The Strand

The surveillance van smelled of stale coffee and ambition. Mara adjusted the hidden camera beneath her blouse — fifth time this week she'd played corporate spy for the consulting firm that promised to 'disrupt' her industry. The hair she'd painstakingly dyed mahogany last night now itched against her neck, a constant reminder of the woman she wasn't.

Her target: Marcus from Legal, who everyone said was selling proprietary algorithms to competitors. But three days of watching him had revealed only a man who ate sad desk salads and called his daughter every lunch break. Today was different. He'd met someone in the parking garage — a woman with silver-streaked hair, unmistakable even in grainy night vision.

Mara's breath caught. She knew that hair.

Her mother's hair.

Suddenly the surveillance footage blurred. She remembered the fights about Mom's 'promotion' last year, the sudden lavish dinners, the way her mother stopped asking about Mara's work. The corporate bull they'd been fed about family loyalty and meritocracy.

The van door slid open. Her boss, Darren, climbed in with an energy drink in hand — some ironically named Bull brand that promised unlimited focus.

'Got it?' he asked. 'Your mother's meeting with our contact. She's been our inside source for months.' He gestured at the screen where her mother pressed something into Marcus's hand. 'Data extraction complete.'

Mara watched the woman she thought she knew disappear into the garage shadows, a single gray hair catching the light like betrayal.

'You're not the only spy in the family,' Darren said, already editing the footage.

She touched her own dyed strands, wondering what else she'd missed while looking through cameras instead of seeing what was right in front of her.