The Sphinx at Center Court

The bull-headed CEO had called me into his office at 8 AM, his face flushed with that particular shade of apoplectic red that preceded disaster. Someone was leaking proprietary algorithms to competitors. His eyes, small and suspicious, locked onto mine. Find the spy, or don't bother coming back Monday.

I spent three weeks living on vitamin supplements and vending machine coffee, trailing coworkers through their lunch breaks, reviewing security camera footage until my eyes burned. The office was a labyrinth of cubicles, each worker a potential sphinx—inscrutable, guarding secrets behind polite smiles and generic water cooler talk.

Then I saw her.

Elena, the senior analyst, playing padel at the exclusive club where our clients mingled. She moved across the court like she was dancing, her racquet an extension of her arm. I'd joined three weeks earlier, another body in the clinic, another set of eyes watching, pretending to learn the game while tracking her movements.

That Friday, I followed her to the parking garage. She pressed a USB drive into a stranger's hand—a man in a dark suit, no club gear, no racquet bag. The bull in my chest wanted to charge, to confront, to shout. Instead, I photographed the exchange and slipped away.

Monday morning, I placed the evidence on the CEO's desk. He nodded, satisfied, already calculating the payout to avoid publicity. Security escorted Elena out, her hands trembling as she clutched a box of personal items. She didn't look at me.

That evening, I returned to the padel club. The game felt different now—less like sport, more like combat. I played aggressively, recklessly, bruising my knuckles on the racquet handle. Afterward, in the locker room, I found a vitamin bottle in my bag. Elena's brand, the distinctive orange label she'd mentioned weeks ago when we'd talked about stress and insomnia.

There was a note underneath: You saw what you were supposed to see. The real leak signs the paychecks. —E

The bottle rattled in my hand. The sphinx had spoken at last, her riddle delivered in passing. I'd been the spy all along, hunting a ghost while the bull himself sold the farm from under us. The vitamins clattered against the locker shelf as I walked out, leaving everything behind.