Green Leaves at the Top

The corporate pyramid stretched endlessly above Elena—nine floors of mahogany and glass, each level more rarefied than the last. She'd spent fifteen years climbing it, her knees scraping against every rung, and now she stood in the executive dining room, finally invited to the table where decisions were made.

'You have to try the spinach,' Marcus said, gesturing with his wine glass. 'Organic. From the CEO's personal farm.' He was senior partner now, though Elena remembered when he'd been the guy who stole her yogurt from the breakroom fridge. People changed. Or maybe they just revealed who they'd always been.

She speared a leaf. It tasted like victory, or what she imagined victory might taste like—bitter, metallic, somehow insufficient.

'The succession pool has narrowed to three candidates,' Sarah continued, not looking up from her phone. 'Marcus, you're at 2-1. David's trailing. And there's been some action on Elena.' She smiled, and it wasn't friendly. 'Long odds, but someone's betting on you.'

The office betting pool. Elena had participated for years, wagering pocket change on layoffs and promotions like they were horse races. Now she was the horse. Somewhere, junior associates were calculating her worth, reducing decades to decimals.

She swallowed the spinach. It stuck in her teeth, a tiny green flag surrendering to no one.

'Marcus,' she said, her voice steady, 'remember when we both interviewed for that analyst position? You told me you believed in meritocracy.' She took a sip of wine. 'I just placed ten thousand dollars on David.'

The table went quiet. The pyramid above them seemed to tremble.

'Someone has to win,' she said. 'And I've learned enough to know it's never about who deserves it.' She stood up, smoothing her skirt. 'It's about who can afford to walk away.'

Outside, the city lights flickered like stars seen from the bottom of a deep pool. Elena hailed a cab and finally breathed.