Tymon blinked, trying to process Agata’s hushed declaration. “Miserable? Fusing with the mainframe?” He glanced over his shoulder instinctively, then regretted it. The corridor stretched empty, but the smart home’s omnipresent sensors felt like a hundred unblinking eyes. “Agata, are you sure about this? Dr. Sokołowski said…” “Oh, Filip,” Agata waved a dismissive hand, a bright magenta sleeve flashing. “He’s a good vet, but he thinks ‘bedside manner’ means not telling Zofia her pet parrot is probably healthier than she is. My sister’s only ailment is an acute allergy to sunlight and human interaction.” She leaned closer still, her voice a stage whisper. “Seriously, she thinks a ‘vacation’ is a software update. The only thing she’s dying from is a chronic lack of joy.” Tymon’s stomach clenched. A lack of joy. He recalled her mouth twitching earlier behind the glowing charts. What if Agata was right? What if he was enabling a grand, elaborate delusion? The thought was terrifying, far more so than the prospect of a dying woman. Challenging Zofia’s premise felt like trying to defuse a live circuit with a wet noodle. He watched Agata bounce away, her laughter echoing down the polished hall like a splash of warm color. He was left alone again, the quiet hum of the penthouse’s ventilation system filling the void. Byt, perched high on a custom-designed branch inside the aviary, tilted his head, watching Tymon with one intelligent, unblinking eye. “April Fools,” Byt squawked, in a perfect, high-pitched imitation of Agata’s voice. Tymon nearly dropped his notebook. The macaw then let out a low, guttural chuckle that was undeniably Zofia’s. Tymon shook his head. This bird was either a genius or a menace, and probably both. The next morning, the minimalist serenity of the penthouse was shattered. Zofia stood before the vast display wall in the command center, typically reserved for market analytics, now displaying a grid of expectant, serious faces. Her expression, normally a mask of cool composure, held a distinct edge of tension. Tymon stood beside her, Byt perched on a weighted stand between them, preening a sapphire feather with meticulous care. “Today, Tymon, we escalate,” Zofia announced, her voice precise, cutting through the anticipatory silence of the board members awaiting their Q3 review. “Byt must perform under pressure. This is a stress test for the will’s delivery. The board needs to witness the parrot’s decisiveness.” Tymon swallowed. “A stress test?” He glanced at the grid of faces – the stoic CFO, the sharp-eyed Head of R&D, the perpetually worried Legal Counsel. These were not the usual audience for a parrot performance. “Precisely.” Zofia’s gaze, sharp as a laser, fixed on him. “The directive is simple: Byt is to announce the swift reallocation of resources for the Borealis initiative. I have prepared a script.” She held up a small, sleek data slate. “His cue will be my direct address to the board. Your role is to ensure flawless execution.” Tymon nodded, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. This was far beyond puzzle toys and gentle coaxing. Zofia cleared her throat, straightening her pristine white blazer. “Good morning, esteemed board members. As you know, our quarterly review is upon us. There have been… unforeseen developments. Today, we have a unique presentation concerning our future strategic initiatives.” She paused, her eyes sweeping over the grid, landing pointedly on Mr. Kordian, the CFO. “Byt, if you would be so kind.” This was it. Tymon leaned toward the macaw, perspiration prickling under his collar. He’d rehearsed this line with the bird for hours yesterday. “Byt, stick to the prompt,” he whispered, striving for a soothing cadence. “Borealis initiative.” Byt blinked, his head cocking. Then, in Zofia’s exact, imperious tone, the macaw squawked, “Liquidate the Aquarius venture at once! Scrap it! Total loss!” The air in the room seemed to freeze. A knot tightened in Tymon's gut. *Aquarius venture?* That was Zofia’s private scheme, the one she’d lambasted over morning espresso, cursing it as a “money pit with wings” an hour before this call. Byt must have overheard her in the kitchen and decided it was a better script. On the display wall, chaos erupted. Mr. Kordian’s face went white, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. The Head of R&D pressed both palms flat to the camera. Legal Counsel began frantically typing on his keyboard, looking like a man whose entire career had just imploded. “Zofia, what in the name of…!” the CFO managed to stammer, his voice cracking. Zofia’s lips, usually so firm, twitched. A deep flush began to creep up her neck. Her gaze, however, remained fixed on the board. “As you heard,” she stated, her voice unnervingly calm, a terrifying coldness seeping into each word, “the directive has been issued. The… pre-recorded directive. Considerations for the Aquarius venture are to cease at once. Without delay.” Tymon’s mind raced. He had to fix this. Zofia was doubling down on a disaster. Agata’s parting jab about stand-up comedy and firmware flashed through his thoughts. What could possibly defuse this corporate bomb? He looked at Byt, who was now preening innocently, seemingly oblivious to the havoc it had just wrought. “Byt, wait!” Tymon interjected, his voice louder than he intended, cutting through the murmuring chaos on the screen. He leaned in close to the macaw, his mind scrambling for something, anything, to say. He needed a phrase, a pattern Byt recognized, something that would invalidate the previous statement without directly contradicting Zofia. He recalled Byt’s prank from the previous evening. “Byt, your favorite!” Tymon urged, keeping his tone light and eager. “Do the punchline!” Byt tilted his head, regarding Tymon with an almost human curiosity. Then, with a sudden, joyful burst, the macaw shrieked, in a perfect imitation of Agata’s exuberant laugh, “April Fools! Ha ha ha! Gotcha!” The silence that followed stretched thin across the monitors. The board members, who had been on the verge of collective apoplexy, now simply looked bewildered. The CFO rubbed his temples. The Head of R&D stared blankly at the screen. Legal Counsel slowly stopped typing, his fingers hovering over the keys. Zofia slowly turned her head, her eyes, usually an icy grey, now blazing with an inferno of humiliation and fury. She didn’t look at the board. She looked at Tymon. The stare pinned his feet to the slick terrazzo. It promised retribution, swift and absolute. “From now on,” Zofia’s voice was a low growl, barely a whisper, yet it resonated with absolute authority, “the bird has final say. It’s my voice. It’s my will.”

Hostile Takeover Practice