Chapter 31
Recent transactions:
As much as it pained me, I sent Oliver home after a few hours. Our agreement is still the same until we know what is going
on with Dominic. He could be pressing charges or filing a lawsuit. Only when I’ve washed my hands fully of this chapter in
my life can I even dream about starting a new one.
My phone finally gave in under the weight of the notifications and crashed completely, but Cecily informed me over an early breakfast that the video has in fact gone viral.
Hitting almost every social media platform overnight.
The topics stretch into multiple industries beyond tech.
Misrepresentation of your qualifications, with many leaders in business coming forward to talk about how they had to bullshit their way into their first jobs because every employer wants you to have the highest education and several years of experience in the field to gain access to an entry-level minimum wage job in your chosen industry.
I chose not to mention Spencer by name to make sure the shrapnel didn’t hit his career as well as mine, but I don’t think his named involvement would have shifted the firestorm of cultural conversation.
How women are not given the same amount of chances as men; men can continually fail upward, whereas women get one shot, and if they fail, the entire gender is marred with the same brush.
The anti-feminist movement, using me as a shining example of how “women hate men because they secretly want to be them but can never achieve the same heights of success.” How me “hiring an actor” shows that extroverts gain access to powerful roles in business, not because they are the smartest or the most qualified but because they know how to play the game.
I’m being lauded for how I gamed the system but lambasted because I cheated my way to success.
How I should be made Woman of the Year and stoned to death in the street.
Malcolm set his article live overnight, seemingly as an attempt at retaliation.
Rather than making the splash he intended, it was immediately drowned out by bigger publications reporting on the incident.
“We’ve had interview requests from Forbes, FemTech Monthly, Fast Company, Business Insider, and the BBC.” Cecily shuts her notebook, lips pursed. “The Cut also wants you to write a personal essay.”
“Shit,” I say into my coffee, wiping my puffy eyes. I can already feel the weight of the digital eyes on me. Those publications
are going to run something about me with or without my comment. But in the arena of social media, people have already cast
their votes for or against me. Is a quote really going to change that?
“What do you want to do?” Cecily’s hands are primed on her phone, ready to go to war if I ask her to.
I take a breath. “I don’t want to make any more moves until we know what’s happening with Odericco. For all I know, I might
have a lawsuit on my hands.” The one unfortunate thing about Oliver quitting is no longer having a man on the inside. I’m
walking into a situation with no temperature gauge. Well, at least I know there’s not a chance in hell I’m getting that prize
money. Ironically, this is getting more press coverage than the winners of TechRumble. It’s better this way; a company who
didn’t place at all will get to be third. And as long as I don’t end up in jail by the end of the day, I’ll be happy. Everybody
wins.
I scroll through my inbox, now racking up to nearly four hundred new messages. I scroll down to one of the very first I received
after the video went live. My gut twists as I skim the paragraphs of misogynistic lecturing, graphic insults, and death threats.
I click through a few more with a similar tone until I hit something that contrasts so hard it almost gives me whiplash.
Hi Jess,
I’ve been following Wyst on Instagram for about six months, and I just wanted to say that I think what you did was really
brave. Also kind of nuts, but as a small business owner myself, I know how hard it can be to be taken seriously.
Anyway, you probably won’t read this, but I hope you’re doing okay.
Best,
Charlotte
Dear Jess,
Good on you for exposing that creep. I had a stalker a few years ago and the police wouldn’t do anything to help, so I know
how it goes. I’ve started following Wyst and can’t wait to see what you do next.
Karina
Jess,
My name is Sharon, and I represent the interests of Torrington Investors. Wyst is an incredibly exciting concept, and we’d
love to arrange a sit-down with you to discuss a potential investment.
Kind regards,
Sharon Edgar
Torrington Investors
I scroll through several more emails, getting sentiment whiplash from people calling me a lying bitch to a feminist hero.
People wanting me dead to people wanting to invest in Wyst. The mixed feelings gnaw at my edges, leaving me tender as I get dressed in a suit (black, just in case I’m stepping into my own funeral) and begin my first and last journey to Odericco Investments.
