The Fox at Midnight

The whiskey burned going down—exactly what Elena needed. Across the scarred oak table, Marcus still had that infuriating calm, like he hadn't just spent three years systematically dismantling everything she'd built.

"You're a spy," she said, not bothering to keep the bitterness from her voice. "Corporate espionage. That's what you've become."

Marcus swirled his drink, the ice clinking softly. "I prefer 'competitive intelligence.' And technically, I work for your biggest competitor now. Same as you work for theirs. It's just business, El."

"We were friends," she said. "Twenty years. College roommates, maid of honor at each other's weddings. I introduced you to Sarah."

"Sarah who's currently sleeping with her tennis instructor," Marcus said, and something in Elena's face must have shown, because he winced. "Sorry. That was below the belt."

Elena stood up, chair scraping against the floor. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of her corner office, the city sprawled like a cancer of lights. Forty-seven stories up, and somehow she still felt small.

"You're fired, Marcus. Effective immediately. I'll have security escort you out."

"You won't," he said, standing too. "Because I know about the offshore accounts. The ones your predecessor set up. The ones you never reported to the board."

Elena went cold. "How?"

"I'm good at my job." He reached into his jacket, and for one terrifying second, she thought—gun? But he only pulled out a folded piece of paper. "I didn't turn this in. Consider it a farewell gift from someone who used to be your friend."

She took it. Her hands were shaking.

"Why?"

"Because you're lonely, El. You're successful and powerful and you haven't had a real conversation with anyone in three years. You needed someone to shake you awake." He walked to the door, then stopped. "And because in another life, I might have loved you."

The door clicked shut behind him.

Elena stood alone in her empire of glass and steel. Something moved outside the window—a flash of russet fur, a bushy tail, bright eyes reflecting the city glow. A fox, perched on the ledge of the forty-seventh floor, watching her through the glass. Impossible. But there it was, wild and lean and utterly unimpressed by her domain.

It tipped its head, almost mocking, and slipped away into the darkness.

Elena sat back down, poured another drink, and began to draft her resignation letter.