The Sphinx in the Lobby

The CEO's office overlooked the lobby fountain where a brass sphinx knelt, wings half-spread, water cascading from its limestone mouth. Marcus stood before the mahogany desk, his severance package in hand, watching Katherine arrange orchids in a crystal vase.

"You understand why this has to happen, don't you?" she asked, not looking up.

Marcus nodded, though he didn't. Not really. Three months ago, he'd beenEmployee of the Year. Now he was redundancy, a line item in a restructuring spreadsheet.

Downstairs, he sat on the fountain's edge, watching goldfish dart through the murky water. They'd been there since the building opened in 1987—how long did goldfish live, anyway? Longer than marriages, evidently. Elena had texted him that morning: *Meet me at the lawyer's at 3.*

The sphinx stared back at him, its marble eyes holding some ancient riddle about transformation and endurance. What survived when everything stripped away? Not careers. Not love.

He'd bought Elena a goldfish on their first anniversary, a joke about how they'd need something low-maintenance. It lasted two weeks. Their marriage lasted twelve years. The fish had been the canary in the coal mine, and neither of them had noticed it gasping.

"Marcus?" A voice from behind.

Jessica from Accounting stood there, clutching a box. "I heard. I'm—I'm sorry."

"Me too," he said, and realized he meant it.

The water continued its endless cycle, spitting from the sphinx's mouth into the pool, while the goldfish kept swimming, oblivious to the currents that carried them. Some things endured simply because they refused to acknowledge they were drowning.

He checked his watch. 2:47. Time to become someone else.