The Pyramid Scheme

Marcus floated on his back in the infinity pool, the water cool against his sunburned skin. Below, the Las Vegas lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of desperation and promise. He'd left his Cubs hat on the deck chair—his only nod to Chicago authenticity in this desert of artificiality.

The Luxor's black glass pyramid loomed above him like some ancient monument to excess. Inside, the sales conference continued without him. His team was probably at the bar now, discussing the quarterly targets and who'd get promoted, who'd be culled. The corporate pyramid demanded its sacrifices.

A maintenance crew worked along the pool's edge, their cables snaking across the deck like industrial pythons. One worker, young and tattooed, wrestled with a thick coaxial cable that had been exposed by the wind. Marcus watched him, struck by how much more real he seemed than anyone inside the air-conditioned casino.

"Sir?" The worker's voice cut through his thoughts. "Pool closes in ten minutes."

Marcus nodded, treading water. "Right. Sorry."

"Swimming laps or just floating?" The young man paused, cable in hand.

"Floating," Marcus said. "Mostly floating."

He thought about Sarah back home, about the email he'd sent her that morning: *I think I need to quit. I can't do this anymore.* She'd replied with a single heart emoji. That was Sarah—always supportive, always waiting for him to figure out what she'd known for years.

The maintenance worker secured the cable with practiced efficiency. "You staying at the hotel?"

"Conference."

"Ah." The young man nodded, like that explained everything. Maybe it did.

Marcus hauled himself out of the water, dripping and shivering slightly. He grabbed his hat, pulling it low over his eyes. The pyramid's spotlight swept across the pool, casting long, distorted shadows.

"Hey," the worker said. "Nice meeting you."

"Yeah." Marcus forced a smile. "You too."

He walked toward the hotel entrance, leaving wet footprints on the concrete. Behind him, the pool's surface smoothed over, erasing all evidence he'd ever been there. Somewhere inside, a slot machine paid out with artificial chimes. Marcus adjusted his hat, squared his shoulders, and prepared to swim through one more night.