5. Cory
Chapter five
Cory
A ndrew leans over the divider between our desks and yanks my headset out of the jack. He snaps his suspenders, looking rather pleased with himself, and I'm on my feet a split second later, grabbing his forearm before he can slump back into his chair.
"You wanna go, Andrew? You're lucky I wasn't still on the call with Saunderson. Try that shit again and see if I don't fuck with your Monte Carlo simulations."
I hold eye contact, so he knows it's not an idle threat. He flips me the bird, but I can see his Adam's apple bob. His fear shines through his false bravado like the sun through open blinds.
"No one's scared of you, Park! And don't think I don't know it was you who put the super glue on my stapler the other day."
I quickly swivel my chair to hide my snicker and plug my headset back in. Silva, the newest trader and only other person of color on the floor, throws a pen onto Andrew's desk.
"Hey!" Andrew protests. The pen narrowly misses the tumbler we all pretend isn't filled with more whiskey than coffee. Andrew takes a shaky sip. Looks like someone's back off the wagon.
Alcohol is nothing compared to some of the things I've seen around here. 90% of the traders are either high, drunk, or both, and not on stuff you can buy at the corner bodega.
I supplemented with the occasional coke when I first landed a spot on the trading floor, but it made me too jittery. Too quick to sell when I should be holding. I still do speed before a big presentation—management essentially encourages it—but energy drinks and a quick jerk in the bathroom are my everyday drugs of choice; caffeine for focus and an orgasm to take the edge off.
"That was me , numbnuts," Silva sneers at Andrew. "Jenna in Compliance told me about your little 'meet and greet' with Syntec Servers. That account was mine ."
Andrew shrugs, completely unrepentant.
"My bad, hombre ," Andrew taunts. Silva's expression turns stony. "It was in the afternoon, so I figured you'd be taking a siesta or some bullshit like that.
"Anyway, they practically begged me to take the meeting. Your models were dog shit. 2% returns?" Andrew laughs derisively. "That might be good enough at Hadley Jared, but here, that means your client is fair game."
Collective oohs fill the air, mixing with the perpetual scent of testosterone and greed. I would love if we could go a full week without a fight breaking out, but everyone is wound way too tight. Client poaching, sabotage, and even threats of violence are all status quo at Banks Ripley, not to mention the casual racism. The only thing you can trust is that every single person here will stab you in the back to make even a penny more on the dollar.
Everyone but Bethany , I think, before pushing the thought as far back in my mind as it'll go. Behind the pain, the regret, and most of all, the remorse.
"Park!" my boss yells, and my shoulders tighten. I jump up immediately, despite the dread churning in my gut. It's never good to be called into Robert Perry's office, but it's worse if you make him wait. Everyone ducks their head as I pass, afraid whatever shit I've stepped in will rub off on them. I rap on the doorframe of his office, and he waves me in impatiently.
Robert wears a gray Patagonia vest, a blue Brooks Brothers shirt, an alarming amount of hair gel, and a gold Rolex that glints distractingly from his wrist. He's a walking Wall Street cliché. We all are.
He's older than most of the team, and graying at the temples, but his presence remains formidable. I do my best to keep my head up and my shoulders back as I enter. I can't let on that I'm rattled; he can smell fear. Like a wolf.
"When you're writing up your reports, do you like to wear a big red nose on your face?" he asks as soon as the door shuts behind me. I give him a confused look.
"Sir?"
"A big red nose," he repeats slowly, as if speaking to a toddler. "Do you wear one on your face?"
"No, sir," I answer.
"How about a hat with a propeller on it? Do you wear one of those to help you run the numbers?"
His sarcasm is unmistakable now. Oh, I see. He's being an asshole.
"No, sir," I repeat. The vein in his forehead pulses and I wait for the punchline.
"I just figured you were a clown or something, because only a clown would turn in the deck you made for Trico Computing and think it was anything other than a joke."
He throws my report down, and the glossy pages spill across his desk and onto the floor.
"I…" I clear my throat, not sure whether I should defend myself or just shut up and take the reaming. "I validated my calculations twice against Trico's last 10-K, sir. All the models project growth of 17% for their current product line, and 22% if they're first to market with the generative AI enhancements."
