Bull Market Blues

The elevator dinged, and Marcus stepped onto the forty-second floor, his stomach churning like a washing machine stuck on spin cycle. He'd been taking those damn **vitamin** supplements for three weeks—Dr. Patel said they'd help with the stress, but mostly they just made his pee turn neon yellow and his thoughts race faster than the market itself.

In the corner office, Richard stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a massive **bull** painting dominating the wall behind him—charging, unstoppable, exactly how Richard had described his career trajectory during last night's drunken soliloquy at the bar. Marcus's wife had listened with polite fascination, her hand resting on Richard's arm a moment too long.

"You wanted to see me?" Marcus's voice sounded thinner than he'd intended.

Richard turned, something unreadable in his eyes. "Sit down, Marcus. We need to talk about the Chicago account."

Outside, **lightning** fractured the sky, illuminating Richard's face in stark relief—the handsome jawline that had charmed its way through three marriages and countless boardrooms. The storm had been building all afternoon, the air thick with it, like the moment before something terrible happens.

Marcus's lunch rebellion sat heavy in his gut—he'd actually ordered the **spinach** salad instead of his usual burger, trying to be the man his wife kept hinting she needed. Healthier. More intentional. Less likely to die of a heart attack at forty-five, leaving her with nothing but memories and a shrinking portfolio.

"I'm making changes," Richard said, and Marcus watched his boss's mouth form the words, watched them float across the expensive **water** feature on the credenza, watched them hit him like physical blows. "Sarah's being promoted to senior analyst. You'll be reporting to her."

The clock on the wall seemed to stop. Sarah—his wife. The woman he'd met at Richard's summer party three years ago. The woman who'd been "working late" so often this past month.

"Is there something you need to tell me?" Marcus heard himself ask, and Richard's face did something complicated—guilt and defiance and something else, something tender that hurt worse than the betrayal.

Outside, the sky finally broke open.