Thirty-Nine
Preeti and I meet Jerome outside the conference center. I know how these shareholder events are run, that they will start
with hundreds of people milling around in the stark-white foyer, making small talk, before filing into the theater and waiting
for the CEO to take the stage.
I still can’t believe my father won’t be there. Clara Woodlander is set to introduce this conference, but not for long, not
if everything goes according to plan.
“Are you ready for this?” Jerome looks at both of us with anticipation.
Preeti nods and so do I. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say. “Did you get the slideshow done?”
He grins. “I did. They won’t know what’s hit them.” He looks at his watch. “Five more minutes and then everyone will be seated
in the theater. I’m going to make sure the lights are down when I take you in. I’ve left a side door unlocked. This way.”
Jerome leads us around the corner of the building, where he has propped the side door open with a fire bucket. We follow him
to the auditorium door. He cracks it open, peeks in, and gives us the go-ahead.
My heart is in my mouth as we walk in. It’s pitch-black. Tiny LED lights set into the floor offer the only direction. Jerome reaches back for my hand, and in turn I reach for Preeti’s. The three of us make our way slowly to the seats at the very back of the room.
Suddenly, there’s an explosion of light, and the ipryy logo appears on the huge screen behind the podium. The music of Led
Zeppelin pounds through the space, the logo pulsing in time, changing color. We shuffle backward into our seats, unable to
tear our eyes from the stage as Clara emerges from the wings, amidst a sudden firework display of lights. It is everything
my father loved, from Led Zeppelin, his favorite band, to his belief that even in a shareholders conference, you had to entertain
people.
The music dies, the giant ipryy logo on the screen disappears, and in its place is a live close-up of Clara, getting ready
to speak. I will give her this. She looks magnificent. The sharp new bob and highlights suit her, much as it pains me to admit
it. Her makeup is immaculate. This Clara is not only beautiful, she is a woman who has reached the heights to which she has
always aspired, and she is completely comfortable there.
“Welcome to the first shareholder’s conference since the passing of our beloved founder, Marty Cooke, and thank you all for
making the time to attend,” she says. “This was as shocking and unexpected for everyone who works at ipryy as I know it was
for all of you. Our worlds have been turned upside down, and that you were all able to drop everything and attend at such
short notice is proof of how important ipryy continues to be in all of our worlds.
“We have had a very tough few months. Marty left ipryy to try a new experimental treatment in Switzerland, which was unsuccessful. He left a family member in charge as interim CEO, which only served to prove that nepotism should never have had a place at ipryy. I am here to ensure it never does. Loving, and believing in your family is a wonderful thing, but putting someone with no experience whatsoever at the helm of a global company is not such a wonderful thing.”
She pauses as a ripple of subdued laughter moves in a wave around the room.
“Cunt,” whispers Preeti to me. It is all I can do not to rush the stage and flatten her.
“Luckily, Marty Cooke knew that the company was in dire trouble. The very last thing he did before he died was ask me to take
over the company.” Clara bows her head as the applause starts again. I’m rocked by a wave of fury that is so strong, I truly
wonder if I can do this, if I can stand up there, say what needs to be said.
“Stay calm.” Preeti whispers in my ear. “You have to take your emotions out of this. We knew she would do something like this.
Take some deep breaths. You’re going to be great. Focus on your speech, not hers.”
I do as Preeti says, trying not to think about all the years wasted loving this woman, trusting her, thinking of her as someone
who was able to look after me when my own father wouldn’t or couldn’t.
The factory in India, I learn from her speech, is back up and running, and everything is on target, including the release
date of ipryy home. The projected figures are even higher than initially predicted.
She finishes speaking, to riotous applause. Jerome has already made his way up to the front of the stage, and she introduces
him, ipryy’s COO. Preeti and I look at each other, and we stand, silently making our way down the long aisles to the front
of the room.
Jerome is perfectly still, waiting for the applause to die down.
When the room is finally silent, a picture of my father flashes on the screen.
It is the iconic picture everyone immediately thinks of when they hear the name Marty Cooke.
There he is, so much larger than life, his arms tanned and strong as he draws them back to throw the ball in the air, his gaze just off camera, his eyes filled with delight and love.
It is a picture that fully encapsulates my father, his energy, his vibrancy, his magic. I catch my breath as I look at the
screen, hear the room explode into thunderous applause. When the room finally falls silent, Jerome clicks a button, and the
picture enlarges.
I never knew this picture was cropped, but now the picture is whole, and standing on the other side of the frame, is me. I
am a toddler, dressed in the exact same faded jeans and red-striped T-shirt as my father, my arms outstretched for the ball
that is heading toward me, my face broken open with delight.
I look again at my father’s face and see the love in his eyes as he looks at me. I never knew what he was looking at in this
photograph, but his gaze was directed at me all the time.
I never had to prove a thing in order for him to love me.
I blink away the tears as Jerome turns back from looking at the screen to face the audience, leaning in to the microphone.
“I would like to introduce our newest majority shareholder. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Missy Cooke.”
Clara is standing at the side of the stage. I see her pale as her mouth drops open. Whatever else she might have planned,
she clearly had no idea my father left me 33 percent of the shares; she had no idea that his last and most important gesture
wasn’t asking her to be CEO of the company, it was ensuring that I would always have the final say.
Clara frowns at Jerome as if to ask what the fuck is going on, but I am already walking up to the stage, my heart pounding in my ears.
