Palm Reader

The palm tree outside Elena's window swayed like a drunk man at a wedding, its fronds scraping against the glass. She should have been reviewing the quarterly reports. Instead, she was watching Carlos in the reflection of her monitor.

He'd been with the company three weeks. Too cheerful. Too helpful.

Elena found the first gray hair at thirty-two. Plucked it. Found another the next day. Stress, her mother said. Elena knew better. It was the accumulation of small betrayals—the way her boss claimed credit for her work, the way her friends drifted into marriages and mortgages, leaving her behind. And now, possibly, the spy in her department.

Someone had accessed files they shouldn't have. Elena had traced it to Carlos's login credentials. But that was too easy. He was sloppy. No real spy would be that sloppy.

Unless he wanted her to find it.

She pressed her palm against the cool glass of the window, staring down at the street eight floors below. The palm tree cast a long shadow across the sidewalk. She'd never trusted people who made everything look effortless.

"You're going to burn a hole in his back," said Mariana, rolling her chair over. "He's just a guy, Elena. Not everyone has an agenda."

"He left his palm print on my glass yesterday." Elena pointed to the water cooler. "Right here. Like he was leaning in, listening to my calls."

Mariana sighed. "You need sleep. Or therapy. Or both."

Elena waited until the office emptied. At 7 PM, she swiped her badge and entered Carlos's workstation. His calendar was open. Tomorrow: "Meeting with Elena—discuss concerns."

He knew.

She sat in his chair, the leather still warm. On his desk, a photograph: Carlos, arms around a woman who looked familiar. Elena flipped it over. "They're watching us both. We need to talk. —M"

The woman was Mariana.

Back at her desk, Elena found an envelope in her bag. Inside, a single hair. Gray. Wrapped around a palm-sized card with a phone number.

She looked up. The palm tree was still swaying, indifferent to the small lives playing out beneath it. Her phone buzzed. Unknown caller.

Sometimes you think you're the one doing the hunting. Sometimes you're just another animal in the forest, leaving tracks for someone else to follow.

She answered.