The Goldfish in the Bull's Office

The goldfish circled its bowl in Elena's office, its orange scales flashing under fluorescent lights. It had been there longer than I had—three years of silent judgment from its glass prison. I watched it while waiting for the meeting that would determine whether I'd keep my corner office or join the ranks of the laid-off.

"You're distracted," Marcus said, leaning against my doorframe. He played padel with the CEO every Tuesday. Their matches determined more futures than the quarterly reports. "Richard's in a mood. The merger announcement didn't land well."

"I'm not distracted," I lied, thinking of Sarah's text from last night. *Can we talk?* Three words that had unraveled marriages, ended careers, launched a thousand ships.

"You're like that goldfish out there," Marcus said, gesturing toward Elena's empty desk. "Swimming in circles, forgetting everything every seven seconds. But Sarah's not something you can forget, is she?"

My stomach dropped. Marcus knew. Or suspected.

"What do you want?"

"Richard's office," he said. "Now. And take the bull by the horns, David. He's already heard about the hotel receipt."

The bull in question was a bronze sculpture on Richard's desk—charging, relentless, commissioned by himself. It watched me as I entered, its bronze horns catching the afternoon light.

"Sit," Richard said, not looking up from his phone. His fingers moved rapidly. Probably texting Sarah's husband. "Marcus says you're the man for the new Chicago expansion."

"You're promoting me? After—"

"After what?" He looked up, his expression unreadable. "Everyone knows about you and Sarah. Her husband knows. My wife knows. The building knows." He gestured to the bronze bull. "Even this fucking bull knows. But you're the best closer we have, and Chicago needs a closer. Someone who understands risk."

"And Sarah?"

"That's your mess to clean up." He returned to his phone. "You leave Sunday. The company keeps the corporate card, obviously. And David?"

"Yes?"

"Don't get divorced again. The paperwork's hell on HR."

I walked past Elena's goldfish on my way out. It continued circling, oblivious to the currents that swirled around it. Some creatures never learned to swim against them. Others—like me—kept swimming, hoping eventually to find something larger than their own bowl.