The Last Bull Market
Marcus stood in the center of his office, cardboard box at his feet. Three hours ago, he'd been vice president of something that now didn't exist. The corporate email had arrived at 9:47 AM sharp—subject line: *Restructuring Announcement.* The language had been aggressive in its emptiness, full of synergies and right-sizing and moving forward together. Pure bull, delivered through the same iPhone that now sat silent on his desk.
His father's fedora rested on the bookshelf, a relic Marcus had kept there for luck through promotions and reorganizations and fifteen years of climbing. His father had worn it selling cars in the eighties, back when a handshake meant something and loyalty wasn't a liability. Marcus picked it up now, turning the brim through his fingers.
"Leaving already?"
Carolyn from HR stood in the doorway, her expression professionally neutral. She'd done this forty times today.
"Just collecting my things."
"Marcus, you know we have to ask for the phone back. Company property."
He looked at the iPhone, then at her. "My daughter's first steps are on here. My anniversary. The time my wife—" He stopped. "You want me to wipe it?"
She hesitated. "Transfer your personal photos, then leave the device."
Outside, the Chicago wind hit him like a judgment. The bull statue at LaSalle and Jackson seemed to mock him—charging nowhere, frozen in perpetual motion, bronze and indifferent. Marcus adjusted his father's hat against the wind and walked toward the El station. Behind him, the building he'd given his life to rose into the gray sky, progress continuing without him.
His personal phone buzzed. A message from his wife: *Dinner's ready. Come home.*
Marcus didn't respond immediately. He stood watching traffic flow past the statue, people moving forward with purpose, and realized with a sudden, terrible clarity that for the first time in two decades, no one was waiting for him to be somewhere. The bull market had finally crashed, and somewhere beneath the weight of it all, he felt something terrifying and light and entirely like freedom.
He typed back: *On my way.* Then deleted the company email, put on his father's hat, and walked home.