Terminal Velocity

The CAT scan lay on the mahogany desk like a death sentence. Stage four pancreatic. Three months, maybe six with treatment.

Mara sat across from me, her face a mask of professional concern that didn't quite reach her eyes. We'd been best friends since business school, survived two startups and one disastrous marriage between us. Now she was proposing something that made the diagnosis seem like a footnote.

"The zombie companies," she said, sliding a file across the desk. "The ones everyone thinks are dead but are still walking? Carlisle Industries is about to announce a breakthrough in autoimmune treatment. Their stock is sitting at $3 because nobody believes they're viable anymore. But I have inside information."

I stared at her. "You're my fucking compliance officer."

"I'm also your friend. And you're dying, David. What do you care about ethics anymore?"

She'd found the chink in my armor. The existential dread had been eating me alive since the diagnosis. But this—this was insider trading, securities fraud, everything I'd spent my career fighting against.

"How did you get this?"

"I've been sleeping with their lead researcher for six months." She said it without flinching. "I'm a corporate spy, David. I've been one for three years. This operation alone has netted me four million dollars."

The room felt suddenly small. My best friend, the person I trusted most in the world, had been living a double life. And now she wanted to drag me into it with three months left to live.

"What's the angle?"

"We go all in. Bull put options, leveraged to the hilt. When the announcement drops, we walk away with eight figures each. You can leave something for your daughter. Something that won't get eaten by medical bills."

The cat I'd inherited from my ex-wife jumped onto the desk and brushed against the file, purring obliviously. Such a small, warm thing in a conversation that felt like it was stripping my soul bare.

I looked at Mara—really looked at her—and saw the stranger she'd become. "And what happens to the researcher when the SEC starts asking questions?"

She hesitated just a second. "He knows the risks. We all do."

I thought about my daughter, about the medical debt that would leave her with nothing. About three months of dignity versus a lifetime of guilt.

"No," I said. "I'd rather die broke than as a thief."

Mara stood up, collected her file, and looked at me with something like pity. "That's the difference between us, David. You always thought there were rules."

After she left, I picked up the cat and held him close. In three months, I'd be gone. But at least I'd still be myself when the end came.