Water Under the Bridge

The glass of water sat untouched on the mahogany desk, condensation weeping down its curved sides like the tears I refused to shed. Three years of corporate espionage, of being the company spy, and all I had to show for it was this mandatory meeting with HR and a severance package that felt more like hush money than gratitude.

I adjusted my fedora—a ridiculous affectation I'd acquired during my time undercover, playing the role of a burnt-out consultant to gather intelligence on competitors. The hat had become a shield, a way to hide my eyes when the lies became too heavy to carry.

"You understand why we have to let you go," said Marquez, our CEO. He was a bull of a man—physically imposing, temperamentally explosive, impossible to reason with once he'd locked onto a narrative. He'd been the one to hire me as a spy, paying me handsomely to infiltrate rival firms and steal their secrets. But now that the whistleblower complaints were piling up, now that the SEC was asking questions about our acquisition practices, I was expendable.

"I understand," I said, watching a water droplet slide down the glass and pool on the coaster. "I'm the loose end."

"We prefer to think of it as restructuring."

Outside, rain slicked the streets of Chicago, making everything glisten and blur. I thought about Elena, the competitor's chief of strategy I'd slept with to get access to their bid projections. She'd left the industry six months ago, broken by the betrayal I'd engineered. I told myself it was just business, just another operation, but some nights I woke reaching for her, for the way she'd looked at me before she knew who I really was.

I signed the papers. Marquez shook my hand with his crushing grip, already looking past me to whatever came next.

The elevator ride down felt like descending into a grave. When I stepped out onto the street, the rain was cold and relentless. I walked without direction, the fedora doing nothing to keep the water from running down my face. Somewhere in this city, Elena was building a new life. Somewhere, the people whose companies I'd destroyed were trying to piece together careers I'd shattered.

I found myself standing before a river, watching dark water churn beneath a bridge. For a moment, I considered it—the weight of my sins, the possibility of ending it all. Instead, I took off the hat and threw it into the current. It bobbed once, twice, then disappeared beneath the surface, carrying my cover identity, my lies, the spy I'd become.

The rain kept falling. I stood there and let myself finally, after three years, feel something like regret.