I keep my head down on the Tube, wearing a baseball hat and sunglasses like a shitty disguise in a superhero movie.
There’s a numbing effect to knowing so many people have seen it, that the news is out of my control.
The low rumbling as we zoom across to the financial district sets me into a meditative lull; I’m so tired but couldn’t possibly sleep knowing what’s coming.
After signing in with a pretty blond receptionist, I’m instructed to sit and wait at a cluster of white armchairs and sofas
set out like a makeshift living room. I perch uncomfortably in the modern design chair, trying at once to both avoid eye contact
with every person walking through the lobby while also making sure they aren’t staring at me. After a few minutes, I realize
I’m shaking. My mind starts to run at a hundred miles an hour. Am I having a panic attack? This doesn’t feel like a panic
attack. This feels like adrenaline surging through my veins until they pop. I try to self-soothe, repeating to myself that
I’ve survived worse. At least people are talking about something I have control over. I controlled the narrative. I decided
when and where to post it.
My mind glosses over Malcolm. I’m still fucking terrified he is going to do something beyond posting the article to retaliate,
but for now, it seems like he’s lying low. I’ve taken his story from him, his credibility, his reputation, his power over
me.
I huff a laugh, a sick satisfaction in Malcolm being forced out of job because of me for the second time.
Eventually, a man in his late twenties comes to collect me, and we ride the elevator up to the thirty-seventh floor in silence.
He’s well-dressed in a custom suit but has an air of nervousness, like he’s not fully settled in his environment. It quickly
dawns on me that he’s Oliver’s replacement.
He leads me into a room tinged in a cool blue hue from the wall-to-wall glass. The colored film no doubt provides a level of privacy without compromising the view of London’s skyline. Seeing all while never showing yourself, very on-brand for Dominic.
“Mr. Odericco will be in shortly,” New Oliver says before shooting me a tight, knowing smile and closing the door shut.
I pad over to the window and stare at the crowds flowing over streets and filing in and out of public transport. Working in
a place like this could give even the most grounded person issues with self-aggrandizement. Feeling huge compared to the thousands
of indistinguishable masses forty feet below your shoes.
The door clicks open, and I flick my head around to see Dominic Odericco step into the room. He doesn’t say anything, barely
making eye contact with me. I remain silent too, my eyes flicking between him and the door. I’m waiting for the other people
to file in behind him—legal representation, PR specialists, the crisis management team, the board of directors, anyone. After
a pregnant pause, Dominic walks over to the coffee station and pours himself a cup.
“Don’t you have someone to do that for you?” My voice is smooth and measured compared to my hands, which are shaking uncontrollably
in my pockets. I grip the chair to steady them.
“I did, but the new guy doesn’t get the milk ratio right.” He takes a sip, steam still reaching out of the cup.
“Must be hard to find good help these days.” Maybe it’s a power play to suggest I know his cousin just quit, to throw him
slightly before we do this. But I’m confused by the lack of bodies occupying the room, so I want to level the field a bit.
His sullen mouth softens, and he lets out a breath through his nose. He looks through me with dark hazel eyes. “Take a seat, Miss Cole.”
I pull the chair out from under the table and sit on the opposite side of the long table. “Are we waiting for anyone else?”
He raises an eyebrow. “No, unless you are?”
“No,” I say, trying to keep my relief at bay from my tone.
We sit; the only sound is the running of chair legs against the soft gray carpet. He unbuttons his suit jacket as he lowers
himself, so I do the same, leaning back in the seat to replicate every video I’ve ever watched about the art of negotiation.
This isn’t a negotiation, this is a sentencing, but I’d rather go down not clamoring against the table like a woman dying
of thirst asking for a drop of water.
He leans back on his elbow, one leg crossed over the other as he examines me. “I thought Wyst was a great idea,” he says,
face completely void of emotion.
Trying not to read into him using the past tense, the only thing I can think to say is “Thank you.”
