Lightning Strikes the Bull

The thunderstorm rolled in just as the market bell closed, and Sarah's iPhone illuminated the darkened trading floor with its brutal red numbers. Down 400 points. Her portfolio, her boss's portfolio, her clients' portfolios—all bleeding out in synchronized devastation. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, lightning forked across the Chicago skyline like cracks in reality itself.

"You should've seen it coming," David said, appearing beside her desk with that familiar smirk. He'd positioned himself short on tech stocks three weeks ago, riding the bear market while everyone else drowned. "Bull runs don't last forever, Sarah."

The way he said her name—like he was tasting something expensive—made her stomach twist. They'd been sleeping together for six months, a secret arrangement conducted in hotel rooms and after-hours offices. David was married to the Managing Director's daughter. Sarah was just senior enough to be dangerous, just junior enough to be disposable.

"I wasn't talking about the market," she said, her voice tight. She gestured toward the storm outside. Another lightning strike, impossibly bright, illuminated the bronze bull statue in the plaza below—their industry's arrogant totem of endless growth. "Everything ends."

He stepped closer, his hand brushing her waist beneath the camouflage of their standing desks. "Not everything."

But she was already pulling away. Her phone buzzed—an incoming message from his wife. Sarah had never met her, didn't even know if the woman suspected. The message contained only a photograph: David, some other woman, caught in hotel lobby security footage. Not Sarah. Someone younger. Someone newer.

The bear had eaten the bull, and the bull had never even seen it coming.

"David," she said, turning fully toward him as lightning crashed again, close enough that the building hummed. "I think your wife just sent me something interesting."

His face went still in that way predators have when they realize they've become prey. Behind him, the trading screens glowed red, reflecting in his widening pupils like an oncoming train. Outside, the storm broke, rain washing across the glass in sheets, while the bronze bull below continued its silent, metallic charge toward nothing at all.