The Analyst's Vitamin

Elena adjusted her fedora, the brim catching the fluorescent office lights. She'd started wearing the hat again after the divorce—a small armor against the world. At 42, she shouldn't need armor, but corporate espionage had a way of making you feel exposed.

The vitamin supplements sat on her desk, a regimented row of amber promises. Vitamin D for her windowless existence, B-complex for the stress, fish oil because her cardiologist was insistent. Her assistant Marcus had commented on them once—how organized she was, how together.

Now she knew better.

Three weeks ago, Elena had discovered Marcus was the spy. Not the glamorous kind—no trench coats or dead drops—but something worse: corporate mole, feeding proprietary research to their competitor. He'd been doing it for years, all while asking about her weekend, remembering her coffee order, borrowing her pen.

The betrayal hit harder than it should. They weren't friends. But in the fifteen-hour days, the shared victories, the collective exhaustion of quarterly crunches, he'd become something like family.

Now her stomach couldn't bear solid food. The vitamins sat untouched. Her doctor had called it "stress-induced gastritis" and prescribed rest, but rest wasn't an option when your career was exploding around you.

The security team had given her a choice: press charges or let him walk with a reference. They needed a clean narrative for shareholders. She chose the latter, though Marcus never knew her role in his fate.

He came by her desk yesterday to clear his things. The hat stayed on her head, but she couldn't meet his eyes.

"Leaving?" she'd asked, though she knew.

"Time for something new." He'd paused. "You should take care of yourself, Elena. Those vitamins won't do any good in the bottle."

She'd frozen. Had he known? Was it one final manipulation, or genuine concern from the man who'd lied to her for three years?

This morning, she swallowed the pills. The hat stayed on, but her hands shook as she typed. Some days you bear the weight of your survival alone.