Terminal Velocity

The bear market had eaten Marcus alive. Three years of sixty-hour weeks, and now his portfolio—no, his life—was worth less than he'd started with. He sat in his office on the fortieth floor, staring at the screens that had become his entire world.

'You're going to talk to him?' Sarah asked from the doorway. She was the only friend he had left at the firm, the only one who hadn't jumped ship when the rumors started circulating.

'Miller's waiting,' Marcus said, not turning around. 'He wants his bull back. The one who made him millions in 2019.'

Sarah laughed, a sound sharp as glass. 'Miller doesn't want a bull, Marcus. He wants a scapegoat.'

The truth of it settled in his chest like lead. Miller—the man who'd recruited him straight out of business school, who'd taught him to read between the lines of financial statements, who'd promised him partnership—wasn't interested in loyalty. He was interested in survival.

Marcus stood up, his knees threatening to buckle. He'd been carrying this weight for so long he'd forgotten what it felt like to breathe easily. 'What would you do?' he asked Sarah.

'I'd get out,' she said. 'Before it gets worse.'

He walked past her, down the hallway lined with portraits of successful deals and smiling executives who'd either been fired or retired to islands he couldn't afford to visit. Miller's office was at the end, door open, the older man already on the phone, voice carrying into the corridor.

'—selling the whole division, frankly. No heart in it anymore.'

Marcus stood in the doorway, watching the man who'd been his mentor for six years. Miller waved him in, still talking, still selling something that didn't exist.

'Sit down,' Miller mouthed, covering the phone receiver. 'We need to discuss your future.'

Marcus stood there and realized he didn't want a future that looked like this. Not anymore. He turned around and walked out.

'Where are you going?' Miller called after him.

'Home,' Marcus said. 'To figure out who I am when I'm not hungry anymore.'

He took the elevator down, watching the floor numbers descend, feeling lighter with each one. Outside, the city was bright with possibility, and for the first time in years, he didn't know what came next. He'd survive this. Maybe not elegantly. Maybe not with the life he'd imagined. But he'd survive.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. A message from Sarah: Drinks tonight?

He smiled for the first time all day. Yeah, he typed. Somewhere that doesn't have a TV tuned to CNBC.

The bear market could wait. Marcus was finally learning to hibernate.