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 experiencecard—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.
