Liquid Assets

The market had been in a bull run for three years when Marcus found himself standing in his ex-wife's living room, staring at her goldfish. The orange fish swam in tight, desperate circles, its mouth opening and closing like it was trying to speak.

"He needs fresh water twice a week," Elena said, not looking up from her iPhone. "And don't overfeed him. That's how you killed the last one."

Marcus felt the familiar tightening in his chest—the same sensation he'd felt when his position started hemorrhaging at dawn, when he'd watched his portfolio evaporate in real time on multiple screens. Now here he was, the loser husband, reduced to fish-sitter duty while his marriage floated belly-up.

"I didn't kill him," Marcus said. "He had swim bladder disease."

"You overfed him because you felt guilty about being gone." Elena finally looked at him, her eyes flat and exhausted. "Just like everything else."

The cat—a scarred tomcat she'd taken in after the divorce—jumped onto the counter and regarded Marcus with what looked like genuine contempt. Marcus wondered if the cat knew something he didn't.

He reached for the fish bowl instead of answering. The water was cloudy, tinged with something that looked suspiciously like regret. Or maybe that was just the light.

"Marcus," Elena said softly. "Why did you sell my shares?"

The question hung between them like smoke. He'd liquidated her portfolio the day after she asked for separation, convinced the bull market was about to turn. He'd been right—the market had crashed two weeks later. But now her money was sitting in cash, losing value to inflation, and she was stuck in this apartment she couldn't afford to leave.

"I was protecting you," he said, though even as the words left his mouth, they felt hollow. "The indicators—"

"You were controlling me," she corrected. "You always do it. You think because you understand the mechanics of things, you understand the mechanics of people."

The goldfish surfaced, gulping air. Marcus watched its gills flare, thinking about liquidity, about how some things drown in exactly what they need to survive.

"I'll change the water," he said.

Elena's phone buzzed. She didn't answer. She just watched the fish swim its endless loop, as if waiting for it to finally break through to the other side of the glass. The cat began to purr, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to say: This is your life now. Get used to it.