The Corporate Tomb

Maya stared at the corporate org chart on her screen—a perfect pyramid of power with her name somewhere near the bottom, buried under layers of middle management she'd never met. Her iPhone buzzed again. Sarah, texting from thirty floors above.

"Coffee? I need to tell you something."

They'd been friends since orientation day, two weeks ago. The kind of friendship forged in shared confusion and free cafeteria coffee. But Sarah had been promoted to senior analyst last Tuesday. The pyramid had claimed another climber.

Maya grabbed her phone and headed to the elevator, stepping into the mirrored box that carried them up and down like ancient priests ascending a temple. The symbolism wasn't lost on her—this whole building was a monument to ambition, glass and steel reaching toward a heaven that never seemed to open.

Sarah was already at their usual corner table, laptop open, eyes red.

"They want me to fire you," Sarah said before Maya could sit. "By end of week."

The air left the room. Maya gripped her phone so hard her knuckles turned white.

"But we're—"

"Friends?" Sarah's laugh was sharp, broken. "In this building, friendship is just leverage you haven't used yet. I tried to fight it. I really did."

Maya looked at her—really looked at her. The designer bag Sarah couldn't afford before the promotion. The new watch. The carefully curated exhaustion that said I'm important enough to suffer.

"Did you get a bonus?" Maya asked quietly.

Sarah didn't answer. That was answer enough.

"You know what's funny?" Maya stood up, her phone still clutched in her hand like a weapon. "Ancient Egyptians built pyramids too. They buried their pharaohs with everything they'd need in the afterlife. Servants. Food. Gold."

She leaned across the table. "But you know what they didn't bury them with? Friends. Because the dead don't need friends."

"Maya, please—"

"Keep the promotion, Sarah. Keep the pyramid." Maya walked toward the door, her thumb hovering over her phone screen. "I'm going to go find the living.

Outside, the sun hit her face, and for the first time in two years, she didn't check her notifications.