Chapter 27
“I DO NOT HAVE ACCESS to all of the fund folders on the share drive.” One of my analysts who works on the mutual funds I inherited last quarter walks into my office, most of his face hidden behind his laptop screen.
I glance back down at my open email.
“What can I do for you, Temor?” I stress the sharp edge in my voice. My door is, mostly, always open, but there is a bit more formality to the office than just barging in when someone is obviously working, or, rather, trying to remote-mother.
“I apologize, but I do not believe I have the right permissions.” There is almost a musicality to Temor’s slight East Asian accent.
He combs his unusually long fingers through his dark hair.
The casualness of his appearance is in direct contrast to the proper cadence of his speech pattern.
He’s new and either has not learned the adage about dressing for the job you want or has chosen to ignore it.
I don’t know him well enough yet to gauge the wisdom of his choice.
“Have you put in a request to Compliance?” I ask.
“I can get him set up.” Alyssa walks into my office with two coffees.
She raises the mugs above her head, almost spinning entirely around to get past Temor.
As I’ve witnessed countless times with others, I watch for his eyes to graze over her body, but he neither moves out of the way nor appraises her.
She sets one mug on my desk. “I’ll run by in a few minutes.” She pauses and then raises her hand and shuffles it at him. “Scoot.”
He bobs his head and scampers out the door.
“He’s brilliant,” she says.
“Really?” I lift the warm mug to my lips and breathe in the freshly roasted beans.
I used to stop for an overpriced nonfat latte on my way in every morning, but the company recently got these amazing machines that grind and brew beans to order.
I miss my frothed milk but appreciate a creamy shot of coconut milk from the dispenser—and that the coffee is always available and saves me from squeezing through the line to get to the pickup corral. I savor my first sip.
“Really.” She widens her eyes. “Like, beyond all the regular geniuses.”
Maybe he can be more helpful than he knows. “Thanks for the delivery.” I raise my mug. “Anything weird about that securities lending agreement?”
“You just emailed me the link ten minutes ago,” she deadpans.
I raise an eyebrow and take another sip.
“No.” One side of her smile turns up because of course she’s already looked at it. “On first glance it’s pretty standard. No strange contingencies. Exit language looks reasonable. Is there something I should be seeing?”
“Maybe not.”
Alyssa cocks her head. “But maybe.”
“Take more time with it.”
I can almost see the gears turning in her head, and I’m instantly hit by a not-so-esoteric concern. Alyssa, if not given more responsibility, is going to leave.
“No problem. I’ll let you know soon.” She double-takes at the sight of the mangled frame on my desk. “Hey, what happened here?”
“Betsey’s redecorating.”
“Betsey?”
“Remember on Monday when she trashed my office?” How could she forget? She was the one who told me Maintenance had finished.
“Betsey wasn’t in your office on Monday.” She talks slowly like she can’t believe she’s explaining this to me.
“Are you sure?” I stammer.
“No, but I am sure that the maintenance guys were here about something in the HVAC system, and it got a bit messy, so the custodians came in to clean up.”
“No one trashed my office?” A screech grows in pitch as I take hungry glances around my office. Betsey didn’t attack my refuge. She didn’t shove me over the edge.
“Of course not. I can’t believe you thought that. Why would you assume . . . ?”
Wasn’t it the wall dweller in Hardwin’s office who said Betsey trashed my office?
What did he actually say? Had he used her name, or had I assumed?
I shake my head, dismissing Alyssa’s question.
Doesn’t matter. Betsey’s threats about Lucas are real.
“Then what happened to my frame?” I say with a lot more fervor than I feel.
“I have no idea, but it wasn’t because anyone trashed your office.” She moves toward the door.
“One more thing,” I sputter, still trying to reassemble the narrative in my head.
As she turns, Alyssa straightens the silver mirror by the door.
When she pulls her hand away, something flutters to the floor.
She picks it up and hands it to me, her eyes wide.
She probably recognizes Betsey’s loopy handwriting as well as I do, but all that’s written on the folded paper is my name.
My heart quickens as I shove the paper under my opened notebook, as if hiding it will make it like it doesn’t exist.
Alyssa’s eyes snap back to mine as I clear my throat.
“The thing is . . .” I lay my hand on my notebook and then move it to my lap.
