Caveat Emptor - A short story

Marcus smirked as he took a furtive glance around the open-planned office, home of the investment division of Aurelius Capital. Satisfied he was the only one there, after all cleaners didn’t count, he hunched forward in his chair and accessed the trading terminal.

As his fingers swept across the keyboard, the dim glow of the three monitors bathed him in a blueish hue and rows of numbers reflected off the lens of his Prada designed glasses.

The keys clacked furiously as he set to work on setting up the deal. It was only when he reached the end of the process he reclined in his executive leather chair, stretched his back out and contemplated the next step.

He had taken a lot of risks in his career, generating copious wealth, and earning the coveted ‘rainmaker’ tag, but that success bought him enemies and it was only by playing the game and stabbing people in the back that he had progressed in the organisation.

Although the aftermath had never bothered him before and well, collateral damage was always to be expected. Caveat emptor was his motto. But this was the first time he wondered if he was going too far. He took a deep breath and visualised the future.

Success was just a click away. Sure, it would come at the expense of clients, not his though, and colleagues. One in particular. The Chief had called the little shit a ‘child savant’ in front of everyone, and in a way, he reminded Marcus of himself. Ambitious and hungry. Perhaps if they worked in another sector, they could have been friends, but finance was war. And he was a warrior. Without a doubt, he was an alpha, still in his prime, but he wondered for how long? Inside, he knew if he stayed where he was, then it was only a matter of time before they put him out to pasture.

He had seen it before. Complacency led to career and social death. That wasn’t his future though, and when he made the step up to VP, he would be safe. His gaze drifted toward the empty corner office.

Therefore, logically, there was only one thing he could do. He stretched out his right index finger.

As it hovered over the keyboard, his eyes flicked between the flashing cursor on the screen and the place he would call his second home.

The force of his finger jabbing the enter key rang out across the floor, and the system executed the purchase request in a flash. From his insider information, this was a sure thing. Guaranteed to earn him that promotion and the status he deserved.

He smirked as he logged off the terminal, the name ‘Peter Mays’ flashing up momentarily, and packed up his stuff, ready to make the most of the weekend.

It was never good form to celebrate prematurely in this game, but by the time anyone noticed what had happened, the damage would be done.

Besides, you don’t come into another man’s house and pretend like you own the place. People needed reminding who was in charge.

Thankfully, that arrogant loser, Peter, lived his life online, so it was easy to pay someone to hack in and get some passwords. Sometimes the old methods were the best.

Marcus didn’t know how the guy got the information, nor did he have any interest in finding out. Beyond the markets, dating and pornography, he saw little value in the internet. It was just filled with keyboard warriors bleating on about financial inequality and wanting handouts. Fuck them.

The walls of the bars and clubs all blurred into one as the weekend flew by in a haze of faces, expensive booze and pricey powder.

By the time his senses recovered, his phone battery had long since died, and with it his ability to keep on top of any industry chatter.

Not that it mattered. It was the weekend, and the markets were closed.

He stirred late Monday morning. His skull felt like a grenade had gone off in it. He swallowed three painkillers along with a protein shake, and then set about shaving, taking extra care to steady his hand as he worked his way over the greying stubble.

After taking the suit laid out by his wife, who had headed out earlier on yet another shopping trip, he languidly made his way to a nearby coffee shop, took a double espresso, and headed to the tube.

Pulling out his phone, he stared at the screen and groaned. Although it now had been charged, being almost twenty-four meters underground meant that he had no signal. If it wasn’t for the smiles of several beautiful women who were also waiting on the platform, he might have lost his temper.

As it was, the social interactions told him he still had it, not that he ever doubted it, and his mind wondered if he should take a second mistress once he got his new role.

When he arrived at work, he ignored the reception staff and support works and stepped into the lift. The ascent to the twenty-fifth floor didn’t take long, and the effect of the medicine had kicked in. He tapped his right foot to the beat of the Muzak the whole way. It seemed catchier than normal.

The elevator doors silently slid apart, unveiling a cream-coloured hallway with framed modern art along the walls. Marcus strode toward the glass doors that led into the office before pushing them open to announce his arrival.

Holding his chin high, he barely made it five steps before the saccharine smell of champagne assaulted his nose. The sweetness turned his stomach, and he grimaced with the effort needed to keep the bile down. It had been a full-on couple of days, the hardest since his fortieth birthday celebration a few years back, and his body was protesting the punishment he put it through. A reminder that he wasn’t as young as he thought. He clenched his fists and waited for it to pass.

After recovering his poise, Marcus noticed that the usual morning crowd of juniors weren’t flapping about in a panic, trying to cover their own asses. In fact, the place seemed relatively serene. The faint sounds of chatter from the far corner complemented the low hum of the air conditioning.

With narrowed eyes, he looked toward the noise and spotted that everyone had congregated near the empty office. His office.

Curiosity drove him, stumbling forward with an uncontrolled momentum. He reached the crowd quickly and barged his way through the gaggle of juniors, ignoring their whiney complaints. With only slightly more politeness, he pushed past his peers until finally taking his rightful position at the front.

It was only now he became conscious of the dampness around his armpits and the small of his back, while his head burned. Despite being freshly washed and ironed, his clothes were sticky, and he couldn’t help but rub his fingers across his clammy palms.

The Chief, Mr Lavoy, stared at him. His eyes bore deep into Marcus, who could only lower his gaze.

His stomach felt like a washing machine, churning everything ingested from the past few days, while his heart raced. He licked his dry lips, trying to savour what was surely going to be his moment.

It was all happening so fast.

“And after what happened this weekend, it is with great pleasure that I can announce our new Vice-President.”

The words formed one giant mess. He had made it. It was time to ditch his wife and promote the mistress.

He raised a hand to his left temple and massaged it. Just hurry and say my name, you fossil.

“What a vision to see that GameStop bump!” Continued Lavoy.

Marcus’s jaw tightened. Bump?

“I don’t know how you did it, Peter, but congratulations, you are the new VP.”

In that instant, the mental fog that clouded Marcus’s head cleared. His eyes darted around the group, searching for the bastard. He opened his mouth to ask what the fuck was happening, but nothing came out.

Before he could raise any objections, not that he knew what to say. After all, he bloody well couldn’t tell anyone what really happened. Peter stepped forward and mumbled some words of thanks. A stupid grin plastered over his gormless face.

When the pathetic speech ended, the celebrations began as the surrounding sycophants basked in the reflected glory, shaking hands, slapping backs and throwing fake platitudes around like confetti at a wedding. Under his breath, Marcus cursed every one of those ass lickers.

He fumbled in his pocket for his iPhone, eventually yanking it out, and opening the browser. It was all over Bloomberg. Social media warriors artificially pumped up the stock price.

Despite the clarity of the situation, everything blurred, and Marcus felt his chest tighten. His throat constricted, stopping him from swallowing the boulder that had formed there.

Two colleagues placed their hands under his elbows and led him towards a nearby chair. They plonked him down and shouted back to the crowd to save them some bubbly.

Marcus threw up a hand and tried to wave them off. They needed little persuasion and sauntered off. Selfish parasites.

Following his abandonment, he knew it was him against the world. The way he liked it. Setting his jaw, he thought back to what his shrink had once told him to do and took three deep breaths.

As the pressure on his chest eased, he refocused his mind, but the relief was fleeting as a burning sensation formed behind his eyelids and consumed his skull.

He rubbed his head, clearing his bleary eyes just in time to see Peter standing in the doorway of his new office. The prick looked his way.

“Marcus, a word if you please. Don’t bother unpacking your bag.”