The Last Trade

Marcus traced the lifeline on his left palm with his right thumb, a nervous tic he'd developed since the divorce. His office window framed the Manhattan skyline in steel gray, the perfect backdrop for what was about to happen.

"They're calling it a correction," Sarah said, leaning against his doorframe. She held an orange – something about Vitamin C for stress – and peeled it slowly, the citrus scent cutting through the stale office air. "But you and I know better."

Marcus nodded. The bull market had carried him for fifteen years, lifting him from a junior analyst to this corner office with its view of the Hudson. Now the bear had arrived, hungry and relentless, and the firm's books showed losses that would make careers – and marriages – evaporate.

"I have to tell you something," he said.

She stopped peeling. "You're leaving."

"Worse." Marcus stood up, walked to the window. His reflection showed a man who'd aged a decade in six months. "I recommended those tech stocks to my brother. His retirement fund. He's fifty-eight, Sarah."

Silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant hum of traffic and the soft sound of Sarah's fingers working the orange rind.

"He trusted you because you're his little brother," she said finally. "Because you're family. Because you're his friend."

Marcus turned. Sarah's eyes held no judgment – just something worse. Pity. She offered him a segment of orange. He took it, the juice sharp against his tongue.

"I could have warned him," Marcus said. "But the numbers said hold. The models said hold."

"And your gut?"

"My gut said sell. But I didn't listen."

Outside, rain began to streak the glass. Marcus thought about phone calls he needed to make, conversations that would end with dial tones, family dinners that would never happen again. The bear market would end – they always did – but some losses didn't recover.

Sarah placed the rest of the orange on his desk. "You'll make the calls."

"I will."

"Good." She moved toward the door. "Because bears and bulls? They come and go. But what you did with your brother's trust?" She paused, her hand on the doorknob. "That's permanent."

The door clicked shut. Marcus ate the rest of the orange, the bitter rind mixing with the sweet flesh, and picked up the phone.