Overseas

by Beatriz Williams

  Landing shortly. Boston’s in full bloom. Taking you with me next time.

  I typed back.

  Sounds pretty scandalous. Separate rooms, I hope.

  I pushed through the revolving doors and swiped my security pass to activate the lobby turnstile.

  It stuck, nearly breaking my ribs.

  I swiped again impatiently. Still stuck.

  I sighed and turned to the security guard. “Sorry,” I said, “I must have demagnetized my pass somehow.”

  He took the card from me and looked at it. “Just a moment,” he said, and reached for the phone.

  I stood there, tapping my foot. Julian would be flying back this evening, and we had tentative plans—contingent on my finishing up work on time—to grab a bite somewhere. Or else order in Chinese. Either way, I wanted to clear my desk quickly.

  “Yeah. Katherine Wilson,” the security guard was repeating into the telephone. He listened for a moment, nodding, and then hung up the phone. “Wait here,” he said. “Someone will come down to bring you up.”

  “Can’t you just swipe me through?” I pleaded.

  He shrugged. “That’s what they said.”

  I sighed and switched my laptop onto my other shoulder. Minutes passed, as I stood there awkwardly next to the security desk, checking my watch. My BlackBerry buzzed.

  Perhaps with a connecting door?

  I smiled at the screen.

  Honestly, all you men can think about is sex.

  “Kate?”

  I looked up at Paul Banner.

  “Oh my gosh,” I said, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry you had to come down. You should have sent one of the interns.”

  He cleared his throat. “Come along with me, Kate.” Not Katie.

  I felt a twinge, a warning light flashing on in my brain.

  He swiped me through the turnstile with a visitor pass, and I walked with him to the elevator bank. He didn’t say anything, just pressed the up arrow and waited next to me. The doors opened, and we went in with about three or four other people, that bulky elevator silence crowding us awkwardly. He reached out and pressed number 18.

  Capital Markets was on 23.

  I stood there with my palms growing moist and my heart beating thump thump thump against the wall of my chest. I felt a strain behind my eyes and blinked hard. Do not show weakness.

  On Wall Street, when they fired you, even if it was just a layoff and not your fault, someone escorted you up to a room in Human Resources. There, the terms of your severance were announced to you in an arid voice, and you were required to sign a paper renouncing any legal claims on the firm, in exchange for your financial package, which usually amounted to a week of salary for every year you’d worked there, plus 50 percent of the cash portion of last year’s bonus, all paid in a lump sum by direct deposit. You then handed in any electronic devices owned by the firm, and a security officer escorted you out of the building. You were not allowed to stop at your desk. You were not allowed to say good-bye to your colleagues.

  Talk about the walk of shame.

  I wasn’t expecting Banner to stay in the room. I’d heard operating managers usually disappeared, leaving the unpleasant bloodletting for the HR representative to oversee. But when we arrived, Banner came right in behind me and motioned me to a seat at a long narrow table, at which Alicia Boxer, along with one or two managing directors, filled a side. A woman in a cherry-red suit presided at the head. She rustled her throat. “I assume you know why you’ve been called in today,” she said.

  “Well,” I said, “I gather I’m being let go. Isn’t that right?”

  She looked at me sharply. “You are being dismissed for cause, Ms. Wilson. The firm has, over the weekend, been presented with incontrovertible proof that you have been engaged in an improper, and possibly illegal, information exchange with a well-known counterparty in the financial industry.”

  I stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

  Her eyes fell to the papers in front of her. “After meeting to discuss the matter, the members of the managing committee have decided not to press formal charges. In exchange, you will be required to leave the premises immediately, surrendering all electronic devices and credit cards supplied for your use by Sterling Bates, with no further legal or financial claims on the firm.” She looked up at me. “Do you have any questions?”

  “I have about a million. I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never passed on material information in my life. I wouldn’t even consider it.” I looked at Banner. “You know that.”

