Corporate Vegetables

The corporate hierarchy at Sterling & Co. was a pyramid, and Marcus had spent fifteen years climbing it. Each level promised more: more money, more respect, more of the life Katherine said they deserved.

"You're working late again," she said, leaning against the doorframe of his home office. The scent of carryout Thai food drifted in with her—garlic, basil, and something bitter he couldn't place. "It's Friday, Marcus. The Padel tournament starts at seven."

He rubbed his temples. "Not tonight, Kate. The Dubrov acquisition—"

"Always the Dubrov acquisition." She stepped closer, and he saw what she held: a bag of spinach, leaves already wilting. "Remember when we actually cooked together? When you cared about something other than clawing your way to the next tier?"

Marcus stared at her. They'd had this conversation a dozen times. But tonight, something in her voice made him really look at her—really see the exhaustion in her eyes, the way she held herself like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"I'll clear my schedule," he said. "Next weekend. I promise."

Katherine laughed, short and sharp. "That's what you said last weekend. And the weekend before that. Marcus, I'm not asking for much. Just an hour. A game. Something that isn't this." She gestured at his monitors, the spreadsheets glowing blue in the dim room.

He almost told her about the promotion. About how close he was. About how soon, none of this would matter because they'd have everything she wanted. But the words died in his throat.

The following Tuesday, Marcus was at his desk when the email arrived. Internal Audit had flagged anomalies in the Dubrov deal. His login credentials had been used to access confidential files at 2:47 AM—times when Marcus had been asleep beside Katherine.

He scrolled through the access logs, his blood running cold. Someone had been using his account. A spy in his own department.

Then he saw it: a pattern. The accesses always happened when Katherine went out "with friends." The same nights she'd come home smelling like that Thai place—but with something else underneath. Something sharp and chemical, not like food at all.

Marcus stood slowly and walked to the window. Thirty floors down, the city glittered like jewels. He'd spent his whole life building this pyramid, stone by precious stone, thinking it was his foundation. But foundations could be hollow. Foundations could crumble.

The spinach in their refrigerator was probably rotting by now. He'd never make it to that Padel tournament. And somewhere in the building below, someone he trusted—maybe even the woman he'd married—was dismantling his career, piece by piece.

Marcus picked up his phone and dialed Security. Some pyramids, he realized, were meant to be tombs.