The Last Bull Run
Marcus hadn't taken a proper vacation in seven years. His vitamin C supplements sat on the kitchen counter, a daily reminder of his body's gradual betrayal. At 47, he was still running the same hedge fund his father had built, though the glory days of 2015 felt like another lifetime.
The bull market had carried them all on its massive shoulders—horns of opportunity goring anyone foolish enough to stand in its way. Marcus had made millions. Then lost most. Then made them again. Each cycle left him emptrier than the last.
His wife Elena had left exactly three years ago today. She'd packed her things while he was on a conference call, leaving only her cat—a surly Russian Blue named Boris—and a note that said, "You love numbers more than anything that breathes."
Boris stared at him now from across the kitchen island, yellow eyes unimpressed by Marcus's existential crisis.
"You too, huh?" Marcus muttered.
He'd promised Elena he'd retire by 45. That milestone had come and gone like the others, buried under "just one more quarter" and "the market's too volatile to walk away now."
The irony wasn't lost on him: he'd spent two decades running other people's money while his own life hemorrhaged meaning. The vitamin supplements were just another thing to check off another list, another hollow attempt to outrun mortality.
Marcus stood up, knees cracking. Boris let out a demanding meow.
"Yeah, I hear you."
He walked to the home office he'd barely used in months. There it was—the resignation letter he'd drafted and deleted twelve times. The offer to teach finance at the community college, salary cut by ninety percent, but something about helping students understand the difference between money and wealth had stuck with him.
The cat rubbed against his leg, purring like a small engine.
Marcus picked up the phone and dialed.
"Dr. Singh? It's Marcus Hayes. I'm calling about that teaching position."
For the first time in years, the bull market couldn't touch him. He was finally running toward something real.