  He shifted in his seat and looked down at the table before him. I turned my gaze to Alicia. She quirked me an apologetic smile. Beneath their heavy lids, her eyes shone a triumphant blue.

  “Oh,” I said. Everything slipped into focus. “My laptop. Friday morning, when you were on my laptop. What did you do, exactly? Plant something?”

  “I’m not able to give you any details of our investigation,” she said primly. “This is all very unfortunate, Kate. We’re all just really, really disappointed.”

  I looked back at the HR woman. “Where’s the evidence? Don’t I have any say in this? Can’t I defend myself?”

  “You’re welcome to file a letter of complaint with this department,” she said. “If you insist on pursuing legal options, however, I assure you we will prosecute the case aggressively.” She put just the faintest emphasis on the word aggressively. A little feral snarl. “We are quite sure of our facts,” she added.

  I took a deep breath. I was going to get out of this with dignity. “Okay, then. Here’s my laptop.” I unzipped my bag and smiled at Alicia. “No doubt you’re familiar with what’s inside it.” I pushed it across the table. “And here’s the BlackBerry,” I said, setting it down carefully next to the computer, willing my hands not to shake. It buzzed against the table. New e-mail. Julian, probably. “I don’t have any company credit cards or anything.”

  “Thank you,” the HR woman said, sounding relieved. She held out a piece of paper. “If you’ll just sign this release, we can close the matter.”

  I took the paper from her and scanned it. It was all legalese. Even if my brain had been in good working order, which at the moment it wasn’t, I probably couldn’t have made heads or tails of it. “You know,” I said, hesitating, “I think I should have a lawyer look at this first.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t let you out of this room until you’ve signed that paper.”

  I looked at her, and I looked at Banner and Alicia and the two managing directors. Banner was still staring down at the table. I guessed he knew what was really going on. Alicia’s sleeping with Banner. You didn’t know that? Charlie’s voice echoed in my brain, some tidbit of year-old gossip. All fun and games, of course, until the chick hauls you up in front of the sexual harassment tribunal.

  Or threatens to.

  I hadn’t stood a chance, had I?

  I turned back to the HR woman and smiled. “Okay,” I said, “I’ll sign.”

  I stared at her as I scribbled my name at the bottom, making a show of not even reading it. It was my protest, my way of saying they were full of crap, that this whole meeting was a total farce.

  “Thank you,” the HR woman said, and she picked up the handset of the phone next to her and dialed two numbers. “Yes, we’re ready,” she said.

  I stood up. “I just want you to know,” I said, perfectly composed, “that this woman sitting right there”—I pointed to Alicia—“has just made complete idiots out of all of you. And me, too, I guess. And you’ll probably be lucky if she doesn’t blow up the whole damned bank some day, maybe even just out of sheer incompetence. Luckily, that’s now your problem, not mine.”

  The door opened, and an armed security guard stood there, waiting for me. I marched out the door and to the elevators, down down down to the lobby and out through the turnstiles and the revolving door.

  And that was that.

  I WASN’T GOING TO CRY in public
. The repressed sobs made my throat ache, made my eyelids stab, but somehow I kept it all in.

  I wanted to call up Julian, e-mail Julian, but they had my computer and my BlackBerry now. They were probably going through it all right now, reading all those sweet tender e-mails. The one he’d just sent, the one I hadn’t even read yet.

  I was still in shock. What was I going to tell my parents? My friends? My life had just been ruined, in ten short minutes. I’d been fired for cause. That meant Tuck would rescind its acceptance. I had no job, no income, a massive black stain against my name in an industry in which reputation counted for everything. I had nothing. How could I face Julian? He’d believe me, of course. He’d know I hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d want to take care of me, probably. Provide for me. He’d urge me to move in with him, let him buy me things.

  But how could I humble myself that way? How could I accept from him what I couldn’t earn myself? And when the flame of his infatuation began to fade, as it inevitably would, where would that leave me?

