Corporate Espionage

The vitamin supplements sat on Maya's desk like colorful accusations. D3, B12, Iron—the regimen Marcus had prescribed during their brief, intoxicating spring. Now they mocked her, evidence of a carefully constructed intimacy.

Three weeks since Marcus disappeared from Nexus Pharmaceuticals, taking proprietary research and his loyalty to nowhere. Security called it corporate espionage. Maya called it the third worst betrayal of her life.

Her iphone buzzed again—unknown number, same pattern for days. She ignored it, though her thumb hovered over the screen. Part of her hoped it was Marcus. Part of her hoped it was federal agents, which meant he'd been caught.

The hat sat in her closet: a worn navy beanie he'd left behind that last night, smelling of cedar and expensive cologne. She should throw it away. Instead, she sometimes pressed it to her face, inhaling memories of their laugh-wine conversations, his hands on her waist, the way he'd looked at her across crowded bars.

"You're my vitamin," he'd whispered once, half-asleep. "Everything I didn't know I needed."

Turned out, what he needed was access to her security clearance.

The buzzing stopped. Then started again, insistent.

Maya answered.

"They know," Marcus whispered, voice crackling across three thousand miles. "Maya, they know everything."

"Who?"

"Everyone. Nexus, the FBI, the people who hired me. I set you up to take the fall."

The vitamin bottles on her desk blurred through tears. "Why tell me now?"

"Because," he said, "because you were the only real thing."

Then silence.

Maya deleted his number, swept the vitamins into the trash, and finally understood: in spy versus spy, the only thing that gets hurt is what they pretended to feel.