Confession at the Bull & Palm

The dim light of the Bull & Palm filtered through cigarette smoke, casting everything in amber. Sarah sat across from me, her fingers tracing the condensation on her glass. Outside, the Chicago wind howled.

"You should've told me," she said, not looking up.

I reached across the table, covering her hand with my **palm**. Her skin was cold. "I couldn't. You know what they'd do to both of us."

"So you just let them fire me instead?"

"I thought it would blow over. I thought—"

"You thought you could keep your head down and your **hat** pulled low and nobody would notice the numbers didn't add up." Her voice cracked. "Three years, Daniel. We built that department together."

The bartender set another round on the table. The guy at the next booth laughed loudly, drunk on a Tuesday afternoon. I thought about the spreadsheet I'd modified at 2 AM, the ones that showed the environmental impact reports were fabricated. I'd done it to save the project, to save jobs. I'd told myself it was justified.

"It was just tweaking the projections," I said, though the words tasted like ash. "Nobody got hurt."

Sarah finally looked at me. Her eyes were red-rimmed. "That's the **bull**shit you tell yourself so you can sleep at night." She pulled her hand away. "The thing is, Daniel—I would've helped you fix it. Whatever mess we were in, we could've figured it out together. But you chose to lie to me."

She slid off her stool, grabbing her coat.

"Wait," I said. "Please."

"I already sent the real reports to corporate. Ethics committee gets them tomorrow." She paused at the door, silhouetted against the streetlights. "You should've come to me first."

The door closed behind her. I sat alone in the amber light, listening to the drunk man's laughter fade, and realized I'd been protecting nothing but my own fear.