The Last Match

The ball cracked against the padel racket—a satisfying sound that failed to silence the thoughts racing through Elena's mind. Across the court, Marcus served with the precision of a man who never made mistakes, which was exactly why she'd spent the past six months gathering evidence on his embezzlement scheme.

She'd become the very thing she despised: a corporate spy, trading her integrity for job security in an economy that chewed people up and spit them out like yesterday's garbage. The firm's founders—those bullish bastards who'd built their fortune on predatory loans—wouldn't care who got hurt when the truth came out. They'd burn Marcus and Elena both to protect the stock price.

"Your form's off," Marcus called out, sweat dripping down his temples. "Everything alright?"

Elena forced a smile. "Just tired. Late night."

Late night indeed—curled up on her balcony with her calico cat, Iago, watching the city lights blur through tears, wondering how she'd ended up here at thirty-seven, drowning in debt and compromise. Swimming in a sea of bad decisions with no lifeguard in sight.

The match ended. Marcus won, as always. They shook hands at the net, his grip firm, his eyes unreadable. Had he figured it out? Was that suspicion beneath his congratulatory smile, or was she projecting her own guilt onto everyone around her?

Later, in the locker room, her phone buzzed. Anonymous message: *They know.*

Elena sat on the bench, head in hands. The cat was waiting at home. The evidence was backed up in three locations. She pressed send on the email to the forensic accountant, then deleted everything else.

Bull market or bear, she realized, the house always won. Unless you burned it down first.