“Alan expects thirty percent quarter-over-quarter growth figures on slide four,” Ethan muttered, his voice strained.

“If I’m not there to explain the data models, the whole launch gets pushed to next quarter.”

“Your daughter is four months old and burning up,” I said, looking down at June’s flushed forehead.

“The data models can wait until morning.”

“You don’t know Alan Vance,” Ethan said, sliding the papers back into his bag.

“He doesn’t care about hospital wait times.

He cares about flawless execution.”