The Bull's Last Charge

The bull sat on Marcus's desk—a brass paperweight, heavy and imposing, much like the man himself. Elena stared at it across the mahogany expanse of his office, her Vitamix at home still running through her morning smoothie routine, untouched. She'd stopped caring about her vitamin regimen three months ago, around the time Marcus started coming home late smelling of vanilla and expensive scotch.

"The merger's happening," Marcus said, not looking up from his tablet. "I need you to sign the NDA."

Elena's fingers traced the edge of her chair. Running the company's legal department for eight years had taught her to spot the lies before they left people's mouths. The merger wasn't a merger—it was a liquidation. Marcus was selling out, leaving shareholders with nothing while he parachuted into his next venture.

"What about the employees?" she asked.

Marcus finally looked at her, his eyes flat. "They'll find other work. It's just business, Elena."

Just business. The same words he'd used when she discovered his affair with the junior account manager. The same bullshit excuse.

She stood up, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. Outside, rain streaked the floor-to-ceiling windows. She thought about the marathon she'd been training for—how she'd been running for months, trying to outrun the hollow feeling in her chest. No vitamin or supplement could fix what was broken.

"I'm not signing anything," she said, dropping the pen on his desk. It rolled against the bull paperweight and stopped.

Marcus laughed, short and sharp. "You think you matter? You think anyone will believe you over me?"

Elena smiled, and for the first time in years, she meant it. "I think the SEC might be interested in your offshore accounts. The ones you thought I didn't know about."

The bull seemed to grow heavier between them. Some charges, once set in motion, couldn't be stopped. Elena walked out, her stride long and purposeful, finally running toward something instead of away.