13
MY HAND HOVERSabove my office handset. Before I left the hotel, I examined the file again. It contains some incredible information if I can crack the code. No names, either of investors or advisors, are listed, but a great deal of information about the specific trading. If we had this information, it would be a game changer in how we think about sales. Right now, shares of our ETFs, like all ETFs, are bought on the open market. We don’t know who. We don’t know why. Kind of like consigning your clothes to a thrift store. You get the revenue but no idea of who is wearing your lime-green miniskirt or if they may also want that fringed purse your Aunt Nellie gave you for Christmas last year. From this thumb drive data, we could see patterns and target our sales. If the data is real.
But Betsey’s game seems half-baked. She has my attention but with no demand. If she’s going to use the Rotterdam Room—though I can’t bring myself to believe that she has anything of substance there—what does she want from me?
I arch forward in my seat and my arm bumps my Starbucks. I right the cup and jump from my black leather chair in case the dark roast blooms toward me. Again, a klutz. Pale-brown liquid has gurgled onto my desktop and seeped like mold onto the printout of my team’s monthly sales itinerary. I grab a few tissues from the box I always keep tucked on my photo-laden credenza. After years of clients sharing their retirement dreams, suffering through deaths, and shouting at their siblings about ownership of their mother’s ugly Christmas pendant, I continue to be prepared. My office, with its brocade pillows and comfortable chairs, also hides a litany of emotional-support devices, including a stash of coloring books for that rare wee visitor. Our walls are hardly family-friendly, but I love it when someone on my team brings in their wide-eyed munchkin for an afternoon.
I mop up the spill and then sit hard back into my seat.
Betsey had to know I’d hand over that thumb drive. Otherwise, she would have found a way to get it to me that didn’t risk our entire executive staff seeing her, while she was under a restraining order, no less.
I lift the handset. It’s not quite eight, but I’m hoping to catch Aarav before his day gets too busy. I need to know if Betsey was in his office. Did his words at the reception, matching Betsey’s from the note, mean more than a face-value platitude on success?
The phone rings and eventually dumps me into voicemail. I ask for him to call me back at his convenience.
I then pick up the envelope with the thumb drive and head to our chief compliance officer’s office.
“Good morning, Meredith. Great day yesterday.” Terrence strides from around his desk and extends his hand. His tailored charcoal suit hangs meticulously from his athletic frame. A silk tie with pinprick blue flowers, knotted in a loose Windsor, adds a bit of whimsy to his otherwise austere appearance.
“Thanks for your support.” I slide my hand into his.
He motions for me to take a seat in the club chair closest to me, in front of his massive window overlooking the sun-drenched Chrysler Building, across to Third Avenue, and then a peekaboo view of the Queensboro Bridge. Erika declared this view her favorite of all the offices she visited last week. I clutch at my bag, anxious to see if she’s left any response.
“Hear you have a town hall and reception planned for all the teams this afternoon. Thanks for including Compliance.” He crosses his ankle over his knee, exposing gray socks subtly printed with a variety of silver spoons. Only Terrence dares to have both his socks and his tie be overtly playful, something I habitually admire.
“Naturally. They were invaluable in helping us structure the various materials.” I shift and try to resettle in my chair. My tweed seat base is lower than his, and I’m forced to look up slightly at Terrence. I wonder if he even realizes.
“You mean my team banned you from communicating what you really wanted to.” He chuckles.
“Not at all. They’re creative and exceeded my expectations. I thought they’d only find ways to say no, but instead they gave us alternative ways to describe our funds, sometimes considerably better than the original wording.” Maybe I exaggerate, but his team was helpful in crafting the marketing materials. I’d been warned that the Compliance team would be all about protecting the firm from regulators, so I was surprised by how much I enjoyed their partnership.
He throws back his head. “I’m just busting their chops. My team is like family to me, but don’t let them know I have a soft spot.”
I nod.
“What can I do for you, Meredith?”
I watch my hand tremble as I reach into my bag. I force myselfto take three small cleansing breaths through my nose so as not to appear as flustered as I am.
I pull out the mailer and lay it on the wide arm of my chair. My handwritten name blaring up from the burnt-gold padded envelope.
“Is that it?” He doesn’t lean forward and barely glances down as if I’ve become an unexpected liability.
“As I mentioned, it was delivered yesterday at the Exchange. It’s—I believe it’s from the woman we fired on Sunday.” I hand him the envelope.
He raises an eyebrow as he places it on the small round table between us. “Betsey? The woman you saw on the Exchange floor?”
“Yes. Inside is a thumb drive. It’s troubling.”
“After the restraining order, she gave it to you?” He hooks his head toward the envelope but keeps his eyes trained on my face.
“Well, a stock exchange employee actually handed it to me.” It’s unnerving the way he’s looking at me instead of the envelope. “He said they had it scanned. It’s just a thumb drive.”
Terrence nods but continues to watch me.
“I need you to know that I’ve accessed the drive. On my personal laptop. Nothing about the packaging indicated it was about the firm.” The lie rolls easily from my tongue. So many years of being taught the power of leverage. I need them to know that I know what’s on the drive. Last night with Candace I indicated I hadn’t accessed it, so if asked I’ll just have to say I needed to ensure it was even related to the firm before I handed it over.
“Why wouldn’t you think it was about the firm if it was from a woman who was let go?”