“When your application was passed to me, I thought it was a no-brainer to include Wyst in TechRumble. We don’t get many . . .”
He thinks of the right word. “Alternatives to the banking, crypto, AI bunch in our application pools these days. Wyst really
stood out.”
My instinct is to say thank you again, but I swallow it, remaining both calm and tense, preparing my stomach muscles for the
gut punch I know must be coming.
“It’s a real shame you can’t be a finalist after everything that’s occurred.” He begins to type on his phone, on to the next
problem now that I’ve been dealt with.
“Mr. Odericco, I know what I did was misguided, but I would like the opportunity to explain my actions personally.”
“Self-awareness does not supersede foolishness.” He looks up from his phone, placing it face down on the table. “Besides,
Mr. Cole has already told me everything.”
My heart stops for a few beats as the latch clicks and a solemn-looking Spencer walks through the door, closing it behind
him. My eyebrows raise off the top of my head as I watch my brother sheepishly take a seat next to Dominic Odericco.
My mouth falls open. “What are you doing here?” We haven’t spoken since our fight, but I saw his name among the list of calls
and messages barraging my phone before it went kaput this morning.
“Thanks for joining us.” Dominic gives Spencer a genuine soft smile. My confusion rises. Why are they still so chummy? Spencer
lied to him too.
“You didn’t have to bring him in too; this was all me,” I insist.
“I didn’t invite him. I found him camped out in front of the building yesterday morning, claiming your entire plan was his
idea and if anyone was going to be punished, it should be him.
“But while we were talking, you posted your video. And it quickly became obvious he was lying to cover for you.”
Spencer shrugs. “I thought it was worth a shot.”
My eyes fill with tears, stinging the edges of my eyelids as I blink them back.
He stares at me, all warmth. An apology and a forgiveness all at once.
Our bond goes beyond anything else. Even though we might piss each other off, we’re still siblings.
As annoying as Spencer can be, as much as our family favors him, he’ll always be my brother.
And I’m so glad he is here. I want to run and hug him, to squeeze his hand under the table, to tell him we’re okay and we always will be.
That I love him so much for what he tried to do for me.
“I appreciate that you have decided to step down as CEO. But as much as you two have fucked up, I still think Wyst has merit,
and now . . . the whole world is looking at it.” Dominic holds his hands up. “The last thing I want out of this situation
is a loud public mess. TechRumble is something I’m very proud of, something that draws forth the newest innovations in technology.
If this farcical series of events affects my one passion project, then there’s going to be hell to pay.”
I internally wince; seeing a glimpse of his wrath is terrifying. I glance at Spencer, who seems even more entranced by Dominic’s
shift in demeanor.
“But I still want to help fund Wyst. Odericco Investments’ portfolio needs a bit of diversification. I’ve been attempting
to spearhead this for several years now, but I haven’t found a start-up that has the right . . .” He purses his lips. “Reputation.”
I sit back. “Right . . . And by reputation, you mean what exactly?” Jesus, who am I right now? Three months ago, I would have
burst into tears from just an invitation to the Odericco office. And now all of a sudden, I’ve become big balled enough to
question his interest? “Because I don’t want Wyst to be upheld as some shining example of FemTech just so you can use us as
a stepping stone to a more diverse portfolio.” I cross my arms for emphasis; even if I have stepped down as CEO, I’m still
the sole owner and founder of the company.
Dominic takes a sip of his coffee, still boiling hot. “Can’t it be both?”
I don’t respond as he continues, “I assume you’re now looking for alternative employment? I have a new role I think you might be interested in.”
We stare at each other, and a shiver runs down my spine. This is the icy, determined robot stare everyone talks about; this
is the legacy he has already written.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, taking a breath. “But only if you also pledge to implement blind applications. TechRumble should
be putting its money where its mouth is.”
Spencer covers his smile with a hand, squinting at me with gleaming eyes.
Dominic’s mouth almost twitches into a smile before he decides against such a frivolous indulgence. He leans back, enjoying
the delicious, stressed silence as he takes another slow sip of his coffee. “Done.”