Bull Market Zombies

Maggie stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of her forty-second-story apartment, watching the rain smear against the glass like tears she couldn't cry anymore. Below, the city sprawled like a circuit board, millions of people moving through their routines, and she wondered how many of them felt like she did—hollowed out by years of chasing numbers that meant nothing in the quiet hours before dawn.

Her phone buzzed. Richardson, the firm's senior partner, a man whose temperament ran hot and whose portfolio ran hotter. The bull market had been good to him, and he'd made sure everyone knew it. "Maggie, we need to adjust position on the Aquifer acquisition. The Chinese fund is pulling out."

She stared at her reflection—dark circles under eyes that had seen too many 3 AM nights, skin that had lost its glow somewhere around the time she stopped having time for friends, for laughter, for anything that wasn't work. A corporate zombie, really. Animated but not alive.

"Maggie? You there?"

"Yeah," she said, surprised by how steady her voice sounded. "Give me ten."

She walked to the kitchen, filled a glass with water from the filter. The company had acquired the water treatment plant three years ago—her first major deal. Richardson had called it "liquid gold." Now she wondered if any of it actually reached the people who needed it, or if it just became another line item on another spreadsheet.

The bull market had made her wealthy. It had also made her lonely. She'd missed her sister's wedding for a deal. She'd canceled her dream vacation for a conference. She hadn't had a relationship last longer than three months since business school.

She stood at her window again, watching the rain fall on a city that never slept, where people chased wealth like it was the only thing that mattered. Richardson's voice buzzed in her ear again, something about projections and positions and the quarterly report.

"You know what, Richardson?" she said softly. "I need to take some personal time."

"Maggie, the Aquifer deal—"

"The Aquifer deal will be there. But I won't. Not like this."

She hung up, watched the water in her glass catch the morning light, and for the first time in years, she didn't feel like she was drowning anymore.