The Corporate Soothsayer

The Las Vegas convention center air conditioning hummed against Marcus's neck as he stood before the pyramid scheme—literally. The Luxor's glass apex loomed above him, corporate attendees streaming toward the entrance like worshippers at a temple they didn't believe in.

His iPhone buzzed. Sarah. Again.

"You coming to the mixer?" her text read. "HR's doing team-building exercises."

Marcus typed back: "Need air. Be there soon."

He wasn't coming. Not yet.

The woman in the fortune teller booth beckoned with long fingers. Her hat was velvet, deep purple, inappropriate for the Nevada desert but perfect for her role. She'd set up shop between the slot machines and the conference hall, capturing wandering executives like a spider in a web.

"Your palm," she said, not asking. Commanding.

Marcus hesitated, then extended his hand. "This is ridiculous."

"Senior VP by thirty-five," she murmured, tracing the lines. "Division head by forty. CEO at fifty." Her eyes met his. "But your hair falls out at forty-two from stress. Your first marriage ends in eight years. Your second ends in six."

Marcus pulled his hand back. "How did you—"

"I see the pyramid you're climbing." She leaned forward. "The question is: what's at the top?"

His phone lit up again. Sarah. "Marcus? Everything okay?"

He stared at her message, then at the fortune teller's knowing smile. Yesterday, in the hotel elevator, Sarah had brushed against him. Accidental. Maybe. The way she'd looked up, her eyes lingering on his, the way his heart had hammered against his ribs—none of it accidental.

He was thirty-three. Senior VP. On track. Everything the pyramid demanded.

"What do you see?" Marcus asked quietly.

"You're already at the top," she said. "You just don't know it yet."

His phone buzzed continuously now. Sarah. His boss. The corporate team. The pyramid's demands never stopped.

Marcus dropped his phone into his pocket. He didn't pick it up again.

Three months later, he married Sarah on a beach in Bali, far from any pyramid. His hair was starting to thin at the temples, but she ran her fingers through it anyway and said she loved how it felt.

Some fortunes you have to write yourself.