Dead Man Swimming

Marcus swam laps at 3 AM because the water was the only place the weight didn't follow him. Up there, in the air, he was a zombie—moving through days he couldn't remember, speaking words he didn't mean, collecting a paycheck that felt like blood money. Down here, beneath the chlorine surface, the silence was honest.

He was a senior analyst at Sterling & Chase now. The bull market had been raging for three years, and Marcus had ridden it straight into the ground. His spreadsheets predicted movements in pharmaceutical stocks, movements that sometimes seemed too prescient. Insider information, they called it. Marcus called it the only thing keeping him from drowning in debt and sleepless nights.

The spy had come to his apartment two weeks ago. Not a woman in a red dress with a European accent, but a man named Chen with tired eyes and a folder full of photographs. "We know about the quarterly reports," Chen had said. "We know who's feeding you information. Either you work with us, or we go to the SEC."

Marcus chose the third option: the nocturnal swim.

He'd grown up in water. His mother had been a mermaid in a tourist trap aquarium, swimming eight hours a day in a chlorinated tank while tourists banged on the glass. She'd died at forty-five, her skin tasting of chemicals. Marcus sometimes wondered if he was trying to reach her through all this blue.

The pool lights flickered. Another late-night swimmer entered the water—a woman with stroke so smooth she barely made a ripple. They swam in parallel, synchronized in their insomnia. After twenty minutes, she surfaced.

"You're the analyst from Sterling," she said. It wasn't a question.

Marcus treaded water. The bull market had made him recognizable. "Used to be."

"My brother works in compliance. He says someone's feeding information to a hedge fund. Says they're building a case."

Marcus stared at the pool tiles. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I've been swimming with you for two weeks," she said. "And because Chen works for me."

She extended a hand. "Elena. Department of Justice."

Marcus took it. His fingers were pruned from the water. For the first time in months, he didn't feel like he was underwater.

"I'll need immunity," he said.

"We can discuss that over coffee."

He pulled himself from the pool, dripping and alive. The zombie was beginning to wake.