Chapter 23
A queasiness suddenly gnaws at my stomach. Perhaps I’ve looked at enough images for a while.
Leaving now, I’ll be a tad earlier than expected. I’ll take the win. As I’m shoving my laptop and notebook into my bag, my phone buzzes. A text from Hardwin’s admin requests I jump on a conference call with him and Terrence. Phil wants them to share his thoughts and their edits on my board pitch.
I sit heavily in my chair and pull my computer back out. I never should have celebrated early. This happens way too often. But in this case, perhaps I can get their notes, work on revisions on the train, and at least be home before Erika plugs her phone in for the night.
I let out a slow sigh, remembering that I have her phone. Which she’s probably still snarling about. I need to get home and talk to her before she goes to bed.
I open up the slides on my computer. Hardwin and I never did catch up at the town hall. I’m still not sure if the message Dave conveyed was what Hardwin, or even Phil for that matter, had in mind. Perhaps I’ll find out.
My desk phone rings, and I put it on speaker.
“Nice town hall, Meredith. You set a new standard on how to show our appreciation. I told some of the guys to take note.” Terrence’s voice is strong over obvious road noise.
“Thank you. I heard Phil did a great job speaking to the troops. His words meant a lot to everyone.” Especially since I was stripped of my opportunity.
“Hats off to Phil, but I think your spicy dragon rolls were the real star of the party.” Terrence laughs.
“No doubt,” Hardwin cuts in. “In case we have service issues, we’re in the car. Peter’s driving us to the west side of Philly. Early morning with Vanguard’s team.” He mumbles something about a sun visor.
“Right. Hope it goes well.” My finger taps rhythmically on the desktop. “I also wanted to touch base with you, Hardwin. I spoke to Dave but just wanted to check in with you as well.”
“He said he told you about the data.” Hardwin speaks deliberately.
“Yes. What a relief. He—”
“That’s what he confirmed. Moving forward, we just had a few notes on your pitch.
” Hardwin dives in, and for the next forty-five minutes, he and Terrence talk through my three short pages and handful of slides.
Initially, I make furious notes on their comments but soon realize it’s mostly stream of consciousness.
Phil might have shared some initial thoughts with them, but this is obviously the first time either of them has more than skimmed the pitch.
They want to hear from me more than they have insights on what I put together.
After they’d agree on a point, I’d think we had an edit, but after circling the new idea, we’d land right back on what was in the document.
Eighteen months ago, I’d have volunteered to ride on the roof of their black Escalade for the opportunity to witness these two debate and discuss my ideas.
But now, I just want them to be done. I realize after about twenty minutes of banter that I am the entertainment for their drive.
I won’t be let go until they finish their fun.
After another half hour, in which I miss the train that would’ve gotten me home before Erika usually goes to bed, Hardwin finally starts to wrap.
“Meredith, do you think you have what you need to put the finishing touches on this?”
“Yes.” I glance over my scribbled pages with many more cross-outs than legible directives and then wiggle my mouse to peer at my document. “I’ll add another sentence of context to our penetration numbers . . . and . . . I’ll . . .” I search for something else of note to change.
“And the word distinguish in that paragraph about competitors, you’ll maybe come up with something more, I don’t know, something with gravitas,” Terrence says.
“Right, yes, I’ll—”
“You know, reading it again, I think it’s fine as is. I hope we’ve been helpful, Meredith?” Hardwin asks.
“Very.” I drop the marked-up document into the recycling bin under my desk. “I appreciate this window into your thoughts.”
“Well, we better draw our curtains.” Terrence laughs. “Wouldn’t want you to get too good a look at the levers and pulleys.”
Both Hardwin and I join in the obligatory chuckling.
“We’ll see you in the office on Thursday,” Hardwin says.
“Yes, have a good evening, gentlemen.” As I reach for my phone’s disconnect button a Teams message flashes on my screen with a picture of two of my traders holding tablespoons of wasabi, ready to feed each other.
Both of their mouths hang wide open. I jerk back in my seat at the thought of that much horseradish paste hitting anyone’s tongue or gut.
They probably laid bets. With equity traders, everything is a wager—from pastry deliveries to pedestrian crossings.
I squint into the image and see the glass corner overlooking the paneled concrete facade of the Met Life building. They’re in our conference room. Those brilliant morons did this at the town hall. I certainly hope they didn’t take their madness on the road. The party’s over, boys.
“You think she’s ready for the boardroom?” Hardwin’s voice suddenly booms from my speakerphone.
My hand freezes directly above the disconnect button.
“Hardwin, this is not her first rodeo.” Terrence’s voice sounds muffled.
“But her first time presenting. She’s solid at thinking on her feet, but do you really think she should be the one to deliver the pitch?”
“This is her work. It’s not like it touches our core business of mutual funds.” Terrence’s voice is markedly slowed, as if he’s considering what Hardwin is saying.
Hardwin often guards his words, leading others to make a conclusion he has likely already come to, but he’s being recklessly transparent now.
He’s saying I’m not ready.
Perhaps Hardwin wants to be the one to deliver.
His lawyers have been the ones managing all the fund filings with the SEC.
Also, the board just hired its first woman.
Most of the men have been on the board for decades.
Hardwin probably wants to pull the experience card—everyone will feel more comfortable with someone with his years at the firm.
But this concept of experience cuts both ways.
If they don’t grant opportunities, unproven leaders never get to be proven.
“It’s not only her. It’s her team’s work, as she clearly pointed out.” Hardwin’s voice is almost too casual. “She didn’t do any of this alone.”
A small snort escapes my lips. I suck in my breath.
There’s silence over the speakerphone. Did they hear me? Perhaps I should tap the mute button. Will they hear that? It’s late, but someone might come to my door.
“When do we do anything alone? What’s your biggest concern?” Terrence’s voice is low, as if he’s moved farther away from the phone.
“This latest data business. I feel like she might be holding back. Perhaps she knows more than she’s saying.”
My chest starts to burn. I’m still holding my breath. I gently peel apart my pressed lips and take tiny sips of air.
Terrence doesn’t respond but must make some gesture as Hardwin continues talking. “I’m not sure. Seems so strange there was nothing with the data. No note. No communication.”
“We’ve been over this. I see no reason for her to lie. She came forward, and as you know, Candace has been on it.” A beat of silence. “If Meredith did get herself entangled, we’ll know.”
“Maybe . . . maybe it’s that she accepted it all too fast,” Hardwin says.
Terrence muffles a cough. “You didn’t mention that before.”
“Just playing back what Dave told me. He said it all felt a bit awkward.”
Of course it was awkward. They insisted I leave my own town hall and miss thanking everyone from the podium.
“Don’t you think if she had something to do with the data and knew it was legit, that Dave, of all people, would have seen it in her reaction? I mean, you pulled her from her own party.”
Exactly. My own party. Thank you, Terrence.
Wait.
If I knew it was legit? The data is legit?
“Yeah, he didn’t sense she disagreed.”
“So, there you go.” Terrence’s voice has regained its confidence. He wants to move on from this conversation.
“Maybe.” Hardwin matches Terrence’s tone and then speaks softer. “Maybe she didn’t question it because she’s going to look into it herself.”
My mouth drops open. He’s giving me more credit than I deserve. I haven’t considered verifying their declaration, but now they better believe I’m digging in.
“I don’t see it. She’s too busy anyway. You know that—”
“Excuse me, Mr. Donovan.” Peter’s voice interrupts. “We’ve arrived at the hotel.”
“Thank you, Peter . . . Hey!” Hardwin’s voice booms. “Are we still—”
The line goes dead.