The Palm Reader's Deadline

The funeral was over, but Marcus couldn't bring himself to leave. He stood by the refreshment table, nursing a warm drink, watching his former colleagues pretend to mourn. Sarah hadn't been popular—she'd been too blunt, too unwilling to play the corporate game—but death had a way of making saints of sinners.

"She hated funerals," said a voice behind him. Marcus turned to find David, his oldest friend at the firm, holding two plastic cups. "Remember? She called them 'performance art for the living.'"

Marcus accepted the cup. "I remember. I also remember you telling me she was 'toxic' and 'holding me back' three weeks before my promotion."

David's smile didn't waver. "That's just how things work, Marc. You know that. She made herself the bull in the china shop. Someone had to redirect her energy."

The metaphor was too perfect. Sarah had compared corporate culture to a rodeo—the employees were the bulls, restless and dangerous, while management cracked whips from the safety of elevated boxes. She'd quit shortly after, citing 'ethical concerns.' Marcus had taken her seat at the table.

"Your palm," David said suddenly, reaching for Marcus's hand.

"What?"

"At the Christmas party. The palm reader. Remember what she told you?" David's thumb traced Marcus's lifeline. "'Your success will come at someone else's expense.' You laughed it off."

Marcus pulled his hand away. "Sarah's heart attack was natural. The autopsy confirmed it."

"Was it?" David adjusted his hat—a sleek black thing that made him look more coffin-bound than career-driven. "Or was it the stress of knowing her protégé had become the very thing she despised?"

The accusation hung between them, fragile and terrible. Marcus had slept with David's wife. Sarah had found out. She'd threatened to go to HR. Marcus had gone to David first, spinning a narrative about Sarah's instability, her 'personal vendetta.' David had handled the rest—whisper campaigns, performance reviews, anonymous tips to compliance.

"You knew," Marcus said quietly. "About Elena and me. You knew, and you helped me destroy Sarah anyway. Why?"

David's eyes were ancient, tired. "Because Elena loved you. And because in this game, we're all foxes and rabbits eventually. I chose which one I wanted to be."

He set down his cup and walked toward the exit, his hat casting a long shadow across the room. Marcus watched him go, palm tingling where David had touched it, and wondered which animal he'd become. The palm reader had been right after all—just not about whose expense his success would come at.