2. Salinger
2
SALINGER
I ’m so fucking sick of her neediness.
No, not Mandy. My assistant is aggravatingly self-sufficient, despite the donut brigade. And she won’t quit. She’s breaking my streak. She already cost me ten thousand dollars in lost bets.
The text messages from my soon-to-be ex-girlfriend come in, rapid and emotional and whiny. So whiny.
Alma: I love you.
Alma: I want to have your babies.
Alma: We’re perfect together.
I’m so sick of dating twenty-somethings.
My pen scratches on the memo pad as I jot down a reminder to have Mandy break up with Alma. Again. Am I one of those men who likes a young college student on his arm because it makes him feel powerful?
Of course not.
I was only with Alma to get her to convince her grandfather to hire my investment company as the manager for the trust he had set up for his family.
Five billion dollars and one tombstone later, Grandpa is dead, my firm is flush with cash, and I can finally kick Alma to the curb.
I’ll never get tired of being the villain.
No, I don’t have a heart of gold under my gruff exterior.
I’m not misunderstood due to my childhood trauma.
I don’t want to change. I want to win. At all costs, no matter the collateral damage.
Just ask my family.
Silencing the phone with its barrage of begging, I head to the atrium, where my employees are trickling in for the all-hands meetings.
I take my place on the low stage near a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the harbor.
Mandy and her friend have brought the box of crushed donuts to the large atrium space. They’re parked on one of the wood planters, using their fingers to pick at the broken pastry. The dog Mandy keeps practically glued to her side pants noisily, breathing all over the box.
My assistant fiddles with the laptop while she sucks icing off her fingers. It’s aggravating and not at all how the assistant of the CEO of the biggest financial firm in the US should behave.
The last of my employees file into the atrium. They lean against walls, crossing their arms as they type intently on their phones .
I am not one of those CEOs who needs to have his employees hold court for him. My people all know that work is more important than any of my announcements. However, the whole office turns out for the start of hell week.
I gaze out at the faces before me.
“You beautiful stone-cold killers—metaphorically speaking. The best of the best of corporate finance.” I address them with no preamble. They know my methods by now. “Also, the interns. The poor unwashed masses yearning for a six-figure entry-level salary.”
My employees chuckle. This is the show that enticed them away from their spreadsheets.
“The more intelligent among you have already figured out that Rainier Equity is not a charity. I don’t give handouts. I don’t coddle. You don’t get a pat on the head and a ‘well done’ for doing your fucking job. As a great man once said, ‘That’s what the money is for.’”
The senior-level investors trade knowing smirks.
“In case you haven’t understood, let me spell it out for you. This is your come-to-Jesus corporate war speech. A finite amount of money floats around in the world looking for investment opportunities, and I want all of it.” My gaze sweeps over the mass of employees.
“Rainier Equity is the gateway firm to investment in Asia and Australia. We are the top investment firm in the US now that Svensson Investment is a smoking crater.” A silent video of the recent bedlam on the trading floor at Svensson Investment plays behind me. The money I paid for the footage was well spent.
“The only thing that matters is money. I don’t care if you have to go to cousin Rosalia’s baby shower or your cat’s bat mitzvah—hours are eighty a week, minimum. I’m here. You should be too. At least pretend like you’re going to try to take my job.” I smile. “Impress me.”
Several interns are visibly shaking.
“You don’t have a life—you have money. You have this firm. Loyalty is rewarded. Failure is punished. If you can’t manage that, go work at a local bank.”
The presentation flips to the next slide—a smiling corporate portrait, freshly taken on Monday morning.
“Deena Robinson, you’re fired.”
The young woman cries out in shock. Her friends lay hands on her to offer comfort. They will soon be broken of that habit.
Holding up a hand, I continue, “My brother paid you to try and sabotage me. Greg’s a moron if he thinks I wasn’t going to find out about his little revenge scheme. Now get off my property.” The presentation flips to the next image. “Lana Thompson. You’re fired.”
“Why?” the girl wails.
“Why?” I bark. One of her Instagram posts pops up on the screen.
Pointing at it, I read aloud, “‘New internship, who dis? ’Bout to go find me a rich hubby.’ Not on my dime, you’re not.”
Titters from the audience.
“What part of ‘I am not running a charity’ do you not understand?” I roar at the sobbing girl. “Get the fuck out. And Sansa Taylor. You’re unoriginal, just like your parents and their terrible taste in names.”
A censored image pops up on the screen.
“You’re fired. No, not for sending this lewd text message at eleven at night. FYI, I was in the office at that time. You clearly weren’t. The rest of you take note.”
