Chapter 21
ALL THE WAY BACK TO THE OFFICE, I expect Betsey to appear from around every corner. My hand fumbles around in my purse until I finger the bent corner of the torn envelope. There’s no way she understands what she witnessed.
All is quiet as I walk to my office. Before locking my purse and bag in my wardrobe, I check the time. Three minutes after five. The town hall has just begun.
As soon as the elevator doors open on the thirty-ninth floor, a sea of sound washes over me. Conversations, laughter, and the tinkling of dishes emanate from the Bull and Bear conference room about twenty yards away.
I grab a mocktail with a sprig of spruce from the silver tray just inside the door.
There’s beer, wine, and an open bar ready to make a wide variety of cocktails, but I’m loving the trend toward interesting flavors without the spirits.
I take a sip of the woodsy tonic and find myself surrounded by traders, analysts, and marketing folks clinking glasses to the success of our funds.
While praising each one of their contributions, I also scan the room for Hardwin or Terrence.
Although I’d love to simply ask my boss what they decided to do with Betsey’s data, there is deference to be shown by allowing one of Phil’s other direct reports to deliver the news.
Also, Phil is the CEO. I tread lightly with what I ask of him.
Best to start with our chief legal counsel. Actually, best to start with one of his trusted lawyers. Get the inside scoop so I know how to show up when they come for me. Because they will come.
Unless . . . Maybe they determined the data is fake and we can move on from this nightmare.
Maybe Betsey was just joking about confronting my husband on Friday.
And maybe I’m trapped in a stage production produced by brilliant twentysomethings exploring the ludicrous notion of work-life balance. Maybe I’m going insane.
I excuse myself from the group as I spy one of the lawyers who helped with the filings when we first launched the ETFs.
Months of late nights to get the paperwork to the point where the SEC would have no reason to deny us.
We learned each other’s favorite take-out restaurants and the intramurals we played in college.
I’m taking another sip of my delicious drink when a large hand pats my shoulder.
“Meredith, nice event.”
Sometimes I forget how tall Hardwin is until I am standing next to him. Across a desk or in a conference room, he seems less of a mountain.
“Thanks. Was looking for you and your team. They were instrumental in getting us launched on time and without incident.”
“As is expected,” he says flippantly. “Look, we need to talk.”
“Of course. I’m scheduled to go up and say a few words, and then maybe after—”
“Phil’s going to go up. It’ll be good to have him give his thanks. Everyone knows how you feel.” He scrunches his nose like I’m an endearing little thing.
Do they? I doubt anyone around here ever knows how I’m feeling.
We don’t transact in feelings. And right now, I’m feeling very rattled, as if I’m standing in the station, everyone rushing by to catch their train, and I have no idea where my track is or even where I’m going.
Hardwin doesn’t seem to notice. Or perhaps he doesn’t care.
“Let’s head to my office.” He swings his arm around to guide me but stops just short of touching me.
“Hardwin.” Dave strides up, blocking our progress to the door.
“If it can wait, I need to catch a word with Meredith.” Hardwin indicates the door.
“Phil needs you.”
Hardwin grumbles and then takes a small step back. He’s surprisingly light on his feet and seems to always be spatially aware. After all this is over, I should ask him more about his years playing ball.
“Meredith, I’m sorry. Our conversation will need to wait.” He almost bows in sincerity.
“I understand. Do you want to find me when—”
“I’ll talk to her.” Dave lifts his chin to Hardwin. Inches taller than me, Dave still needs to look up to make eye contact with our chief legal counsel.
Hardwin hesitates.
“I was in the room. I know what needs to happen.” There’s a constrained energy emanating from Dave. He almost vibrates with it.
“I’m happy to wait.” I take a step back, pulling alongside Hardwin. On this day, of all days, I have no desire to be alone with Dave. And he looks way too eager to deliver his news.
“No.” Hardwin nods. “Dave’s right. I’ll catch up with you later.” He turns and strides away.
Catch up with who later? Will I be around later to be caught up with?
I scold myself for thinking this way. Besides this hiccup with Betsey, I’ve orchestrated the most successful fund launch Garman Straub has ever seen.
I need to keep all things in perspective, but I can’t seem to help fixating on the worst case—a public firing with tragic headlines in the Wall Street Journal.
Somehow stoking the terrible image is like an antidote to the panic threatening to pummel me.
As we walk in silence to Dave’s office, I realize I don’t have my phone on me—I left it in my bag.
I’ve moved mountains trying to get time on this man’s calendar.
In fact, I’m convinced he’s created trips to advisors’ offices and wholesaler summits to avoid discussing sales with me.
A chill runs down my spine as we take the last corner.
I don’t want to be here. Everyone who has a workstation in the small bullpen outside his office is at the town hall.
I enter a land of tchotchkes.
Dave’s office never fails to both irritate and impress me.
He has collected, sometimes modified, and then even created a few scenes from competitors’ brand material.
Like two columns of stuffed animals in shirts from competing firms clipped into thin leather traces pulling a sled with a man in a suit.
I squint down at the display. Is the Ken doll meant to be Dave?
I can’t help the smile that curves my lips.
How much time does this man have on his hands?