Robert releases a long-suffering sigh, and I tense.
"But you failed ," he lingers on the word, "to incorporate their impending partnership with Linwood Processors. The crystalline chips will substantially boost the processing power and speed of their curved and 3D monitors. With the Linwood partnership, their product will be incomparable; growth won't be less than 40%."
My eyes widen at the news, and Robert chuckles mockingly.
"Linwood made the announcement at 9:00am this morning. The market is already buzzing."
I clench and unclench my fists to keep from punching a wall.
"But that was just thirty minutes ago, sir. The presentation is at eleven."
Robert scoffs, pushing the remnants of my report into the wastebasket next to his desk.
"The client offered to move the meeting, but I told them you people are like human calculators. Ninety minutes is more than enough time to re-run the regressions and update your conclusions." He lifts a challenging eyebrow. "Unless you're saying you can't handle it."
"I can handle it," I almost growl. I'm grinding my molars so hard, my head is pounding.
Robert drops into his seat and starts dialing his desk phone.
"Excellent. Have a new draft on my desk at the top of the hour. I want to double-check this time so you don't have us looking like fucking idiots."
I bite back a reply and walk to my desk, fuming. Fuck! I spent all last night at the office finishing this fucking report and one press release turns it into garbage. Nothing that big happens without months of talks; I can't believe I never caught wind of anything.
As soon as I retake my seat, Silva rolls his chair towards mine.
"I'm guessing you missed the Linwood release this morning?" I scowl at the latest bottom-feeding weasel who thinks he can take me out.
"You knew?"
Silva raises an eyebrow.
"Of course. What kind of jabroni misses one of the biggest partnership announcements in months?"
My hands are fists at my sides, itching to pummel this asshole.
"Hope you don't choke on that Trico presentation, Park," he says with a shit-eating grin.
"I don't know much about choking myself, but I'll be sure to ask your mom about it the next time she's sucking my dick."
He glares daggers at me, and I turn to my computer. Human calculator, my ass! It's a good thing I work well under pressure.
I'm not home until well after midnight, but it was worth it, since I stayed to get right to work with the Trico team after our call. They loved my presentation, and I loved wiping the smug looks off Robert and Silva's faces.
I stroll to the kitchen, feeling light on my feet despite exhaustion, and drop my keys, phone, and messenger bag on the counter. My usual dinner on late nights is a meal replacement shake, but I still have a couple slices of pizza left from my date with Denise.
I shake my head. It wasn't a date. It was just some hangover food after a roll in the hay—or four. A roll I still don't remember; stupid whiskey ! Too bad I can't forget those perfect tits…or those hips.
That reminds me: I still need to change my sheets, especially if I plan to have "company" later this week. I might be the biggest womanizer of all my brothers, but I'm not completely without class.
I walk to my bedroom, intent on stripping my bed, when the buzzer sounds. Did I forget a booty call? I jog back to the intercom.
"Hello?"
"Hey," Mike answers. "Your brother is here. Is it too late to send him up?"
"Which one?" I ask, though I can guess. Henry, the oldest, would never drop by without calling, plus he lives out in Scarsdale. Adam's on his honeymoon in France, knee deep in wine and butter. That leaves either Damon, my middle brother, who's home from playing basketball overseas, or Noah, Henry's twin and a successful talent agent.
"It's your favorite brother, Noah!" Noah shouts into the receiver. He must've grabbed it from Mike. I chuckle and tell Mike to send him up. Two minutes later, he's on my doorstep.
"Do you have any idea what time it is?" I ask as I answer the door. Noah rolls his eyes and pushes past me, following the scent of melted cheese.
"Ooh, is that pizza I smell?" he asks, already reaching for the microwave door. He draws back after opening it. "Yuck! Hawaiian? Why would you allow this abomination in your home?"
I push him aside and take a big bite of one of the slices, smiling as I chew.
"I happen to think it's delicious."
"Since when?" he asks doubtfully. "You always order Italian sausage and peppers."
I don't avert my eyes quickly enough and Noah notices.
