the General. "About the only thing oversized about that hobbit," he japed back.

For Henry, it was a relief that the General was a friend of Murray. It meant that the General would lower his guard at least a little. But another thing tugged at Henry's mind. Reddy knew the general's name, which means they've met before. That was problematic. He became slightly more nervous. Which reminded him...

"Why did we invite Reddy in the first place?" he whispered to Linda while walking towards the elevators.

"It was Mr. Prendergast's idea. I quote: "Bitch, we ain't scared of no Bollywood Smurf"... on second thought, he might have been drunk when he said it."

"Murray? Drunk? Unheard of."

Linda adjusted her glasses before pressing one of the elevator's call buttons.

Henry took a deep breath to drown all his worries away. As soon as he stepped into the elevator, he needed to be perfect. It was make it or break it.

The real fun was just beginning.

Fourth Move: Show your hand, and whatever you do, don't panic.

2 HOURS BEFORE THE DISSASTER