By the time I reach the top of the steps, Clara has composed herself and, in front of our audience of two thousand, meets me at the top of the steps, reaching out a conciliatory hand, but I brush it aside before pausing.
As an afterthought, I reach up to the necklace she bought me on my twenty-first birthday.
It’s a tiny diamond heart that I have never taken off.
I rip it from my neck, feeling the delicate chain break, and drop it in her hand, before continuing to the podium.
The room is so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. There is no applause for me. I remember what Preeti told me, to take deep
breaths. I close my eyes and center myself, focusing on the cool air flowing through my nostrils and how warm it is when I
exhale. I open my eyes, find Preeti’s encouraging face in the audience, and I clear my throat.
“You all know my father’s story, how he came from the wrong side of the tracks in Oakland, how he knew he was headed for disaster
in his school, and how, through persistence and force of will, he managed to get himself into a charter school, which changed
not only his life, but the lives of billions of people around the world.
“My father was a visionary. He believed that failure is not an option. He believed that the only way to achieve success was
with what he called a PhD, but in his case, it stood for persistence, humility, and discipline. As much as he cared about
ipryy, he knew that if he hadn’t been given a leg up in those early years, if he hadn’t demanded access to a better education,
none of us would be here today.
“I consider myself enormously lucky to be the daughter of Marty Cooke.
Not just because my father was brilliant, and quirky, and passionate, and loving, but because of the things he cared about.
Other than ipryy, and his family, my father was passionate about education for young people; he knew that the world grows when young people have access to education, and one of the things we were working on, before he became sick, was growing the philanthropic arm with a mission to give children all over the world access to a proper education.
“Despite claims of nepotism, and despite what you may have read, or indeed heard, my father spent years preparing me to continue
his legacy at ipryy. I have a degree from Harvard, and years of learning every aspect of this business. When I first came
in, I knew exactly how to continue my father’s work, never anticipating that I would be sidelined by being sent on an extravagant
world tour that I didn’t ask for, and didn’t want.”
I pause, now comfortable, surveying the darkened room.
“But I am so grateful for being sent away, and specifically, for being sent to India, where I visited the mines that supply
the cobalt used for the batteries in the new ipryy home product. The projected profit from ipryy home was nine hundred and
six million dollars. When my father became sick and left the company, that profit went up to one point two billion dollars,
but that was hidden from me. The reason it was hidden from me was because of how they managed to enlarge the profits.” I turn
around so I am looking at the screen, where the picture of my father is now replaced with pictures from the mine in India.
With young children hauling sacks around the mines, crawling out of the holes, filthy and exhausted.
I turn back to the microphone and explain that this is the mine supplying the ipryy factories. The slideshow continues, interspersed
with pictures of healthy young children in school, playing in backyards, grinning on the shoulders of their parents. There
is a gasp from the audience as the realization slowly dawns on them. These are not stock pictures of happy, healthy children;
they are the sons and daughters of ipryy shareholders, pictures Jerome has painstakingly found, trawling through hundreds
of Facebook and Instagram accounts.
“This,” I say, noting the shock on the few faces I can see in the front row, “is what children should be doing. This is what my father wanted for all children; that they should be playing, learning, going to school. ipryy raised their profits because of child labor practices, which was deliberately hidden from my father, and from me. Clara Woodlander knew it was something my father would never support.”
An email flashes up on screen. It is from Jeff Linnehan to Clara Woodlander, while I was acting CEO.
Sourcing cobalt directly from market at 1/3 of price. Okay to proceed?
Proceed, writes Clara. Great news. Allows us to set profits at 1.2. Keep this between us.
I have no idea how Jerome accessed Clara’s email, but I’m very grateful he did.
The screenshot of the email is followed by video of children selling the cobalt at the markets. There are no adults there,
only children. Nasreen filmed it for me after I shut the factory down. Hundreds of children in torn, dusty clothing, offering
the cobalt to all the passers-by.
Then, I talk about the solution. How charities like Nasreen’s are opening crafts centers, schools, ensuring women can help
support their families while their children gain education. I propose teaming up with other technology companies to do the
same, Inferno being the first one ipryy would work with on expanding our philanthropic reach.
“Not using this specific mine, moving to ethical practices that will not take advantage of child labor will cost ipryy home around ten to fifteen million dollars. How much—” I pause “—do any of us need? How much—” I pause again, finding Clara Woodlander’s face as she stands at the side of the stage, her face contorted with horror “—does our CEO need? What could any one of us do with the nine point five million dollars Clara Woodlander had my father sign off as her salary this year? Oh. And when my father signed off on that, he was unconscious at the time, according to the nurse who was present in the room.”
I find Jerome on the side of the stage, and hold his gaze, conveying my thanks for his detective work, as there is a collective
gasp from the audience, which quickly becomes an uproar.
Jerome walks back to the podium, joining me.
“I propose a vote from the shareholders as to who the new CEO should be,” he shouts over the noise. “I vote for Missy Cooke
to be immediately reinstated as the CEO of ipryy.”
“I second that vote,” calls someone from the crowd, as the audience leaps to its feet, clapping, and tears fill my eyes. I
look back at the screen, and there is the iconic picture of my father again, only this time, with me in the picture.
My father loved and believed in me when I had no idea how to love and believe in myself. He knew I would be able to run long
before I knew what it was to stand on my own two feet.