The Fox at the Table

The spinach had been stuck in Marcus's teeth for twenty minutes. Elena watched it as he leaned across the linen tablecloth, describing quarterly projections with the same rehearsed enthusiasm he'd used during his sales pitch six years ago. Back then, she'd found his ambition charming. Now she just wondered if he knew the green fleck was there, or if he was too busy pretending to be someone he wasn't to notice.

"The board is going to love this," Marcus said, oblivious. "If we can close the deal with Fox Industries by Friday—"

"Fox," Elena repeated. The name caught in her throat like glass.

Marcus's phone buzzed against his water glass. He didn't check it. The third time, Elena reached across and read the notification: *Encrypted message received. Source: FOX.*

"Since when does Fox Industries use encrypted messaging?" Elena asked, her voice steady despite the cold blooming in her chest.

Marcus's hand hovered over his phone. "Corporate security. You know how it is."

"No, I don't." Elena remembered the hat she'd found in his study last week—fedora style, expensive, smelling of cologne she didn't recognize. She'd told herself it was a gift for his father. Now she wasn't so sure of anything.

"I met someone," Marcus said quietly.

The restaurant noise seemed to stop. A spy for the competition. That's what he was. Or was Fox Industries the competition? The distinction suddenly seemed irrelevant.

"How long?" she asked, though she already knew. The late nights, the sudden business trips, the way he'd stopped looking at her like she was the only person in the room.

"Eight months." He looked at his plate. "They recruited me last year. Corporate espionage, Elena. They wanted insider information on our merger discussions."

She laughed, a sharp, surprised sound. "You're a spy? You? You can't even remember to floss."

"It's not like the movies," he said, wounded. "There's paperwork. NDAs. Bonuses."

"And the woman?"

"My handler."

Elena signaled for the check. The spinach was still there, mocking her. A small, green reminder that she'd been looking at the wrong thing all along—focused on the details while her entire marriage had been stolen out from under her.

"You know what's funny," she said, standing up. "I thought you were having an affair. I almost wish you had been. At least that would be about us. This—" she gestured between them, "this is just business."

She left him there with the spinach and the check. Outside, the city lights blurred through unshed tears. She would find a lawyer tomorrow. Tonight, she just needed to remember who she was before she became someone's cover story.