It was a short and stormy ride from Geber Laboratories to the White's residence on Commonwealth Avenue, in the heart of Back Bay. Living there, Henry liked to think, was having a finger in the pulse of the city. It made him feel, being a Florida native, that he belonged to a greater lineage than his own - a place with a proud history.

Henry briefly considered pulling an umbrella to shelter from the falling snow on his way from the driveway to the entrance, knowing full well that even the smallest of flakes would dampen his balding head as soon he stepped inside the house. The only thing he hated more than snow was getting unnecessarily wet. He decided to risk it, since the hassle of fiddling with the umbrella would've been greater than just drying his head on the way in.

It didn't stop him from cursing under his breath with every snow-crunching step as he approached the door.

What appeared to be an old colonial building on the outside was merely a shell, housing what could only be a shrine to the decadent 20s, in the best Art Deco style that mirrored Henry's office. The squeaky-clean vinyl floor of the living room was brought together by a soft beige carpet. On top of that, a zebrawood table with a vase of roses, popped like a sore thumb among the wooden paneling.

On the farthest wall of the living room was the piece de resistance: a huge black and white ink painting of a girl without a mouth, with slitted eyes. A gift given to him by his wife on their 30th anniversary, made by her own hand and pulse.

He had loved it at first, hence its position as the centerpiece of the room; however, the more Henry looked at it, the more he began to notice some peculiar and disturbing details.

If he looked at it straight in the eyes, he would feel drawn to them. It was almost too raw, too real, like she couldn't breathe, and would kneel over the moment he stopped staring. But if he looked at it out of the corner of his eye, he could almost see a smile where there was nothing.

Whether the smile was mocking him or not, he didn't know. Nor did he care to know.

That night, however, that smile reflected a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty, not much different from how he was feeling at that moment. His mind was restless, going back and forth about the government contract. And those assholes at Glocal, vulturing over the company. And how his company was about to go under. And, and, and - they all kept piling on.

Suddenly, the ands were too many to handle, washing over him like a wave at full force. Henry's eyes were dilating. His chest tightened with every breath. His heart pounded irregularly.

He was having a panic attack.

Staggering slowly to a divan, Henry placed a hand on the headrest for support. He took deep gulps of air, clutching his chest tight.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Like thunder in a storm, a voice snatched him out of his panic.

"You okay there, honey?"

On the same divan Henry was leaning on, the small frame of Zinet "Zizi" Geber laid gently wrapped in a gray woolen blanket, blending in perfectly with the peach-gold tapestry of the furniture. Her eyes were a bit bloodshot but otherwise alert.

Everyone who ever met her could only describe her as "youthful". Even though she was pushing past her mid-forties, her skin remained as tight and flawless as a teenager in the prime of her years.

Given her short stature, barely pushing 5 feet, her small features were heavily accentuated. Her eyes, by far her most attractive feature, were always laughing, doting, and warm. The only sign of her age was the odd gray hairs on her otherwise jet-black mane, which she always wore in a braid over her shoulders.

Her mannerisms, just like Henry's, were slow and deliberate, but with an air of thoughtfulness, whereas Henry always had a tint of intimidation to his presence.

Recognizing the bundle of fabric to be his lovely wife, Henry took a seat on the ottoman standing beside it.

"Yeah. Sorry, bear. Just a long day, is all."

One of his most beloved activities was to stroke his wife's hair, a gesture of protection she always seemed to love. Not moving from her comfortable position, Zizi kept still, basking in his affection.

"That didn't look like a long day kind of breathing," said Zizi. "You can tell me, you know."

Henry knew it couldn't tell her that the company was a breath away from going under. The last thing he wanted to do was to make her worry. He had enough worry for the both of them.

"Only if you tell me if you took medication today," said Henry.

"Yes. No...yes. I don't know. They make my head fuzzy. So I don't remember. Is the fact that I don't remember if I took them evidence I did take them?"

Zizi shrugged at her own answer, seemingly satisfied with not being sure. She was right at least; her medications often clouded her logic. Henry wasn't a fan of drugged Zizi, but at least it kept her safe.

Looking at a watch perched on the wall, Henry saw it was a quarter to six. In a couple hours, their guests would be arriving, and he needed to get ready. Same for Zizi.

"Come on," said Henry, giving Zizi two gentle pats on the head. "Mur and Clara will be here in a couple hours for dinner. You look like you need a bath, stinky. Where is Jennifer supposed to be?"

Zizi moved to a sitting position on the divan, casting the blanket away. After a few stretches, she seemed to remember that Henry had asked her a question. "Oh, she was in the laundry room, last time I checked. I wanted to wear the white dress today, you know, the one Clara bought me for my birthday, but it was dirty, so she was cleaning it for me. Isn't she lovely, honey? I'll fetch her."

