Drowning at the Top

The pool table in the breakroom had seen better decades. The green felt was pockmarked with cigarette burns from before the ban, a history of desperate middle managers blowing off steam between meetings. Elena chalked her cue, the blue dust settling on her charcoal blazer like ash on a funeral pyre.

"Your shot, El," Marcus said, not looking up from his phone. He was texting his wife again. They all were, constantly, like their marriages depended on the same frantic maintenance as their quarterly projections.

"I'm building the pyramid," she said, arranging the balls in the triangle. "Slow. Methodical. Perfect alignment."

"That's not how you play pool."

"No," she said, striking the break. Balls scattered everywhere, chaos from order. "But it's how we got here."

The company had reorganized last month into what HR called a "dynamic pyramid structure" — which meant five layers of management above them, three below, and everyone climbing over everyone else to move up a level. Elena's team had been dissolved, reformed, dissolved again. Her employees were now Marcus's direct reports, and she'd been demoted to "strategic advisor," a title that meant no reports and lots of meetings about meetings.

She pocketed two solids, then missed the third intentionally. The water cooler — a corporate cliché, but real nonetheless — glugged in the corner. She remembered the layoffs three years ago, watching security escort people out while the rest of them stood at that same cooler, murmuring condolences they didn't feel, grateful it wasn't them. The building felt like it was underwater sometimes, pressure mounting, oxygen thinning.

"Your wife's not coming tonight, is she?" Elena asked.

Marcus's thumb froze. "She's — she's reconsidering the marriage counselor recommendation."

"The one from HR's approved list?" Elena laughed bitterly. "They outsource everything now. Even our emotional support."

She lined up another shot, her reflection ghosting in the window behind Marcus. Beyond it, the city sprawled, lights flickering on in the dusk. Somewhere in that sprawl, her apartment sat empty. Her daughter had left for college in September, and the silence had been so profound she'd started leaving the television on just to hear voices.

"You know what a pyramid scheme needs?" she said, sinking the eight ball cleanly.

"What?"

"Water," she said. "To keep flowing. To keep drowning the new people so the old ones can stay above surface. That's all this is, Marcus. We're just waiting to see who sinks first."

Marcus set down his phone. Outside, it began to rain, water streaking the glass like tears they didn't know how to cry anymore. He picked up his cue.

"Rack 'em," he said. "We've got another three hours before the night shift. Let's pretend this matters."