Exit Interview

Marcus had been running for forty-five minutes when his phone buzzed against the treadmill console. Another unknown number. He let it go to voicemail, just like the last twelve calls.

Three months ago, Elena had sat across from him at that same bar where they'd met five years earlier, sliding a folder across the sticky table. Inside: photos of him meeting with her competitors. She'd hired a private investigator. The irony was almost funny—she'd suspected he was a corporate spy for months, but she never guessed the real truth.

He wasn't spying for anyone. He was spying for himself.

Marcus increased his speed, the rhythm of his sneakers hitting the belt matching the hollow thud in his chest. At 43, he'd spent two decades as one of those zombie employees—the ones who shuffled through open-plan offices with dead eyes, answering emails at midnight, convincing themselves that the next promotion would finally make them feel alive. He'd sold his soul to a company that treated loyalty like a renewable resource.

Then Elena had offered him a way out. Steal their client list, she'd said. Start fresh together. We'll be rich.

He hadn't stolen the client list. He'd stolen something else: the company's off-book accounts, the ones that showed how they'd systematically bankrupted small businesses while their CEO made the rounds on morning shows talking about 'empowering entrepreneurs.' He'd anonymously leaked it all to the press.

Now he was running again—literally, this time. The corporate lawyers wanted him. The FBI wanted to talk. The company wanted him silenced. But for the first time in twenty years, Marcus didn't feel like a zombie. He felt terrified, broke, and completely, devastatingly awake.

His phone buzzed again. This time he stopped the treadmill and answered.

"Mr. Chen?" A woman's voice. "Journalist at the Post. We published your leak today. The stock's down 40%. I wanted to ask—why did you do it?"

Marcus looked at himself in the gym mirror, sweat dripping down his face, finally seeing someone he recognized.

"Because," he said, "I wanted to remember what it felt like to be human."

He hung up and started running again.