The Numbers Pool
The betting pool had reached seventeen thousand dollars by the time Elena walked into Jim's office. That's how much her colleagues had wagered on which day she'd finally crack.
"Close the door," Jim said, not looking up from his computer. He was wearing that ridiculous baseball cap he thought made him look like a visionary entrepreneur. In reality, he looked like every other tech bro who'd watched *The Social Network* too many times.
Elena stayed standing. "I know about the layoffs."
Jim's fingers froze over his keyboard. He slowly rotated his cap so the bill faced backward β his intimidation move. "Who told you?"
"Does it matter? I'm in the pool, Jim. I'm the pool."
She'd spent seven years building their analytics division from nothing. Seven years of missed dinners, skipped vacations, and telling herself it would pay off. Now she was watching Jim's hands β his palms, specifically, resting on the mahogany desk he'd financed with her work. She remembered reading somewhere that palmistry was bullshit, but she found herself tracing the life line on her own hand anyway. It was shorter than she'd expected.
"It's just business, Elena. The market's β "
"Don't. Don't give me the baseball metaphors again. 'We have to take cuts,' 'building the team for next season.' I'm not your cleanup hitter, Jim. I'm the person who actually knows how the system works."
He sighed, theθ‘¨ζΌ wearier than usual. "What do you want?"
"Severance. Double what's standard. And you write me a recommendation letter that doesn't sound like it was written by a chatbot."
Jim nodded once. "Fine. But Elena β "
"Save it."
She walked out past the cubicles where her former team sat, avoiding her eyes. They'd all placed their bets. She wondered who'd picked today.
In the parking lot, she pulled off her corporate badge and tossed it into the fountain by the entrance. It made a small, satisfying splash. Not quite a pool, but close enough.
Her phone buzzed. A text from her sister: *Mom fell again. Hospital.*
Elena started her car. The numbers pool had been won by someone in accounting who'd picked today's date. She wondered if they'd feel guilty collecting the money, or if they'd just buy drinks for the office and laugh about how they'd seen it coming all along.
Probably the second. People always chose the story that made them feel smart.