Knowing smirks among the senior investors.
“Now, Sansa, if you’re going to try and fuck me for a payday, at least try to be subtle about it. I might respect you more if this held any measure of finesse. A duck face and cheap lingerie? That’s embarrassing—do better. You’re fired because you’re lazy.” I pause. “The rest of you, look to Dara as an example of a dedicated employee. Dara here slept with a client to land a deal. Dara is a rock star, and she received a three hundred thousand dollar bonus this Christmas.”
“My kids really like the house you bought us!” Dara calls, blowing me a kiss.
“The house you bought them,” I correct. “You see that? That’s commitment. That’s dedication. That’s not leaving a paper trail. The rest of you,” I add, looking to the remaining nauseous-looking interns, “take note. These people were fired because they fucked up. Don’t fuck up.”
A final picture comes up, one I’d made Mandy add.
“Austin—yes, I know your name, donut boy. No, I’m not firing you. I don’t have to. You’re going to have a mental breakdown by Thursday.”
Out on the floor, money changes hands as investors place bets. After all, what is corporate finance if not government-sanctioned high-stakes gambling?
Mandy taps a frosting-covered finger on her tablet, and the screen to the right of me shifts.
“This is the leader board. Notice that Austin is not on here. You’re still allowed to surprise me, donut boy, but anyone with even a passing understanding of statistics will not bet in your favor. ”
I survey the group.
“I’m not an idiot. If you all earn me over fifty million this summer, then you all will have jobs. I’m not sacrificing a hard worker just to maintain a reputation or anything like that. Money above all. If you don’t earn that amount, then I’m only taking the top three.”
I let the words hang in the air.
“Look to your left, look to your right, look behind you. Only one of you will survive. Welcome to hell week. This week, you’re expected to work one hundred twenty hours. You should have already done ten. Anyone who wants to go complain to Mommy and Daddy can get your shit and leave. Now, get out of my sight.”
Several of my employees salute me. The teams who were assigned them collect their shaking interns.
“Mandy, my office. Five minutes.”
Her shoes squeak on the floor as she hurries after me. “I thought it was illegal to fire people publicly like that?”
“I’ll pay the fine. I don’t care.”
In my office, the glass door closes behind her with a soft click.
“The port authority account.” I tap my pen on the stack of papers on my desk. “I need you to pretend you’re a competent assistant and find me a way into this deal.”
“Sure.” Her voice is syrupy-sweet. “I’ll just pretend you’re a competent investor and wave my magic assistant wand and get you a dinner invite with Benji Isaacs.”
“And she uses sarcasm to cover her ineptitude.”
“You wish. Lucky for you,” she adds brightly, “I don’t have to pretend. He’s going to be at the Forever Furry Foundation fundraising dinner next week. His new girlfriend really wanted to go. It’s turning into quite the must-attend event. Just got confirmation of the tickets and a very nice thank-you note for your generous donation.” She hands me the card. “And if you ask nicely, I’ll let you bring Pepper.”
“Why would I want to take that disgusting animal anywhere?”
Her overweight corgi waddles to the glass window that separates my office sanctuary from hers, complete with a steady stream of coffee cups, snacks that sprinkle crumbs all around her desk, colorful folders, and an array of pastel-colored sticky notes and sparkly pens she used to keep all my requests organized.
“Forever Furry Foundation is pet rescue.”
I bang the edge of my hand on my desk. “The dog-pound people? You gave half a million dollars to the dog-pound people?”
“You said ‘unlimited budget.’ Sir. ”
“Fuck.”
On the other side of the glass, the animal sneezes, spraying white speckles of whipped cream all over my pristine glass wall.
“Add to your list looking into banning dogs at this office. It’s like working in a zoo.”
“You don’t mean that.” Mandy’s stubborn. “I know the stats.”
My hand clenches into a fist to keep from rubbing my temple. Why can’t she just quit? Having an assistant too long is a point of weakness. As donut boy demonstrates, if the boss relies too much or too emotionally on his assistant, someone can use that relationship to manipulate him.
God knows I’ve done it enough times myself.
“The pets keep people in the office,” she insists. “People leave and don’t come back if they have to go home and walk dogs. That’s why we have a dog-walker. And that’s why you took my advice and installed a day care.”
“I bet you just wanted it because you dream that one day, you’ll have a baby of your very own.” I cut her. “I see you with those interns—you’re not subtle.”
Now she’s crying. Not sobbing, but a few tears leak out of watery eyes.
Finally.
“Oh, and Mandy?” I add. “Since you’re clearly not long for the corporate-finance world, why don’t you put finding your replacement at the top of your list?”