  I rode the 6 train up to Seventy-seventh Street and got off. My apartment was only two blocks away. I walked them slowly, carrying my nearly empty laptop bag, hardly noticing the people and buildings surrounding me. Frank was still on duty in the lobby. He looked at me, amazed. “What’s the matter, hon?” he asked. “Come home sick?”

  “No. I just got fired.” The words hung there, flat and stark. I just got fired. Fired.

  His mouth dropped open. I walked past the front desk like an automaton and pressed the elevator call button.

  “Are you serious, hon? Why? They laying off down there on Wall Street?”

  “Something like that,” I said.

  “I’m so sorry, hon. You okay?”

  “Yeah, thanks, Frank.”

  The elevator door opened.

  “Don’t worry, hon,” Frank called after me, as I stepped inside. “They’re always hiring and firing down there. I seen it come and go…”

  The doors shut, blocking out his voice. I felt the elevator rise with agonizing slowness, clanging at each floor, before coming to rest at mine.

  “Brooke?” I called, as I let myself in. No answer. She was either asleep or out. I set my laptop bag on the table and shrugged out of my suit jacket and went to the telephone. The mostly unused telephone. Never really needed it before.

  I sat in front of it for a moment, thinking. Julian’s number was on my Blackberry, but I’d memorized it anyway. I picked up the handset and stared at the buttons for a long moment, wondering what to say. He was probably in his meeting right now. Good. Voice mail would be easier.

  I punched in the numbers. He had a standard greeting turned on; no lyric voice to comfort me. I heard the beep. “Hi Julian,” I said softly. “It’s me. Kate. Um, I don’t know how to say this. I just got fired. Long story. I’m back at the apartment now. They have my BlackBerry and everything, so don’t send me any more e-mails. Just call me on this number when you get a chance. Thanks. Um, hope your meeting went well. Bye.” I hung up and put my head down on the table.

  What were the stages of grief? Denial, anger, acceptance… I couldn’t remember. I was probably still stuck mostly on denial at this point, but I could feel a little anger, too. That bitch. That puny bitch.

  I sat up. What was Charlie’s number? I tried to think. In my room somewhere, I still had my Sterling Bates orientation pack, with everyone’s phone number and e-mail listed inside. Where was it?

  I got up from the chair and went to my room. I kept most of my papers in some file boxes under the bed; I pulled them out and began going through them. There wasn’t much. Almost all of my bills were online; even my bank statement came by e-mail now. Sterling Bates had a file box all to itself. I opened it up and saw the glossy blue folder with the elegant corporate logo, and remembered that first day of orientation. I’d felt so grown-up. Salary and bonus and health care and 401(k).

  I opened the folder and found the contact list. I checked my own phone numbers first, office and cell; they were still the same, so I assumed Charlie’s must be, too. I went back into the living room and picked up the phone and punched in his cell number.

  “Hello?” he answered, after the first ring.

  “Hi, Charlie. It’s Kate.”

  “Fuck, Kate. What the fuck happened?”

  “Charlie, can you take this outside? I don’t want anyone to overhear you. Just call me back when you get out front, okay?”

  “Sure, dude.” The phone clicked, and I hung up. It was a cordless phone; I took it with me over to the window and looked out north to Harlem. Don’t panic, I told myself. Figure this thing out.

  The phone went off a minute later. I answered it almost before the first ring had finished. “Charlie?”

  “It’s me, dude. So. What the fuck?”

  “Here’s the deal, Charlie. I don’t know what they’re telling you, but basically my pass didn’t work this morning, and Banner came down to escort me up. He took me to HR, to this room with him and some MDs and Alicia, Charlie. Alicia. And they said they had some kind of proof I’d been passing along information. Insider information, I guess. They didn’t tell me what it was, and when I asked if I had any way to defend myself, they basically threatened me. So, anyway, here I am. And you know me. There’s no freaking way I did anything like that.”

  “So you think it’s Alicia?” he demanded.

  “Charlie, I’m sure of it. I caught her on my laptop Friday morning. I thought she was just snooping through my e-mails or something, looking for gossip, but I’ll bet you anything she was planting information or evidence or whatever.”

