Goldfish in the Bear's Den

The bear market had taken everything—his portfolio, his confidence, his ability to sleep through the night. Elias stood on the balcony of his foreclosure-notice apartment, staring at the palm fronds swaying in the California twilight like desperate hands reaching for something they couldn't name.

"You're going to fall out there."

He didn't turn. Mara's voice still had that effect on him—like a reflex he couldn't unlearn. They hadn't been lovers, but they'd been something once. A friend who'd seen him at his worst, which, as it turned out, was substantially worse than he'd imagined possible.

"The fall's not the problem," Elias said. "It's the landing."

She joined him at the railing, her shoulder brushing his. Three years of corporate dinners and sealed deals and pretending her husband wasn't embezzling company funds into offshore accounts. The bull, they'd called him on Wall Street. Richard was going to prison now. The evidence had been irrefutable, and Mara had been the one to gather it.

"I got a tattoo," she said.

Elias finally looked at her. Really looked. The expensive blazer was gone, replaced by a linen shirt that cost more than his car. She looked exhausted in a way that money couldn't fix.

"Let me guess. A dragon? A butterfly? 'I survived'?"

She pulled up her sleeve. On her inner wrist, a tiny goldfish swam through invisible water, its scales rendered in careful detail that must have hurt like hell.

"Goldfish have a three-second memory," she said. "I wanted something that wouldn't remember."

The sun was setting now, painting the smog over Los Angeles in shades of bruised purple and wounded orange. Somewhere below, the city kept moving, indifferent to their small tragedies.

"Richard's lawyer called," Elias said. "They're offering a deal."

Mara traced the goldfish with her thumb. "I know. I told them to file it under 'things I don't give a shit about.'"

"You destroyed him."

"He destroyed himself. I just handed him the shovel."

Her palm was warm when she took his hand, her fingers interlacing with his like she'd been doing it for years. The bear market would eventually turn. The bull would return, because that was how the system worked—cycles of ruin and redemption that meant everything and nothing at all.

"Come inside," she said. "I ordered Thai food. And I'm not leaving until you've eaten something."

Elias let her pull him toward the sliding glass door. The goldfish on her wrist caught the light as they stepped inside, its tiny painted mouth open in a silent scream that looked almost like a smile.

Some things, he realized, were worth remembering after all.