"Oh ho! So it was a lady friend ?" Noah waggles his eyebrows and looks around the apartment. "Is she still here? Am I interrupting something?"
I sigh at my brother's antics. How this goofball is older than me, I'll never know.
"If I had company, do you think I'd buzz you up?"
"True," he admits. He settles for one of my cold-pressed juices and flops down onto a barstool at the counter.
"Speaking of which…What are you doing here at," I look at my watch, "12:52am?"
Noah chugs the juice before answering.
"I had a meeting in the area, and the client insisted on doing shots to celebrate landing a role in the new Michael Bay film."
"Ooh! Michael Bay? Your client must be a big deal. Do I know them?"
Noah winks as he throws his empty bottle into the recycling bin.
"You will."
A loud guffaw bursts from my chest before I can stop it.
"You did not just say that," I laugh, though I tone down my smile when Noah's face falls. Shit. Why is it so hard to turn off the douchebag when I'm not at work?
"Whatever, man. You'll be begging to tag along for drinks once the movie's out. Anyway, I was hoping I could crash here instead of dealing with the subway this late?"
I nod and gesture towards the hall closet.
"You know where everything is."
Part of me wants to apologize—I clearly burst Noah's celebratory bubble with my ill-timed laugh—but being the jerk everyone thinks I am is so much easier. It's certainly easier than admitting my job, which I killed myself to get and pays an ungodly amount, is starting to suck away my soul. Some days, I barely recognize myself. That's hardly polite dinner conversation.
I put my plate in the dishwasher and head back to get started on the laundry while Noah gets settled on the couch. His place isn't that far from here—he's near West 4th by The Blue Note—but the trains are a pain at this hour.
I chuck my jeans, tie, and dress shirt into the hamper and enter my walk-in closet in just boxers and my Allbirds. I place them on the shelf with the rest of my sneaker collection, right next to my retro Air Jordans and my limited edition Converse All Stars. Ha! I wonder how much Robert's forehead vein would throb if I wore either of those pairs to the office.
I yank the goose down comforter off my bed, followed by the Egyptian cotton flat and fitted sheets. The luxury bedding cost me a pretty penny, but it was a small price to pay for the best sleep of my life. I bought them when I made my first $100,000, along with a Rolex and, at my Korean father's insistence, a Rolens.
Because I have a king-size bed, my hamper is already almost full, but luckily, only pillowcases remain. When I pull one off, something falls onto the now bare mattress: a gold chain with a dainty butterfly pendant. I found Denise's necklace!
Without thinking, I run back to the kitchen, giving Noah an eye full.
"Hey, bro! Some of us are trying to sleep!"
I ignore him and grab my phone from the counter before heading back to my room.
Denise (Maya's girl)
Hey, Denise. It's Cory, Adam's brother. I found your necklace!
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I smile to myself. I can't imagine how relieved she must be, considering she almost had a full-on breakdown when she thought it was lost. We were both still a little drunk, so I won't judge her too hard.
Her response comes less than a minute later.
Denise (Maya's girl): Seriously?! That's so great! Where was it?
Inside one of the pillowcases.
Denise (Maya's girl): Oh my God, no wonder we didn't find it. THANK YOU SO MUCH!
Denise (Maya's girl): You have no idea how much I was freaking out.
No problem. So when do you want to come get it? Or should I bring it to you somewhere?
Her response takes longer this time, and I realize I'm holding my breath. Do I want her to come back here? She acted like I was barely tolerable the last time she was over, but—My phone dings, thankfully ending that train of thought.
Denise (Maya's girl): I'll just swing by after work tomorrow. Does that work?
Depends. What time do you get off work?
Denise (Maya's girl): 6?
Can you make it 8pm? I've been pulling longer hours recently.
Denise (Maya's girl): Sure. I can do 8. I'll see you there.
Denise (Maya's girl): Thank you so much AGAIN!
I put the necklace in with my watches and run down to the basement to drop off my laundry. My brain is still buzzing. Why does this chick have me acting so weird? Hopefully, once she's got the necklace, we can go back to being just distant acquaintances.