The nasal, high pitched tone of the Sky News reporter rankles deep but I can't tear my eyes away. The report is broadcasting live from a Walmart that looks like it's been the target of a frenzied and toilet-paper centered raid. Grim, pale faced shoppers zoom in and out of focus, snarling at each other in warning as they circle the bottled water aisle. I close my eyes for a moment, and rub my cold fingers over the lids before remembering the madness and yanking them sharply away.

The scene outside my ivory tower is eerie. The streets are thinning, bordering on empty. The traffic that usually ebbs and flows like the ocean is scarce and stagnant. Inside my ivory tower, the scene is equally unnerving. Only Andrea remains on my floor. My ever loyal, ever steadfast port in a storm. The memory of how she stood up to me, a mere hour or so ago, drifts back to me and a small grin pulls at my lips. Grown men have paled and surrendered under my trademark glare, but she merely glared back harder.

Woman's got bigger balls than I do. Sitting down at my desk, my MacBook shits out another news bulletin.

"CORONAVIRUS strikes again... COVID-19 cases surge throughout the country."

The knot in my stomach tightens another notch. A long ago feeling of helplessness, a lack of control, seep back into my body. I grit my teeth and try and cleanse myself of this sensation. I can never allow myself to go back to that place, that time.

That person.

That as it may be, this situation... this fucking virus... its pulling me back. Wrapping its invisible, clammy hands around my torso and yanking me back to a time where I couldn't help myself, couldn't control myself. It doesn't take a genius or some pimple faced kid with a psych degree to figure out why. This virus, it doesn't give a shit who you are or where you're from. It's cruelly and, given the times, almost ironically equal. An equal opportunities threat. In its short lifespan, it's made itself perfectly clear in its message.

Your color doesn't matter, your gender doesn't matter, your salary doesn't matter.

No one is immune.

I drum my fingers atop my desk and frown at the email in front of me. It's one of many this morning, all saying the same thing. The top doctors in the country, whose time can be bought even in times of crisis, are all singing from the same hymn sheet. There is no secret vaccine that that the rich and beautiful can avail of before the poor masses even know of its existence. There is no secret cocktail of meds that will supercharge one's immune system or spark immunity. There is nothing, in short, that money can do that poverty cant.

A further, dismal ping from my MacBook lets me know my stocks are plummeting.

Awesome.

I take great and immediate solace in the fact that my family are all cocooned in one of my many vacant properties in the leafiest of countrysides. They've all been speed tested and are not infected and I know they're social distancing the fuck out of it over a mouthwatering cookout right now. They're safe and that's the main thing. Bitterly unhappy that I wouldn't be bullied into joining them, but safe nonetheless.

I could not leave my empire to be run by my B team. No chance.

I, of course, have ample and luxuries lodgings here at GEH. I have summonsed Mrs Jones and Taylor from Escala to service same. Glancing up at the ceiling, up to the penthouse where my semi-permanent home now lies, I can imagine Taylor pacing and glaring. He's pissed that I wouldn't be squirreled away with my folks. Irritated that his pig headed boss wont just do what's best for him or what's easiest for once. Of course he didn't come out and say that. Taylor's ballsy but he's not a moron.

Sighing, I glance out through my open doors and wonder how the fuck I'm going to get Andrea to bite the bullet and get home to begin a long stint of social distancing come self isolation. She's more stubborn than a bloodhound when she wants to be. I wince as the throbbing beginnings of a migraine flicker behind my eyes. My email is blowing up with my key staff working from home but still needing their asses wiped. I'm beginning to realize its harder to chew someone the fuck out for being a moron over email than it is in person.

"Experts predict that this crises could last for several months with no clear end in sight..."

A groan so loud escapes me that Andrea looks up in alarm and so I quickly pretend to cough. Then I realize it's probably better to shit yourself in public than it is to cough nowadays and quickly stifle my barking. Her gaze lingers curiously for a few moments before she returns to clacking fiercely at the computer. Leaning back in my char, I allow myself a rare moment of pure, unadulterated self pity.

What the fuck is the point in being a billionaire if I can't secure magical medical treatment...

