“A good advisor makes the best investment choices for their clientsbased on their specific needs, not because of aggressive sales strategies,” he says, placing emphasis on no particular word.
I try to relax my face.Aggressive sales strategies?What is he referencing? I consider sharing a story about when I was a financial advisor to help him understand how similar we are. I decide instead to stay focused on him. “Aarav, my team and I have always respected offices, like yours, that take diligent care of their clients. We would never try to hard sell you.”
His lips seem to disappear inside his mouth as if he’s chewing on his next words.
I wait, harnessing the technique our counselor has used when Clint and I clam up. Although based on my failure to share anything of real substance during our sessions, I cringe when I leverage any of her techniques.
“Perhaps we can speak another time.” His eyes stay leveled on mine.
“We can certainly follow up, but if there’s something I need to know?” I keep my arms loose by my sides and resist the urge to fuss with my necklace. My kids often call me on my telltale nervous habit.
He glances over my shoulder. “You should enjoy your party.” Shifting his gaze back to mine, he lowers his voice. “Are you taking the right steps to ensure your ultimate success?”
My breath catches. Those are eerily similar words to those written in Betsey’s hand at the end of the note. The entire envelope again radiates an unnatural heat in my left hand.
I step closer to Aarav. “I’m sorry, I think I’ve missed something—”
“Meredith,” Phil’s voice booms from my right. “Can you join me at the door? A few people want to say goodbye.”
“Yes, of course. Just need one moment.” I turn back, but Aarav has stepped away.
I reach out to him, brushing my fingertips against his dark suit.“Wait. Please. Tell me what you meant.”Are you a part of this? Did Betsey get to you too?
“Meredith.” He sighs. “You will be a success, but I encourage you to not push your team too hard. Their visit last week had a tone of, well... urgency or worse.”
Last week? Worse than urgency? What does that even mean and how does this relate to the words on the note?
“For me, it’s always about doing right by my clients and my staff. We’ll talk soon.” He gives me a tight smile and then raises his stiff hand toward Phil as if ushering me toward him. Although I’m not looking, I can feel Phil radiating frustration from his sentry spot by the doors.
“I’ll be in touch.” I force a smile and then stride toward my CEO, whose left hand taps a blustery beat against his thigh.
Nothing Aarav said makes any sense.
My team has never visited his office. We’ve been intentional with offices that appreciate educational materials ahead of any sales meeting. That was the reason I invited Aarav to this reception. I wanted him to see our success and have a reason to follow up. But if Aarav shares that our ETFs have even a whiff of desperation, stakes are much higher than growing our sales. Mass sell-offs have been ignited by less.
Betsey, have you deliberately sabotaged our success?
8
THE DING FROM ABOVEthe smudged paneled door announces my arrival. Late-afternoon sun casts bright geometric shapes on a filthy low-nap black carpet. The air hangs heavy with the mingling scents of stale sweat, decaying food, and the sharp tang of pine disinfectant. Stifling a sneeze, I dig my nose into the shoulder of my gray pullover. A faint hum radiates from the shop’s fluorescent lights, punctuated by the occasional beep or chirp from an electronic device. Navigating past two long counters encased in chrome edges, I see an array of tech gadgets lined up like an army of weary cyborgs awaiting their next command. Small note cards display cryptic descriptions but conspicuously lack any visible prices.
Behind the counters, shelves groan under the weight of boxes, manuals, and spare parts, creating a labyrinth of pedagogical chaos.
“Do for you?” A thin balding man with an elaborate neck tattoo crosses his arms over his ribbed T-shirt and sucks his teeth at me. Hisaccent sounds Eastern European, and his tone implies he owns the air I’m breathing.
I approach the display case. “I have a thumb drive. Are you able to help me retrieve the contents?”
My inquiry hangs between us. He doesn’t immediately speak. Instead, his hooded eyes assess me, as if weighing whether I’m vermin to devour or simply a plaything to bat around for his own amusement.
I stopped by the hotel on the way here, changed into jeans, and shoved my previously styled hair up into a Yankees baseball cap. Not that I’m trying to be completely incognito, but I don’t need to advertise who I am. Based on the fine layer of sweat spreading across my chest, I probably should’ve stayed closer to Broadway. On the off chance I bumped into someone I knew, I tore up over a dozen blocks into a nondescript area of the Meatpacking District.
“You have the drive. Let me look.” The man inches his palm toward me, his sinewy fingers beginning to curl as if they can already feel my device in their clutches.
But my thumb drive rests in the bottom of my cross-body leather satchel. My plan to wait until tomorrow to turn it over to security shattered when Aarav told me someone on my team visited him last week. Impossible. Except he runs one of the most respected offices at Meymack. In fact, I had my team wait to visit him because I wanted to get the educational presentation exactly right. Aarav hates to be sold to.
Beside me, a shadow falls across the counter, dulling the chrome edges. I glance toward the front of the store.
A massive man consumes the entry. His presence seems to swallow all the light streaming in through the glass. Obscured by the brim of his cap, his face points straight ahead, while his legs, the width of pylons, straddle the space in front of the door.
