The Bullshit Artist

Elena smoothed the vintage baseball cap she'd stolen from Mark's side of the closet—that bastard still had the receipt tucked inside the band, $42.99 from Lids, 2019—and let herself into his office at 2 AM. The security guard had recognized her from the Christmas party. She'd worn the red dress then, too.

The spinach stain on her blouse had been there since dinner with Marcus—no, Mark's name was Mark, she had to stop calling him Marcus, that was her father's name, and wasn't that just fucking hilarious, the way her brain kept replacing one disappointing man with another.

Mark's computer glowed. She clicked through his emails, found the one from HR, the one about the "restructuring." That was corporate for "your husband is about to be fired for embezzlement." She'd found the cable receipts in his gym bag months ago—installations at properties he didn't own, equipment charged to a company credit card.

Her father had been a bull of a man, stubborn and proud and ultimately full of shit. He'd told her, "Marry rich, El. Love doesn't pay the mortgage." So she had, and now she was here, going through her husband's emails at 2 AM like a common criminal, wondering if the pre-nup would hold up in court.

The phone buzzed. Her mother. Probably calling to check on her. After the funeral—her father's, not her marriage; that was still ongoing—her mother had started calling more often. "Just checking in, honey. Just making sure you're eating." Elena had told her about the spinach. About how she'd started cooking healthy, trying to be someone who deserved to be happy. Her mother had laughed. "Your father ate spinach once," she'd said. "Gave him the shits for three days. Said it was a conspiracy."

She packed the laptop into her bag. Let him explain that to HR. Let him explain the offshore accounts and the fake invoices and the lies he'd told her for seven years about who he was and what he did.

The baseball cap smelled like his cologne. She put it on.

Outside, the city hummed. A cable truck idled at the corner. Elena hailed a cab and went home to pack.