I walk toward the small corner conference table, and a familiar image on the wall catches my eye, a map of the New York portion of the Appalachian Trail.
I breathe in heavily through my nose and raise my hand like I might touch the glass.
I’m no stranger to AT maps. My husband is obsessed.
After growing up in Maine and then through his years as an EMT in Fannin County, Georgia, he intimately learned both ends of the iconic backpacking adventure and has collected and recently created many trail schematics.
Clint would love this version. Maybe I can ask Dave about it.
Maybe it’s a sign that I’m going to be all right.
An intricately wound letter T rests proudly in the lower-right corner of the framed map. Interesting logo.
Dave has removed his suit jacket and laid it on the back of his desk chair. His body is still vibrating with a strange energy.
Perhaps the map is a sign to find my way out of here. Now.
I choose a chair closest to the still-open door and settle at his conference table.
Dave cocks his head at me. Likely he wanted me to pull up to his desk. Not today, buddy.
Dave strides from around his desk, yanks back one of the other black leather chairs, and plants himself at the table. His nostrils flare above his trim mustache and beard.
Good to be starting this nice and friendly. My Jimmy Choo–clad toes press into the beige carpet. I’m a breath away from bolting.
Dave stares out his large window, with a flyover view of the New York Public Library on to the art deco crown of the Empire State Building.
“You’ll be happy to hear, as we were, that the data is fake.
A good fake, but a fake all the same.” He shifts his gaze back to me.
“While we were meeting, teams from fund accounting and legal were able to track lots and determine the report was manufactured.”
I blow out a breath. “That is a relief.” How could Betsey not realize we would verify the data? Ridiculous I even suspected she could get her hands on it.
“It’s a good forgery. I’ll give her that.” He throws out his arms. His shirtsleeves ride up, and silver-toned cuff links embossed with what looks like antique compasses sparkle in the fluorescent light. “I have to say, this has all been disappointing.”
“Yes.” I decide to employ the rule of improv and try for agreement in order to move the scene forward. I want to get back to the teams and maybe grab one of those decadent cookies. “This whole business with Betsey has felt a bit tarnishing on a couple days that should have been only celebratory.”
“Will be good to put this behind us.” He’s being remarkably evenhanded.
I pinch the base of my gold cross necklace until the bite of pain in my thumb unhitches the tension growing in my chest. I know how to handle arrogant Dave. Affable Dave, I have little experience with. I take a few small breaths.
Dave smiles with all teeth. “Meredith, we don’t want to waste any more time.
Phil, and all of us, have expectations. As I tried to tell you yesterday at the reception, this is not your pedestal.
You’re not playing to a crowd. We work as a team.
The board meeting is on Monday. I understand you’ve sent Phil some ideas. ”
I stiffen. Why is he asking me about this?
He and Hardwin pulled me out of my own celebration to deliver news that didn’t require any action, and now he’s reminding me of something I know.
Something he knows I know. Phil already has my draft.
I’m waiting for him to give me his comments on our new product plans.
“Yes,” I say.
Dave tugs on one of his sleeves. If I didn’t know him better, I’d think he was nervous, but that makes no sense.
“However you’re pulling these funds together, you seem to have a touch.
These things can run their course, so use it while you’ve got it.
” He bumps back from the table and stands. “Thanks for coming.”
I get to my feet and shove my chair under the table. This has to be one of the more bizarre meetings I’ve experienced. But I don’t want to spend another minute outside of the town hall. Besides all the people I have to thank, I’ve got a mashed potato bar to hit and a few more mocktails to sample.
“Thank you, Dave,” I call over my shoulder as I reach his door.
“Oh. One more thing.” He swings his suit jacket over his arm. “What else was in the envelope?”
“Sorry?” My heart stutters.
“Besides the thumb drive. Any correspondence?”
“No. No context at all.” The lie flows without a hitch.
“Very strange.” His voice lowers a tad as if talking mostly to himself.
“With the data being a fake, I can’t quite figure what she’s after.
Maybe just to throw you off your game. Especially this week.
” He takes a few steps toward me. “And she hasn’t reached out since you received the package.
She was desperate to get ahold of you and now nothing?
” He shakes his head as if his kid just told him their dog messed in the kitchen.
“Perhaps she’ll be in touch soon?” Not quite a lie but certainly one of omission. I should have come clean about her cornering me at Grand Central. That was stupid not to, but I need to get my head straight on what these guys can be told.
It’s all about having a plan. I’ve built a career on multitasking and being present in the space I occupy.
The next time I see Betsey, I swear I’ll call the authorities and then Hardwin, perhaps in reverse order.
And now I need to find the courage to speak to my husband. I glance over at the trail map. Our whole family needs to learn to communicate. This difficulty with Erika is making everything else feel superfluous.
My heart is beginning to slow its gallop. I pretend to scratch my cheek. Thankfully, my face doesn’t feel hot. I open my mouth to finally ask about the map, but he speaks first.
“You let us know when she contacts you. Because she will.”
He’s not wrong.
“Of course,” I say as I stride from Dave’s office with my shoulders pulled back and my chin a tad higher than necessary. I need not telegraph any weakness, which would only prolong this meeting. It’s time to put an end to any distraction, but in order to do that, I have to tell Clint about Lucas.