I glance toward the conference room. The men in that room will not only decide what to do about Betsey’s thumb drive, they will decide the future of my funds, and they will decide what to do about me.
“Delete the photo. I’m coming home.”
16
I STRIDE BACK INTO THE CONFERENCE ROOMand the table goes silent. I remain standing and look at Phil. “I’d like to say something.”
“Of course.” He nods. “The floor is yours.”
“I agree with Dave.” A few short inhales and mumbles emanate from the suits. “I should be able to explain how this data came into being.” I glance over to the wall dweller. “We have looked at purchasing such data to help our sales strategy, but even if we had, it never would have given as complete a picture as what we have in that file.”
Dave opens his mouth to respond, but I speak over him. “I know a few of you knew Betsey. And a few of you and your teams had issues with her approach. She is smart and diligent but has some rough edges. Things seem to have gone off the rails this last week.” I glance at Hardwin. “That’s on me. I want to be part of the solution, but I can’t tell you where this data came from.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dave making a sour face and nodding as if my poor judgment speaks for itself. But I also notice heis not leaning over to Terrence to share his ever-present thoughts. He does this with predictable regularity. Never when Phil or Hardwin are speaking—Dave knows his reach—but he plays confidence-wrecking games with others. Instead, he continues to watch me.
Perhaps he assumes I’m digging my own trap. Perhaps his silence is worse.
I pull my shoulder blades back. I only have myself to offer. “As to your other recommendation, Dave, I think we should carefully consider whether we take legal action. Maybe Betsey has done us a favor. We needed to know this data was out there and find out if this was an isolated situation orchestrated by her or if we have a bigger problem of data breaches across the company.”
A few of the guys murmur to each other. Did they not discuss if this might only be the tip of the iceberg? What if other unexplainable data files exist? I glance around the table. Who would benefit from data such as this?
If I asked that question out loud, everyone would point to where I stand, my knees locked in solidarity with my rigid shoulders.
I take a measured breath. “As for me, these funds were my idea, my execution, and I want to continue to manage the amazing teams who have supported our success. That being said, my husband was on the phone. We have an urgent situation back at home. I hope you can understand. I have to go.”
I walk toward Phil and extend my arm.
He stands. His thick white eyebrows crash together as he shakes my hand. “Whatever we can do for you and your family. You let us know.”
“I will.” I turn back to the table, finally recognizing the unease that has settled in my chest like rubble from a battle that continues to wage. “I trust you all will make the best decision for the firm and everyone that relies on our integrity. Thanks for letting me speak. I’ll be in touch.”
17
TEN MINUTES BEFORE MY TRAIN,I head to the single restroom behind the pretzel vendor, which is always clean but rarely occupied, and push open the door. I’ll travel the length of Grand Central to avoid the public stalls.
Inside, as I reach to twist the lock, the steel door crashes in toward me.
I yelp and jump away.
Before I can push back, Betsey stands before me.
“What are you doing?” My anxious words come unbidden from my mouth. It’s obvious she followed me, but was she waiting outside the building on the slim chance I left early, or did someone tip her off?
Her usually full auburn hair is flat and tucked behind her ears. Her dark cobalt eyes appear almost royal against her sallow skin. She looks faintly ill but also intensely alert, like perhaps she’s not getting enough sleep either.
My immediate impulse is to reach out to her to ask if she’s okay, but I don’t. I’ve been warned, but that is not what stops me. This woman has upended my life. She is not safe.
I shift my weight back toward the sink and grip the leather strap of the heavy bag that holds my laptop and at least a ream of folders and unread articles.
“Did you analyze it?” Her voice sounds remarkably clear.
I hold up a hand like a shield as I try to pivot around her. She blew her chance with me and many others. With my other hand, I dig inside my bag for my phone.
“Stop!” Her shrill tone cracks the air around us. “I need you to stop.” She swallows furiously, almost as if she is choking on her own anxiety.
I glare at the woman who has at best ruined her own career and at worst put an entire firm at risk. “How did you know to find me here? Are you following me or—”
“You showed them.” She purses her lips. The disappointment obvious but also inevitable.
