Poolside with the Falling Dollar

Elena adjusted the brim of her straw hat against the merciless Vegas sun, the third gin and tonic sweating onto the mosaic table beside her. The CEO retreat weekend. Of course they'd chosen a pool with underwater speakers playing ambient jazz.

"You're missing the presentation," Marcus said, dropping into the lounge chair beside her. His polo shirt was embroidered with the hedge fund's bull logo—a creature that had been goring her sleep for six months. "They're announcing the new strategy."

"The bear strategy," Elena said, swirling her glass. "Short everything, hope for recession, profit from pain. I heard the whispers."

Marcus stared at her over his sunglasses. "We're not the bad guys, El. We're just—"

"Riding the waves? Tell that to the pension fund we liquidated yesterday." She gestured toward the pool, where a drunk analyst was attempting to climb onto a flamingo inflatable. "Look at them. Celebrating another quarter of betting against the American dream."

"You used to love this job," Marcus said softly.

"I used to love making money. Now I just make it move from people who need it to people who already have too much." Elena removed her hat, letting her silver-streaked hair catch the desert light. "My daughter asked me what I do for work yesterday. I told her I help important people make decisions. She asked if I help people like her grandmother, who can't afford her meds."

The silence stretched between them, heavy and unbroken.

"I'm leaving," Elena said. "Monday, I'm done."

Marcus exhaled slowly. "They'll claw back your bonus."

"Good." She stood up, the familiar weight of expectation finally lifting. "I hear the community college needs accounting instructors. The pay's terrible, but I might actually sleep at night."

"You're serious." Marcus removed his sunglasses for the first time.

"Never more." Elena placed her hat on the table, hat like a period at the end of a very long, very expensive sentence. "Enjoy the bear market, Marcus. I'm going to learn how to float."