The Vitamin Spy

Elena swallowed the vitamin D pill with her morning papaya, watching the sunrise over Manila. At 47, she'd become obsessed with preservation—preserving her health, her career, her dignity at a firm that viewed anyone over 40 as dead weight.

Her friend Marcus had warned her months ago. "You're too visible, El. They're planning something." Marcus, who'd sidestepped every corporate purge with preternatural instinct. Marcus, who'd just been promoted to head of Asia Pacific operations.

The papaya tasted sweet, almost cloying. Like betrayal.

Three days ago, Elena had found the external drive in Marcus's office while covering for him at a meeting. Files on every employee's medical history, insurance claims, psychiatric records. He'd been profiling vulnerabilities for years. Her own file was marked: "High-value target—vitamin dependency indicates anxiety about mortality. Exploitable."

She was the bull in this corporate china shop—or she had been, until Marcus had systematically redirected her charging energy toward his own agenda.

Now the city hummed below her balcony. Somewhere in that maze of glass towers, Marcus was probably eating his own perfectly portioned breakfast, calculating his next move. He'd never been a friend. He'd been a spy in the house of their supposed friendship, gathering intelligence like currency.

Elena's phone buzzed. Marcus: "Coffee? Need to discuss the Singapore project."

She typed back: "See you at 9."

Then she deleted the files from the external drive and sent copies to headquarters in Zurich. After all, information was just currency—and she was done being spent.