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took a breath as she turned the handle on the door to Ed’s office. She’d been his personal assistant for years, yet it always felt like she was creaking open the gate
on a lion’s cage. She’d open it only a crack and he’d already be roaring his instructions at her, with her dodging to avoid the claws tearing at his many bugbears.
    Despite knowing he’d pulled his third all-nighter in a row, today was one of the rare quiet times, though the churn in her stomach suggested it was just temporary. She saw Ed tucking his
shirt back in, but discreetly kept her eyes cast down at the files he must have flung over the floor last night.
    “I can’t afford to get the flu,” he volunteered.
    Her raised eyebrow suggested he said it with a touch too much guilt. Of all people, she fretted, the chief executive shouldn’t be breaking the law. But she said nothing. Ed could react
like a switchblade: whichever way he flicked, someone got sliced.
    He plucked another tissue from the box, wiped his eyes and blew his nose. A ruse, she assumed, though he really did have a sniffle the last couple of days and was looking pretty run down. The
last few weeks had been exhausting, even for her, and she didn’t keep anything like his hours.
    Ignoring her—or perhaps because of her, Debbie couldn’t be sure—Ed tipped his head back, sprayed some drops into each nostril and sniffed them in.
    Debbie knew that Ed’s personal trialling of their big new drug implant product was for the company’s benefit, but she would never take that risk herself. One of those things would
never get jabbed under her skin until it got the all-clear from the Department of Health’s Food & Drug Administration. Not if her life depended on it... though, given her husband’s
history, maybe she would in a case like that.
    Over the last twelve months she had sent hundreds of letters for Ed: to the FDA, the World Health Organisation, senators, congressmen, committee chairmen. She knew the corporate spin by rote:
“Our Clip’n’Drip dose-release pellet is so minute and non-intrusive, so reliable that once implanted, patients can simply forget about it and enjoy a normal life again with
confidence. The automatic releases of life-saving drugs in pre-programmed doses last up to one year per implant. Great for children scared of needles, a boon for forgetful seniors, and perfect for
the unreliable, such as addicts. We also have radio-activated Clip’n’Drips for when there’s worry about an epidemic, but authorities only want the drug administered if the
peril actually eventuates. This homegrown American invention can save millions of lives. You sir (or madam), should be championing it…”
    Ed was glaring at her. Suddenly recalling why she’d come in, she straightened her tartan flannel skirt. “President Clinton’s office is on the line,” she said, avoiding
Ed’s eye. “They’re asking for a meeting… for later this afternoon.” She assumed it was about Clinton’s foundation. Debbie still had a soft spot for the former
President and suspected he wanted to press Ed to donate some of the company’s wonder drugs to Africa.
    “Fuck that,” Ed muttered, not meaning for Debbie to hear, though she had. “And why,” he said, “does that sleazeball still get to call himself President?”
    She said nothing, though her eyes couldn’t help scanning the plaque on Ed’s desk:
    GENERAL EDWIN (Ed) D. LOANE
    United States Army (Retired)
    Chairman and CEO
    “Why the hell should I want to see him?” he said as he picked up the framed photo of his son, Davey. “Tell them I’ve got a subsequent engagement. Ah… ring
Davey’s school. Yeah, I’m taking him to the zoo… this afternoon.”
    Even Ed’s distaste for Clinton couldn’t stop him returning his eight-year-old’s smile beaming from the photo. He remembered exactly when Davey had taken the photo, only a few
months ago, by pointing Ed’s camera at himself into a mirror. “And see if