They shook hands. Marcus walked out of Julian’s office, through the trading floor—now half-empty, littered with abandoned coffee cups and strewn papers—and into the elevator. When he reached the lobby, he paused at the glass doors and looked out at Wall Street. The sky was already dark, but the buildings were lit up like monuments to something he couldn’t quite name anymore. Greed, maybe. Or fear. Or just the endless, brutal arithmetic of survival.
Marcus stood frozen. 40% reduction. His $2.1 million just became $1.26 million. Still a fortune. Still more than most people made in a decade. But in his world, it was a demotion. A signal. He’d been on track for managing director in two years. Now? He’d be lucky to keep his VP title if the firm started cutting heads. wall street paytime
“Sit down, Marcus,” Julian said quietly. “It’s going to be a long morning.” They shook hands
It was the third Tuesday of December, which on Wall Street meant only one thing: bonus day. The official name was “Annual Compensation Payout Day,” but the traders and bankers who lived for this moment called it something simpler: Paytime. The sky was already dark, but the buildings
Julian set the paper down. “Your bonus is $2.1 million.”
He typed back: On my way. Love you.