My cell beeps and interrupts my inner turmoil. My eyes roll of their own accord. This is the fifth time Taylor has called me in the last hour and as much as I like the guy, he's all up in my space right now.

"Taylor."

My voice is cold and sharp. I want him to get the message and go away.

"Sir. Are you expecting a Doctor from the private practice your Mother patronizes to perform a Covid-19 test on both yourself and the remaining staff in the building?"

Fuck. I forgot.

"Yes. I am. I want you, Mrs Jones and Andrea seen to first. Then I want you to escort Andrea home and ensure she isn't exposed to anything or anyone obvious before returning here. When the Doctor is done with you three, send him down to me."

"The Doctor is a female, Sir."

"Male, female, Baby fucking Yoda... I don't care, Taylor. Just make it happen."

I hang up before he can answer with his usual affirmation. My fingers drum on the table again and I tell myself that I am not a coward in omitting to tell Taylor that Andrea is refusing to leave. I'll just quietly close my doors when he drags her kicking and screaming from the building... and people say I'm an uncaring bastard.

I'm clearly in the running for a Boss of the year award.

My mind floats back to fixate on this virus... this disease. Nothing else has occupied my thoughts since the early day reports from China started trickling through. There is a palpable, touchable sense of unease in the air. The global air. This bastarding virus has weaved its dirty little tentacles across the world. It knows no boundaries or borders. Within the space of a few weeks and months, it has wreaked havoc on health and wealth.

And now its coming for me and mine.

My stocks are in the shit, my supply networks are floundering and my fledgling deals are dying. It's having such an impact that I'm glad that I have no friends or close acquaintances to worry about. It's enough to worry about Grace, Carrick and Mia... and, to a lesser extent, Elliot. It's harder to worry about Elliot... that fucker is nearly as good looking as me. Not nearly as clever though and I often hold that thought to my bosom on the cold winter nights.

I'm fully lost in thought when Andrea's squawks of protest pierce the air.

Shit.

I slither from my seat and sprint stealthily across the expanse of my office. Reaching the door, I softly close it shut and thank whatever higher order exists when her barks of irritation subside. I really should be nicer to Taylor but it's just so much effort and frankly, I can't be bothered. Especially now when the world is gone to shit.

I am back behind my desk and lost in thought when the next interruption arises... a knock at the door.

"Enter."

The door opens firmly and a young, conventionally beautiful woman walks in. She's mid to late twenties, dressed conservatively and carrying a large, leather briefcase. The mask on her face and the surgical gown over her pencil dress may have been alarming a few weeks ago, but now, it barely registers.

I raise a brow.

"I am Dr Steele," the woman announces through the mask. "I am here to administer your test for Covid-19."

My brow arches further.

I very rarely doubt myself and most especially, my appeal to the opposite sex. Women quite frankly love me. They love my face, body and money. Not always in that order but always that triad. Which makes what is in front of me all the more confusing... this woman, this Dr Steele, would appear to be looking at me with something very similar to outright dislike. There is a judgmental hostility to her eyes and even with her mask I can see her jawline is tightly set. Her shoulders are tense and her body language shrieks of animosity.

She doesn't wilt in the silence.

Rather, her sterile coldness seems to intensify.

"Shall we get the testing underway? It's just... I'm rather busy, given the situation."

My eyes widen slightly. This woman doesn't like me. It's not my imagination. I know people, I read people. I understand what they don't know to understand... and this Doctor does not like me. Confusion turns to irritation and I open my mouth to tell this broad to get the fuck out of my office. I can afford any Doctor I want... I don't need some uppity twenty something with some chip on her shoulder giving me the stink eye.

But I never get the chance.

The TV in the corner of the room suddenly wails in alarm, spitting out one word... over and over again.

Lockdown.

...

AN: Hello guys. Long, long time no talk. Life has just been... intense (ups and downs) over the last year and all my hobbies and pastimes have had to take a backseat. But with what's going on in the world, work has subsided and I actually have some time. I also have a need to work through my anxiety with the COVID-19 situation as my family are extremely vulnerable to it. And the result is this story. I will be updating all my others as time goes on as I have more free time.

I hope you guys and your loved ones are and remain safe.

We'll get through this together.

Inks x