Cats Don't Climb Corporate Pyramids

The padel court echoed with the sharp crack of racquets meeting ball—violent, precise, almost intimate. Marcus hadn't spoken to David in six months, not since the pyramid scheme collapsed, not since David's testimony sent their mutual friend Elena to prison.

"Your forehand's gotten sloppy," David called out, chasing the orange ball that skittered across the court like something alive.

Marcus didn't answer. He thought about Elena's cat, that mangy orange tabby she'd left behind when the FBI came. He'd been feeding it, a small penance he couldn't explain to anyone. The cat had taken to sitting on his windowsill, watching him with eyes that seemed to hold all the judgment Marcus couldn't feel for himself.

"Remember when we built the pyramid together?" David's voice carried the weight of something unsaid. "When we actually believed we were the good guys?"

The pyramid—that's what they'd called their fintech startup, built on layers of increasingly dubious investments. Marcus had escaped prosecution by turning state's witness. David had done the same, but somehow their timing had made all the difference. Now David was VP at a legitimate firm, and Marcus was...

Marcus was feeding a dead woman's cat and playing padel with the man who'd helped destroy their shared life.

"I saw that cat again," David said suddenly. "Elena's. It was sitting outside your building."

Marcus froze. The orange ball rolled to a stop at his feet.

"You're still feeding it?" David asked, something like wonder in his voice.

"Someone has to."

They stood there as the sun began to set, painting the sky in bruised oranges and purples. The pyramid was gone, their friend was gone, but somehow this moment—this pointless game, this shared guilt—felt like the only honest thing left between them.

"Next Friday?" David asked quietly.

Marcus nodded, already dreading it, already counting the days. Some friendships don't end. They just metastasize.