Bull Market Blues

Elena let her hair down for the first time in three years, watching the gray strands catch the fluorescent bathroom light. At forty-two, she'd stopped recognizing the woman in the mirror. Outside, the baseball game played at full volume—Tom's way of drowning out the silence between them.

She walked into the living room where her husband sat on the couch, their golden retriever Moose asleep at his feet. The dog's ear twitched, sensing something.

"Tom, we need to talk."

"Not now, El. It's the bottom of the ninth."

"The bull market's over, Tom. I know about the offshore accounts."

The dog woke up, letting out a low growl as Tom's face went white.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm not an idiot. I've been your corporate spy for fifteen years. I know insider trading when I see it." She held up her phone, displaying the cached emails. "You're trading on information you stole from your own clients."

Tom stood up. "You went through my work?"

"I noticed the pattern. The same 'bull' advice you gave clients—buy, hold, trust—while you were shorting their positions. The baseball tickets every Tuesday? Those weren't games, Tom. They were meets with your broker."

Moose wandered over to Elena, pressing his warm weight against her leg. She buried her fingers in his fur, grounding herself.

"I did it for us," Tom said quietly.

"No, you did it for you. And now we're both going down."

She watched him realize she'd already made the call. The SEC would be here within the hour.

"The dog," Tom said suddenly. "Who's taking Moose?"

Elena looked at their golden retriever, the only innocent thing in this room. "I am. Along with my half of everything that's actually yours."

Outside, the crowd roared as someone hit a home run. The irony wasn't lost on her. Tom had swung for the fences and missed.

"You could've told me you suspected something," he said, defeat in his voice.

"And missed watching you lie to my face one more time?" She shouldered her bag. "I've been your partner for twenty years, Tom. I thought that meant something."

The dog followed her to the door, his nails clicking on the hardwood. She didn't look back.