Supplements and Sabotage

Marco swallowed his daily vitamin cocktail with lukewarm water, the chemical aftertaste reminding him of everything fake in his life. At forty-two, he'd become someone he never planned to be: a corporate spy trading in other people's innovations.

The padel club was his latest assignment—a glittering glass-walled palace where the tech elite traded secrets between volleys. He'd been hired by NutriCorp to infiltrate VitaLife's R&D division, and the padel court was his battlefield. Three weeks of cultivated friendship with Stefan, VitaLife's chief scientist, had earned him a regular Sunday game.

"Your backhand's improved," Stefan called out, sweat dripping as they switched sides. The water in Marco's bottle sloshed with each movement, a reminder of his growing thirst for authenticity.

"Working on it." Marco laughed, gripping his racket tighter. "Almost ready to beat you."

Stefan's phone buzzed during the next break. "The wife." He smiled, but his eyes didn't reach the corners. "Always checking if I remembered my vitamins. She's obsessed with that new anti-aging formula VitaLife's developing."

Marco's pulse quickened. This was it—the opening he'd been hunting. "The longevity supplement? Heard rumors. Revolutionary stuff."

Stefan stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Between us? It's bullshit. Just expensive water and placebo. But the marketing budget? Thirty million."

The revelation hit Marco like a physical blow. He'd been chasing cutting-edge science, corporate espionage worthy of a thriller. Instead, he'd found another scheme selling false hope to people desperate to believe they could buy more time.

That night, Marco sat on his balcony, staring at his vitamin regimen spread across the table. The same empty promises in expensive packaging. He thought of Stefan's wife, of his own mother buying into the dream, of all of them grasping at immortality while life kept flowing away like water through cupped hands.

He typed his resignation to NutriCorp, then another to VitaLife. In the morning, he would tell Stefan everything.

The padel court would still be there on Sunday. But this time, Marco would show up as himself—no rackets, no racket, no games.