The Last Quarter

Marcus stood at the edge of the infinity pool, the water still and black as obsidian. Behind him, the corporate retreat center glowed like a landed spaceship against the Egyptian desert. Three hundred VPs and directors, gathered for the annual alignment summit — a corporate pyramid scheme if he'd ever seen one, complete with its own pharaoh: Richard Sterling, CEO of Sterling Global.

His phone buzzed. Another Slack notification from Janet: "Q4 projections need adjustment. Bull market isn't cooperating."

Marcus laughed softly. The bull. Always the bull. Last year it was "the bull is riding us." This year: "the bull has stalled." Tomorrow, when numbers somehow materialized, the bull would be charging again. The language of finance, endless animal metaphors for human greed.

He took off his glasses. The desert heat had fogged them anyway. At 42, Marcus had spent exactly half his life in this company. Twenty years climbing hierarchies that reshaped themselves every six months. He'd missed his mother's funeral for a Q3 earnings call. His daughter's first step came via FaceTime from a hotel room in Chicago.

"You're not sleeping," Elena had told him three mornings ago, over coffee that neither of them drank. "I hear you at 3am. The clicking. Always the clicking."

"I have to stay ahead," he'd said.

"Ahead of what? Of yourself?"

She'd left the same day. Taken the dog — Buster, an anxious terrier mix who'd started having panic attacks whenever Marcus put on a suit. Smart animal.

A splash echoed from somewhere across the pool. Someone else who couldn't sleep. Probably Gregg from M&A,Marcus thought. That man had been drunk on his own power since 2019.

Marcus stepped closer to the water's edge. The desert stretched endlessly before him, ancient and indifferent. Somewhere out there were real pyramids, monuments to empires that had fallen. Sterling's stock price was up 400% since 2015. But empires didn't fall in straight lines.

"Marcus?"

He turned. Richard Sterling stood in his bathrobe, holding two tumblers of Scotch. The CEO looked smaller without his suits. Older. More tired.

"Couldn't sleep either?" Richard offered him a glass.

"Something like that."

"My father built this company," Richard said, staring at the desert. "Forty years ago next month. I've spent every day trying not to be the one who broke it."

"Is that why we're all here?"

Richard laughed quietly. "No. We're here because the board thinks alignment produces productivity. I think they just want us all in one place so they can see who's still breathing."

They stood in silence. The pool reflected moonlight like liquid mercury.

"I'm leaving, Richard."

The CEO turned. "Sterling?"

"Everything."

Richard studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Give me two weeks to position it. Tell me it's for health reasons. I'll make sure you walk away with everything you've earned."

"You don't have to—"

"I do." Richard finished his Scotch. "The bull market doesn't care about any of us, Marcus. But sometimes, people should."

They shook hands there at the edge of the pool, two men in the desert, both finally waking up.