The Glass Wall

Elena watched him through the glass partition of the corporate padel court, her heart running a rhythm it had no business maintaining. Marcus served with that same aggressive precision he brought to their quarterly reviews—back straight, eyes calculating, movement economical. He'd never noticed her in the observation deck above, just as he'd never noticed how she'd learned to decrypt the pattern of his late-night emails.

Three months of being the department's unofficial spy, and Elena still couldn't decide if the affair with his subordinate was corporate espionage or just midlife crisis management. The files she'd copied from his external drive suggested both. Padel was his sanctuary—thirty minutes of controlled aggression in a climate-controlled box where no one could hear him think.

She'd started running past his building at 7 AM, wearing the same shade of navy blazer, timing her appearance to his coffee window. He'd begun nodding at her. Last week, he'd held the elevator. Tomorrow, she'd introduce herself as the new compliance consultant from the Chicago office. The position didn't exist, but the badge clearance did.

"You're getting good at that," she said from the doorway, making him miss his return.

Marcus turned, sweat dripping down his temple, and for the first time in three years of surveillance, Elena saw something besides calculation in his eyes. Recognition.

"I was wondering when you'd finally come inside," he said, bouncing the ball on his racket strings. "Chicago's been waiting for you."