The Pyramid's Bull

The corporate pyramid rose forty floors above Chicago, gleaming like a middle finger to everyone stuck at the bottom. Maya stood at her corner office window, swirling her third scotch of the afternoon, watching the snow descend on the ants below.

"You going to drink that, or let it die of loneliness?"

She turned. Richard—her former friend, now her boss—leaned against her doorframe, wearing that expression that said he knew something she didn't. The same expression he'd worn when he'd "forgotten" to mention her name during the merger discussions. The same expression he'd worn when he'd taken credit for the Q3 projections she'd spent three months building.

"I'm thinking about my resignation," Maya said.

Richard laughed, sharp and humorless. "Don't be dramatic. You're finally climbing the pyramid, Maya. This is what you wanted."

"I wanted to build something that mattered. Not this endless parade of bullshit." She gestured at the city below. "Do you remember what we said in grad school? About changing the world?"

"We were kids. The world doesn't want to be changed. It wants to be managed." Richard stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Look, I didn't come up here for a therapy session. Phillips is grooming someone for VP. It's between you and Marcus."

"Marcus? The guy who still says 'synergy' unironically?"

"He brings in revenue. You bring in—what exactly? Moral superiority?" Richard's phone buzzed. He checked it, then met her eyes again. "Word of advice, friend. Stop acting like you're too good for the game. You're playing it just like the rest of us. You just want to pretend you're not."

The bullshit detector she'd spent thirty-five years sharpening screamed. But the pyramid was seductive. The view was intoxicating. The retirement package would be obscene.

"Tell Phillips I'll be at the meeting," Maya said.

Richard nodded, satisfied. "That's my girl. Oh—and Maya?"

"What?"

"Don't pretend you didn't enjoy watching me fire Jenkins today. I saw your face."

He closed the door behind him.

Maya turned back to the window, finished her drink, and watched the snow continue its indifferent descent on the city that never slept, never stopped climbing, never learned the difference between success and surrender. Tomorrow, she'd promote herself. Tonight, she'd just try to remember what her principles looked like.