Chapter 22
FIGHTING A SHIVER, I step back into the bustling town hall.
The cacophony of conversation and the clinking of glasses surround me.
This atmosphere is so rousing—the vitality of ambitious professionals using this celebration to seek their next opportunity, their next big break.
Phil must have already spoken. He can put a charge through his people like no one else.
My steps falter. That was their plan—to get me out of the room, to keep me from being the one talking to the teams, to separate my leadership from this success.
They must not know what to do with me yet.
But so far, if Dave is to be believed, I’m still included in Monday’s board meeting.
Hope swells inside me. I shackle myself to its warmth.
Through suits, I spy a deep dish of lobster on the mashed potato bar and head in that direction.
As I get to the delicious display, Terrence’s animated voice catches me.
As if the words of his story are arrows shooting through the room, I try to catch a few midflight.
Sydney Opera House and water cannons fall into my quiver.
Must be his classic tale of when the Asia-Pacific mutual fund launched and not only was his luggage lost when he got to Australia, but he was detained by immigration and missed most of the meetings, arriving in the city just in time for a water salute as part of a WWII commemorative festival.
I’ve always loved how he talks about gazing out at the water sprays and knowing their mutual funds would find success.
I’ve had the same sense about our ETFs. Only I’m data-driven and hate to ever check luggage.
While imagining the boats in Sydney Harbour, I smile and walk toward Terrence, exuding confidence to mask a fragility that lingers inside me.
The data has been manufactured, but that doesn’t change that Betsey believes she has leverage over me to give her what she wants by Friday.
Suddenly, I wonder if I’m the only one who knows this.
As I make my way through the sea of faces, I pause for only moments to make a greeting or give my thanks. Terrence catches my eye, but then Hardwin appears next to him and whispers something in his ear. They both stride in the opposite direction.
I pause. He doesn’t want to talk. At least not here. It’s as if they’re all in the same huddle, poised to trot back to the line of scrimmage, and I’m on the sidelines with the band, unable to read my own sheet music.
Perhaps the worst-case scenario is not the terrible headlines of my firing but receiving no mention at all.
Amid the clatter of laughter and swish of a few cheap polyester suits, I hear a snippet of conversation from one of Dave’s sales guys.
“. . . showed up at the Everson office. Although he’s always gracious, you could tell he wanted to drop-kick her from the room.
She was spouting some weirdness to him about investor due diligence.
I interrupted her talking to one of the admins who was setting up lunch in the conference room. We’d ordered from that incredible—”
“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” I set my shoulder into their tight circle. “Thanks for coming.” So, not only did Betsey visit Aarav’s office but also Everson. I channel my anger at my sales manager into determining how to manage this conversation.
Bryan’s Adam’s apple bobbles a few times before he responds. “Thank you, Meredith. Great party.”
“Good to know Betsey made it to Everson and was able to speak to Hal.” The first name of the office’s managing director pops onto my tongue right on cue. It pays off as their gazes stay fixed on me. “I’d wondered, as I hadn’t gotten her notes.”
“You knew she’d be there?” another of Dave’s guys asks.
“She’s one of my most successful technical sales leads,” I say with authority but without answering.
“Of course, I only meant that we often coordinate before, and this time, she didn’t have a presentation. She just seemed to be prompting private conversations.” Bryan seems to realize he’s maybe said too much. He shrugs. “You know how Hal is about procedure.”
I nod. We all know about Hal’s need for control. What was Betsey thinking? “It wasn’t her first time there. She thought individual conversations would be more helpful than the formal dog and pony.”
“Makes sense. Just kind of wondered why she was meeting with the support staff.” A pink flush rises up Bryan’s neck.
The guy to his left speaks up. “She’d cornered one of the admins and was asking odd questions about trade submissions.”
I take a sip of my drink and nod my head. “What really upset you both?”
“This was my appointment.” Bryan’s voice has grown louder. “It made us look bad to not know she was coming, and when she got there, we looked unprepared when we didn’t know what she was doing.”
“I get that. With Betsey gone, I’ll be doing some restructuring with my sales and support teams. We should all sit down and make sure you’re not caught in any more weirdness going forward.
” Weaving my gaze through their eager expressions, I raise my glass at Dave, who, by the sour look on his face, has noticed his team holding court.
“In fact, let’s be creative in this next quarter. ”
“Creative?” asks one of the guys, with a well-groomed mustache.
“Sure.” I lower my voice. They all lean in. “Did you see that article in FA magazine about layering client experiences with continuing education?”
The guys glance furtively at each other before a woman with a pixie haircut and dark-rimmed glasses speaks up. “Didn’t they rave about the trends toward extreme sports?”
“Yes. Exactly. Instead of boring meetings, mixing it up. You all would have to tell me if the ideas in the article were decent or maybe you have other thoughts?”
Like I pulled my finger from a fissure in the dam, their creativity starts rolling.
I never look back up, but I can feel the weight of Dave’s irritation, and shame on me, it gives me strength.