  “Dude,” he said softly.

  “Yeah, right?” I sighed.

  “So what are you going to do now?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I could confront Alicia somehow.”

  “What about Laurence, though?”

  “Julian? What about him?”

  “He can help you, can’t he? He can crush them. He can hire the best fucking lawyer in town, get you some bad-ass settlement. You’ll be set for life.”

  “Charlie, I can’t ask him to do that! Pay my legal bills? I mean, come on!”

  “Why not? He can afford it.”

  “That’s not the point.” I rubbed my forehead, as if the friction would somehow jump-start my regular mental function. “What are they saying about it down there?”

  “Dude, you don’t want to know.”

  “All right, all right. Look, can you do me a favor or two?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “First of all, try to spread the word for me, okay? Let people know there’s another side to the story, that maybe Alicia’s had it in for me ever since the ChemoDerma deal, blah blah.”

  “Yeah, except she’s been your BFF the last few months,” Charlie said.

  “I know, I know. I’m such a freaking idiot.”

  “Fucking idiot, Kate. Jesus. But no worries. I am the master of the rumor mill. I will make sure your story gets out there. Truth to power, dude.”

  “Thanks, Charlie. One more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If you get a chance to do a little snooping at some point…”

  “Aw, wait a minute, dude. That’s fucked up.”

  “No, nothing sneaky or whatever. No office break-ins. Just poke around some of the network files, see if you can find something. This is just all so fishy.”

  He heaved a sigh. “Okay, fine. I’ll get my Hardy Boys on for you. Just don’t expect miracles, okay?”

  The call waiting beeped.

  “Charlie, I’m getting another call. I’ve got to hop. You can e-mail me on my Yahoo account.” I fired him the address.

  “Got it. Later, dude.”

  “Thanks, Charlie.” I took a deep breath and pressed the flash button. “Hello?”

  “Kate! My God! What’s happened?”

  “Julian. You got my message?”

  “Just now. Are you all right?”

  “Fine. I just go
t, like, ambushed by Alicia. She’s convinced the managing committee I’ve been trading insider information. I don’t know the details; they wouldn’t tell me anything. So I have no idea what I’m supposed to have passed along and to whom. It’s all just… extremely frustrating…” The sobs caught up with me then, choking in my throat. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m just kind of stressed out here.”

  “Darling, hang in there. I’m on my way. I’ll help you get this sorted out, I promise. I’ll hang that little witch out to dry, by God.”

  “No, no. You don’t need to do that. It’s my problem.”

  A short silence. “Kate, don’t be ridiculous. This is our problem. Because anything that affects you is of the most vital concern to me.”

  “Stop it, okay? Because I’m having a hard enough time trying to hold myself together at the moment. I really, really don’t want to lose it completely.”

  “Look,” he said, “I’ve got some rather odd news of my own up here. I was thinking seriously of… hold on a moment, won’t you? I’ll be straight back.” He put me on hold, probably taking another call. I was still standing by the window, gazing at the thick gray sky and the endless grim towers of apartment buildings and housing projects scattered in front of me. I tapped my fingers against the glass and closed my eyes, willing myself to remain in control. Not to cry. Not to sob.

  He clicked back on. “Kate, darling? Are you there?”

  “Right here,” I said scratchily.

  “Kate, my love, I’m going to ask you to do something. Can you trust me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you still have the keys I gave you yesterday?”

  “Of course. Right in my bag.”

  “Then I want you to go over to my house and go inside and fetch my spare set of car keys. They’re in the middle desk drawer in the library. Take them to the garage and explain to them you’re a friend of mine. I’ll ring them up and let them know you’re coming. Have you ever driven north from the city?”

  “No.” I was too shocked to say anything more.

  “All right, then you’ll have to program the navigation system. You’re going to drive up to Lyme, to my cottage there. It’s in Connecticut, about a half-hour past New Haven. The address is in the GPS; just scroll through the menu until you find it. Kate, are you listening?”