I’m way overthinking this. I had planned to ask her about her ambition, her willingness to take on a larger role, but if I ask her that now, it may look like I’m tying it to her silence.
Or maybe not. A note simply fell to the floor.
Odd but not worth a career boost. But now that I’ve delayed speaking, it looks worse.
I inwardly groan. “Could you work a bit with Temor? See how we might use him more effectively on the ETFs. Perhaps he can explore possible cost savings as competitors enter the field.” Yes, that sounds reasonable and gives Alyssa opportunity to begin to create her own team.
I’m applauding my quick thinking when she says, “Sure. And I’ll keep quiet about secret notes falling from hidden places.”
I wait until she’s gone to get up and close the door.
Tucked into the corner of my velvet couch, I lay my head along the soft rise of the curved back.
As close to an embrace from my buxom grandmother as I can get now.
She was quick with prayers, hugs, and swats.
Right now, I feel like I need all three, and she would know that.
My body slackens against the plush cloth as I stare down at the folded paper.
Was this placed by someone else in the building working with Betsey?
Is this some kind of coup to overthrow Phil’s leadership?
Or does Phil know more than he’s letting on?
I pick up the note and read.
Hey—
They’re coming for me. I thought we’d have more time.
Came by your house yesterday, and suddenly Candace and her goons showed up. You won’t answer your phone, and if you’re reading this, I’ve likely been escorted from the building. I kick myself for not connecting you in earlier.
Meet me on the corner of Nassau and Cedar at 3 p.m. I have something for you.
Betsey
I’m starting to feel like one of those poor women in a Netflix suspense miniseries.
I rub at my still-sore arms and grunt. I am not weak.
So, maybe it’s time to be the heroine who learns to hide duffel bags under stair treads, procure fake passports, or at the very least start to see patterns in the deliberate acts of those around me.
I return to my desk and start making a list of what I know versus what I have been told. I know I was handed an envelope at the NYSE event. I know it came from Betsey based on the note and her follow-up at Grand Central. I was told she trashed my office. I know I signed a restraining order.
As I continue to categorize my thoughts, I start adding people to my list. Hardwin and Terrence both believe the data is legitimate but want me to think otherwise.
Remembering the Word document I’ve already started with notes about the data, I decide to get organized.
I open a new Excel spreadsheet and label the columns to categorize who knows what information.
I realize I have no idea what Dave actually believes.
The investment information on the thumb drive against the demand for the securities lending agreement still makes no sense.
There has to be a relationship I’m missing.
Maybe there’s something hidden in the data itself?
An hour later, I’m head down scouring the thumb drive spreadsheet for secret codes or patterns of trading. I thought perhaps someone was buying up shares, indicating prior market knowledge, but none of the pivot tables I’ve run found any significant relationship between sales and share price.
A staccato knock on my door.
“Come in.” My neck crackles. I raise my arms to press into my muscle, and they both scream at me. I drop them quickly to my sides.
Candace’s stillness exudes a sense of constrained potential energy that makes me want to fidget. Like at any moment she could fly across the room and flatten me.
“Bit sore. I laid into the machines yesterday,” I say.
“All right. Is this something you’re concerned about?” Candace strides into my office.
“No. I’m sorry. I thought you saw me, and I wanted you to know.”
“Saw you where?” she asks.
“Never mind.” Like a round of who’s on first. I shake my head and push up from my chair.
“All right.” She neither smiles nor scowls. “Do you have a minute?”
We awkwardly stand looking at each other, my desk separating us. I haven’t asked her to take a seat, but I just stood. It’s as if I’m suddenly new at my job.
“Certainly. Please take a seat.” I indicate one of the chairs in front of my desk, and I sit back down. Suddenly, I become very aware of what’s on my computer screen. The data I let her assume I didn’t have. I quickly put my computer to sleep.
We both sit in silence for what feels like minutes but is likely only a few seconds.
“I mentioned I wanted to hear from you if Betsey got in touch.” She keeps her gaze leveled at me.
“Yes,” I say.
“So, has she?”
“Actually, sorry, yes.” I reach into my bag to retrieve the note. Betsey called Candace’s team goons. That’s on her.
Candace flips open the folded paper, her face placid. “How did you get this?”
“Less than an hour ago, found it behind the mirror.” I don’t indicate who found it. Alyssa doesn’t need this kind of attention.