The Market for Human Loss
The bear market had claimed three years of Marcus's life, and the bull run before that felt like someone else's memory. He stood at the edge of the infinity pool at the Desert Springs Resort, watching the water blur into the Nevada twilight. The pyramid of the Luxor rose in the distance, a tombstone glowing amber against the purple sky.
"You're going to miss it," Elena said, coming up beside him. She'd changed into her padel gear—white skirt, sweatband already in place though they weren't due on the court for another hour.
"Miss what? The tournament?"
"The moment." She dipped her foot into the water. "You're always somewhere else, Marcus. Even when you're here."
He wanted to tell her about the client meeting that morning. The pyramid scheme masquerading as a hedge fund he'd uncovered, the way numbers nested inside other numbers until the bottom line became fiction. But she'd stopped asking about work months ago.
"Bear's got you by the throat again, doesn't he?" Her voice was gentler than he deserved.
"Something like that."
The pool lights flickered on. Beneath the water's surface, their reflections distorted—two people drowning in different depths.
"I met someone," she said.
The words hit him like water in the lungs. Not sharp, but overwhelming. Filling every space.
"During the bull run," she continued. "When you wouldn't come up for air."
Marcus nodded. He'd been riding the market then, watching charts rise like prayers. He'd forgotten that water, left too long without motion, grows stagnant.
"Is he good to you?"
"He plays padel," she said, with a sad smile. "And he knows when to get out of the pool."
Marcus looked at the pyramid again, that artificial mountain built on nothing but light and angles. Like his portfolio. Like his marriage, maybe.
"I should have seen it coming," he said.
"Markets crash, Marcus. The smart ones diversify."
She walked toward the courts, leaving him alone with the water and the distant pyramid and the terrible, quiet understanding that some losses don't recover.