The Orange Peel

Marcus stared at the security feeds, his eyes glazing over in the way they did during the midnight-to-dawn shift. He felt like a zombie, hollowed out by three years of watching people enter and exit a building that housed nothing more exciting than an accounting firm specializing in agricultural derivatives.

The bull market had been good to them, or so the analysts on the financial news channels droned about, their voices filtering through the cheap ceiling speakers. Marcus had stopped caring about bulls and bears months ago. He cared about the cable bundle he couldn't afford to cancel, and about Sarah from the night shift who always left an orange on the console for him.

"You look like shit," Sarah said, leaning against the doorframe. Her hair was wet from rain. "Your wife called again."

Marcus rubbed his face. The wife he'd separated from six months ago. "Yeah."

She placed an orange on the desk—his third one this week. They were starting to pile up in the corner, a small shrine to something he couldn't name.

"I think she's right about the other thing," Sarah said quietly. "I saw him swapping the hard drives again."

Marcus sat up straighter. The spy they'd both suspected—the new guy, Henderson, with his perfect suits and his too-perfect timing. He'd been hired during the "corporate restructuring," which everyone knew meant someone was leaking client data to competitors.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure." She touched his shoulder briefly, her fingers warm. "We have to tell someone."

"Or we could swap it back," Marcus said. "See what he's actually taking."

"That's dangerous."

"Everything's dangerous," he said, thinking of the divorce papers, the debt, the way his heart kicked when she touched him. "We're already in the deep end."

She sat on the edge of the desk and peeled the orange, the scent sharp and clean in the stale room. When she handed him a segment, their fingers touched, and for the first time in months, he didn't feel dead inside.

"Tomorrow night," she said. "We make our move."

Marcus ate the orange and watched the monitors, where nothing ever happened—except, suddenly, everything was about to.