Running from the Pyramid

The bull market had been good to Marcus—too good. That's what the SEC agent said, anyway, as she sat in his office with her lightning-quick eyes dissecting his life's work. Marcus kept running his finger along the rim of his coffee cup, watching the cream swirl into abstract shapes.

"It's not a pyramid scheme," Marcus said, for the thousandth time. "It's a... hierarchical investment opportunity."

The agent—Sarah—smiled, thin and predatory. "That's what they all say, Marcus. But pyramids have a way of crumbling."

Outside, thunder rattled the windows. Rain streaked the glass like tears on a drunk's face. Marcus thought about David—his friend, his protégé, the one who'd brought him the initial pitch five years ago. David was dead now. Heart attack at thirty-four, though the rumors said something else entirely. Something involving a bottle of pills and a very long drop.

"David believed in it," Marcus said softly.

"David made twenty million dollars off people who couldn't afford to lose five hundred," Sarah countered. "Your friend recruited his own mother, Marcus. She lost her retirement."

The lightning flashed, illuminating the fake Picassos on Marcus's walls. He'd bought them with the bonus from their best quarter. The best quarter, coincidentally, the same quarter David's mother lost everything.

"I was running the numbers," Marcus said, his voice cracking. "They worked. They always worked."

"Until they didn't." Sarah stood up, smoothing her skirt. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to help us dismantle it. Or you're going to join the others in taking the fall."

Marcus looked at her—really looked at her—and saw the same hunger in her eyes that he'd seen in the mirror every morning for five years. The hunger that could never be satisfied, the pyramid that always needed more bodies at its base.

"What if I told you I was thinking the same thing?" Marcus asked. "What if I told you I've been running from this since David died?"

Sarah's expression didn't change, but something flickered behind her eyes. Understanding? Recognition?

"Then I'd say," she said, "that lightning finally struck."