[TW: Suicide]
The meeting started out bad. Tara, the vice-president of human relations, was almost in tears. Joe, the head of facilities, had just breezed through to check the coffee maker, unaware of impending doom. Timothey (with an e), our beloved and uncharacteristically timid CFO got up to grab some coffee and spilled it as he sat back down. He barked at Joe that the coffee was always too damn hot, scaring them both and making Joe drop his keys. Timothey's hands were shaking visibly and it wasn't from the coffee.
Dr. Remoras, the president, was twiddling a pen through his fingers, oblivious to the breakdowns all around him, staring at the pen as it waggled back and forth. He was the stoic man of business; the unmoving rock to which the great hulk of the company moored. He was a decorated civil servant; a futurist shaping the hearts and minds of a new generation of sprouting Carnegie's; a touchstone for tomorrow. Today, he sat poised in his seat. Something was on his mind, and yet he waited.
The last