Running With the Bulls

The dog lay dead in the parking lot when Marcus arrived at 5 AM. A hit-and-run, probably some junior analyst texting while driving. Marcus stepped over it, adjusting his cufflinks. At 42, he'd learned that sentiment was a luxury he couldn't afford.

Not today. The IPO launch in six hours. The bull market they'd engineered through three years of careful whispers, planted stories, and strategic leaks. A fox in the hedge fund world — that's what the Journal had called him last year. Cunning, ruthless, worth every cent of the twenty-million-dollar bonus.

Inside the office, Sarah was already at her desk. Twenty-seven, brilliant, running circles around the older analysts. She looked like she hadn't slept.

"Your cat died," she said instead of hello. "I saw it on Instagram."

"My parents' cat," Marcus corrected. "I'm fine."

The fox emoji on his phone flashed. Green. The target was moving.

"Sarah, about the prospectus—"

She set her coffee cup down. Hard. "I found the discrepancy, Marcus. The revenue numbers from Q3. They don't match the internal audit."

Marcus felt his chest tighten. Not now. Not from her.

"Those are pro forma adjustments," he said smoothly. "Standard practice."

"It's fraud, Marcus. I have to report it."

He thought of the dog outside. How it probably never saw the car coming. How some things just ended.

"You don't understand what's at stake." His voice dropped. "There are investors. Employees. People who've spent years building this."

"I signed an ethics agreement," she said, but her hands were shaking.

Marcus walked to the window. The city was stirring below. Running toward something, running away — it was all the same in the end.

"Remember your first day?" he asked. "You told me your cat was sick. That you needed this job for the vet bills."

Sarah's face fell.

"I can make sure you never work in this town again," he said softly. "Or you can trust me to fix this. Eventually."

The silence stretched between them like a wire.

"There's a girl," she said finally. "I'm running out of time."

Marcus nodded. "Same meeting next Tuesday. We'll revisit the numbers."

She left. Marcus returned to his desk, pulled up the revenue spreadsheet, and adjusted the numbers. Just enough. Just enough to keep the bull charging through the china shop.

The dog was still outside when he left at midnight. The city services crew hadn't come. Marcus wondered if anyone would notice if he just kept walking.

Instead, he hailed a cab and went home to feed the cat he'd secretly adopted three years ago. Some things, he told himself, were worth protecting.