Sweating Palms

The padel ball smacked against the glass wall, a sharp crack that echoed in the empty club. Marcus wiped his sweating palms on his shorts, though he knew it wasn't the game making him nervous.

'You're distracted,' Elena said, crushing a forehand winner past him. 'Third point in a row.'

Marcus let his racquet drop. 'I know what you did, Elena.'

She froze, the ball bouncing at her feet. Outside, Barcelona's evening traffic hummed, a distant reminder of the world they'd carefully constructed together over seven years of friendship, of trust, of quarterly projections celebrated over vermouth.

'The audit completed yesterday,' Marcus continued. 'Someone leaked our R&D roadmap to Apex Corp. Three months before launch.' He looked at her — really looked at her. 'The IP addresses match your home network.'

Elena's expression didn't change. She'd been corporate-raised, same as him. Trained to maintain composure during boardroom coups and layoffs. But he saw it — the almost imperceptible tremor in her left hand, the one she'd broken during their ski trip to Zermatt.

'They offered me partnership,' she said quietly. 'Equity. A real stake, not the treadmill.' She met his eyes. 'You know what this promotion meant to me.'

'And me? What about the project? What about—'

'About us?' She laughed bitterly, walking to the net. 'We're not friends, Marcus. We're strategic allies. That's the deal.' She extended her hand across the net. 'But Apex doubles the offer if I bring someone with me. Someone who understands the architecture.'

Marcus stared at her palm — the lifeline she'd once jokingly read at a company retreat, predicting 'seven years of prosperity.' She'd been right. They'd prospered together. Built something. And now she'd calculated the precise moment to dismantle it.

The padel court suddenly felt enormous, a glass aquarium where two sharks had finally stopped circling.

'Do you know why I played padel with you every Thursday?' Marcus asked. 'Because you always play to win, Elena. Even when you're losing.'

'So?' Her hand was still extended.

Marcus didn't take it. He picked up his racquet instead.

'Serve.'