“Amina,” Jackie warns. “I’m not the authority here, but I’m sure that’s offensive.”
“Oh, so sorry—yes, Instagram models, the discriminated underclass of our society—”
“No, you idiot, the chakra comment—”
“This isn’t going to let up,” Lili says, looking outside the studio. Torrential summer rain is coming down. The air is humid, filled with the rush of cars, blare of horns, pedestrians racing to find cover. Pavement is slippery underfoot, trash swirling in the gutters.
“I’m fine to swallow surge pricing,” Amina says, glancing at Uber on her phone. “I just need to get out of here before some Connecticut expat drags me to Matchaful.”
Lili chews her lip. They’re right around the corner from the loft. He’s been gone for a few days now.
“Come on, just... follow me,” she says, ducking out into the rain and running under the scaffolding on Walker Street. She doesn’t look back, but after a second, she hears the other two follow her, muffled shrieks as Jackie tries to shield her hair from the rain.
It’s a few minutes to his apartment.
“Got caught in the storm?” Louis greets them, smiling when they run into the foyer.
Lili nods, sheepish. She resolutely ignores whatever reaction her friends are processing.
“This is his place?” Jackie asks in the elevator.
“Yeah,” Lili says. The door slides open. “We can wait it out here.” She shrugs off her bag, dropping it by the elevator. “I’ve got spare clothes and stuff. Give me a second, I’ll grab us towels. Have water, or whatever you’d like—glasses are in that cupboard.”
Ducking into the hall, she gets fresh white towels—fluffy, folded—from the master bathroom. Before padding back into the kitchen, she stops in his study; she left her spare phone charger in here, and her battery is low. The room is quiet, and softly dark.
Plopping down into his leather desk chair, balancing the stack of towels in her lap, she rummages for her charger, then plugs her phone in. Setting it down on a neat, thin stack of papers on his desk, Lili skims her notifications briefly: a few texts from Jamie about concert tickets he’s grabbing for them, some routine school emails. As her phone starts to charge, she responds to Jamie—(11:43 a.m.) thank you!!!—deletes a few of the unnecessary department-wide Columbia emails. Hoisting the towels back into her arms, she stands, ready to leave, when the bold text, dates and times, of the papers on his desk grabs her glance: email printouts.
Resisting the serious, near-uncontrollable urge to roll her eyes at the thought of literally, physically printing out emails, she’s about to look away—it’s his business, not hers—before she catches a few words:climate-obstructing corporate boards, activist shareholder resolutions, phased divestment plans.
Lili frowns. She tugs the papers free.
From: Aleksandr Petrov
Sent: Friday, July 15, 2022, 5:43 AM
To: Andrew Vasiliev
Subject: Draft Plan
Andrew.
Can you get me a phased fossil fuel divestment strategy.
Clear exit strategy. Well structured.
Some initial sector-based exclusion criteria, time-bound divestment road map, reinforcement mechanisms, the latestportfolio breakdown of our exposure, key risks, etc. Look into governance risk analysis within our portfolio—you can use Paris Agreement goals as a first metric. Talk to Jia and Paul about amendments to proxy voting policies.
By tonight is fine.
Aleksandr Petrov
Chairman & CEO
From: Andrew Vasiliev
Sent: Friday, July 15, 2022, 6:33 AM
To: Aleksandr Petrov
