Bull Market Blues

The corporate gym echoed with rhythmic thwacking of racquet against ball. Elena watched from the mezzanine, nursing her third gin and tonic of the afternoon. Below, Marcus played padel with wild aggression, each swing an exercise in rage management. He'd cornered the market on pharmaceutical futures last quarter—earned the nickname "The Bull" on Wall Street—yet here he was, sweating out his frustrations on a court instead of celebrating.

"He's going to hurt someone," a voice murmured beside her.

Elena turned to find Sarah, Marcus's estranged wife, watching the same scene. They hadn't spoken since the Christmas party from hell.

"He already did," Elena said softly.

Sarah's laugh was bitter. "Fair enough. But I meant literally." She gestured to where Marcus's opponent, that terrified junior analyst, was backing away from each serve like it might be lethal.

"That's David," Elena said. "He's the bear on our team. Keeps predicting crashes. Marcus hired him just to prove him wrong."

"And now he's trying to literally crush him."

"It's how he shows affection."

The ball sailed over the net, missed David's racquet entirely, and shattered the fluorescent light fixture with a startling crash. Game over. David stood frozen, hands trembling. Marcus stood panting, chest heaving, eyes wild.

"Your turn," Sarah said, handing Elena a fresh drink. "Go bear the burden. God knows I'm done rescuing him."

Elena descended the stairs, heels clicking on concrete. Marcus looked up at her approach, something like relief breaking through the fury.

"The market's crashing, El," he said, voice ragged. "Can feel it in my bones."

"It's not the market, Marcus," she said, reaching for his hand. "It's just a game."

"Isn't it, though?" He squeezed her fingers, desperate. "Bull runs, bear sleeps. That's how it works. But I'm tired. I'm so fucking tired of running."

Above them, Sarah watched through the glass, then turned and walked away. Some markets, Elena realized, don't recover. Some bears don't sleep—they just leave you standing alone on a padel court with shattered glass at your feet and nobody left to impress.