Putting a hand on her shoulder, Henry gently but surely pushed her back down. Zizi usually forgot that the nurse was there to take care of her, not the other way around. Henry called for Jacob, his steward, and instructed him to fetch Jennifer, her nurse.

Quickly, and with a slightly disgruntled face, Zizi introduced a new subject. Or rather, an old one.

"Hard, then. Tell me about it."

"What do you mean 'hard'? What was hard"?

"Your day, honey. You mentioned it was hard, and you looked quite in pain, too. A deal's a deal. Sit down and tell mamma all about it, m'kay?"

Overlooking the fact that he was already sitting down, Henry chose to leave the nasty bits out. He was worried enough as it was, and having her fuss over him was a weight he would rather avoid. Too many stimuli for her would be detrimental in the long run.

She dutifully listened to every part of his story, stopping him mid-sentence when she had something to comment on. "You were too hard on the kid, honey. It was his first big break and all. You should apologize."

Henry let up a dry chuckle. She reminded him a bit too much of Murray in some regards. "Can't do that, bear. Need to maintain my word and put my foot down when it needs to be put down. Lest they start to get soft on me"

"Better to be feared than to be loved. How Machiavellian of you."

Yes, just as stubborn, or worse, than Murray, but he could always disarm her with a well-placed shot. "Yeah, but I prefer to be loved by you than have a thousand men fear me."

Her light blushing told him that he had hit the target, just in time too, as two pairs of steps began to resonate down the hallway, closer and closer by the second. Jennifer and Jacob were drawing near.

Zizi seized the chance to slip away to meet them, not before placing a quick peck on Henry's cheek. A pang of guilt crept up on him, turning into goosebumps that slithered down his spine. He knew that a woman like that deserved to have a better person than him, but his selfishness and pride would never let that fact surface. She was his, and that was it. Lusting over his secretary was just a side thing for him.

About an hour later, the table was set, with the aroma of melting cheese on meat sauce engulfing the house. Zizi chose the menu that day, and chose lasagna of all things. Mainly just to spite Henry's stuck-up bourgeoisie taste.

At 7 O'clock on the dot, the doorbell announced the visitors for the evening. As soon as Jacob opened the door to receive them, a blur of blue and brown dashed through the living room, burrowing on Zizi's baggy dress.

"Aunty Zizi! Look what Santa gave me for Christmas!"

The kid thrusted the doll he was holding upwards, practically shoving it towards Zizi's face. Henry remembered Murray fussing over how hard it was to find that particular doll. Zizi, now considerably more sober than before, gently grabbed the doll with a surprised motherly smile.

"Such a pretty doll! I like his wings. Can he fly, sweety?"

"It's not a doll! Is an action figure, aunty. But he can fly and shoot the bad guys and go pew pew pew in space and..."

Henry got lost in the nonsensical babble of the kid, deciding to mentally block it for his own sake. He really did not enjoy having kids near him. Dirty, annoying, spoiled. They were career killers for all he knew.

And yet, looking Zizi play with him brought a bittersweet taste to his mouth.

"Sorry, Henry, couldn't find a babysitter on time. Zacky promised to behave, right sweetheart?" said Clara, Murray's wife, with a sharp stare that seemed to imply that he should behave, or he would have to shed the skin off his butt after the spanking he would get. Clara gave her damp coat to Jacob for storage, followed by Murray, who had a bottle of wine in his hands.

"Sweet tiny boots ot baby Jesus, Henry. Would it kill you to put on some holiday decorations? Even the Goldsteins next door have more Christmas cheer than you."

"Christmas was last week, Mur. Move on."

Murray snorted annoyingly, but it was Clara who piped up to Henry. "Oh, boo-boo. It's more than just a day. The whole month smells like chocolate and nutmeg. The Christmas spirit won't die until January, uncle Ebeneezer."

"Humbug then," mocked Henry. "Go get some warmth by the pile of coals, or I'll take a pence out of your salary. Jacob, put that bottle on ice."

"Or just put it outside," sneered Murray, "save the ice for the whiskey. I feel sober, which is a problem I want fixed. Serve a chap a glass."

Jacob went to do as instructed while Murray and Henry retired to the smoking room. Clara and Zizi remained in the living room, catching up with each other, Zacky content with playing with his doll on the floor.

It was a family sight Henry was not used to see. It was a reminder of what he took from Zizi. What he had to sacrifice to be on top.

But those were thoughts for another day.

24 HOURS BEFORE THE DISASTER