Riddles at Dusk

The pool was empty when Marcus slipped into the water, the desert air still warm against his face. Swimming laps in the Cairo hotel at dusk had become his ritual — a way to exhaust himself enough to sleep, to avoid thinking about everything he'd left behind.

He'd come here with David, his best friend and business partner of fifteen years. They were supposed to be celebrating their startup's acquisition, the culmination of years of 80-hour weeks and missed anniversaries. Instead, Marcus had come alone.

The Sphinx had been David's idea. He'd always been obsessed with riddles, with secrets. "It's not about the answer," David would say, grinning over his whiskey. "It's about the question."

That was before Marcus discovered the pyramid scheme David had been running within their company — not the illegal kind, but something more insidious. David had been siphoning off client accounts, building his own exit fund. When Marcus confronted him, David hadn't even denied it. He'd just smiled that infuriating smile and said, "You always were too literal, Marc. That's why I'm the idea guy."

Now Marcus floated on his back, staring up at the darkening sky. The next morning, he would fly to the IRS with his documentation. His friend would likely go to prison. Their company would dissolve. Marcus would probably never work in tech again.

He wondered if the Sphinx ever felt tired of its own riddles. If it ever wished someone would just walk away instead of trying to solve it.

He climbed out of the pool, water dripping onto the stone tiles. His phone lit up with a message from David: See you tomorrow, brother. Drinks at sunset?

Marcus typed, deleted, retyped. Finally: Can't wait.

He set the phone down and watched the pyramids in the distance, dark shapes against a violet horizon. Some riddles you solved. Some you survived. And some you simply swam through, hoping you'd reach the other side before you drowned.