The Glass Pyramid

The corporate pyramid stood at forty stories of obsidian glass, reflecting a sky that Arthur hadn't really looked at in seventeen years. Inside his office on the thirty-eighth floor, the only living thing was his daughter's goldfish—left behind when she moved to Portland with her mother, three divorces and two bankruptcies ago.

'I named him Bubbles,' her note had said. 'Don't forget to feed him.'

Arthur didn't forget. The goldfish swam in endless circles in its bowl, a prisoner of clear walls, just like all of them. Just like Arthur.

'Still thinking about taking the buyout?' Marcus stood in the doorway, holding two glasses of scotch like he owned the place. Marcus, his mentor, his friend, the man who'd recruited him into this beautiful pyramid scheme of legal document management software that would revolutionize the industry. The industry nobody needed revolutionized.

'The paperwork is on my desk,' Arthur said, not taking his eyes off the fish. 'Six months severance. Enough time to figure out what happens next.'

Marcus set down the drinks. 'You know what happens next. You disappear, Arthur. Men like us don't just walk away. We either stay at the top, or we become part of the foundation.'

The goldfish pressed its nose against the glass, mouth opening and closing in silent desperation. Arthur had read somewhere they had three-second memories. Maybe that was a blessing. Maybe the fish didn't remember each identical loop as failure.

'I found something,' Arthur said quietly. 'In the archives. Your original proposal. From 1998.' He looked at Marcus then. 'You didn't invent this software. You bought it. For twelve thousand dollars from a bankrupt developer in Kansas.' He could see Marcus's expression change—the casual confidence cracking like ice under too much weight. 'And I found the acquisition contracts. You never transferred the IP. Legally, you don't own the patents. You never did.'

Marcus's laugh was dry, dismissive. 'And you're going to do what with this information, Arthur? Be my friend? Be a hero?' He picked up his scotch. 'Men like us don't get to be heroes. We get to be rich, or we get to be dead.'

The goldfish did another lap, its orange scales catching the afternoon light. Forgotten, abandoned, still swimming.

Arthur stood up. 'I signed the papers this morning. The buyout, the nondisclosure, everything.' He could see Marcus relax, the tension leaving his shoulders. 'But there was one thing they didn't include in the contract. One thing I'm keeping.'

'The fish?' Marcus actually laughed. 'You're risking everything for a goldfish?'

'No,' Arthur said, lifting the bowl with both hands, watching the water catch the light. 'I'm leaving with my daughter's fish. Everything else? You can have your pyramid.'

He walked out, leaving Marcus standing in his glass tower at the top of his glass pyramid, surrounded by people who would pretend to be his friends until the money ran out. Outside, the real sky was waiting. Arthur had three seconds of memory left, and he intended to use them well.