The Betting Pool

Elena stared at the spreadsheet, the numbers blurring together. The office betting pool had reached three thousand dollars — everyone wagering on who would survive the next round of layoffs. Her name appeared twice on the list, someone hedging their bets.

The company pool party was supposed to boost morale. Instead, it felt like a funeral reception for careers not yet dead. Elena stood by the edge of the indoor pool, watching the water distort the ceiling fixtures into writhing snakes. She'd been coming here during lunch breaks, sitting in the humidity, trying to remember why she'd wanted this job in the first place.

"You look like you're contemplating drowning yourself," a voice said behind her.

She turned. David, her boss of five years, held two drinks. His fedora — the ridiculous vintage hat he'd worn to every casual Friday since she'd known him — sat crooked on his head. The hat had become his trademark, a shield of eccentricity that made people underestimate him.

"Just thinking," she said, accepting the drink he offered. "Did you put money on me staying or going?"

David's expression shifted. He set his drink on a table and removed his hat, running fingers through thinning hair. "The real pool isn't the betting one, Elena. It's the pool of candidates they're headhunting from outside. They're cleaning house."

"So I should start packing."

"No." He placed the hat on her head. It was too large, slipping down over her eyes. "You should start leading. I'm retiring. Effective immediately."

She pushed the hat up, staring at him. "What?"

"I've been training you for five years, Elena. The betting pool, the layoffs — it's all theater. They want to see who steps up when things get bad. You're the only one who hasn't folded."

The water rippled as someone jumped in, distant and irrelevant. Elena adjusted the hat, suddenly understanding the weight of it.

"But my name was on the betting sheet," she said.

"Twice," David smiled. "I put both those entries in. I had a thousand dollars on you not giving up."

She looked at her reflection in the dark water: a woman wearing a dead man's hat, about to become exactly who she needed to be.

"What happens to the pool money?" she asked.

"It's yours. You're the one who stayed."

The water settled, calm at last. Elena picked up her drink, the ice clinking like beginning of something. "Then drinks are on me."