Preview of So We Meet Again
Preview of So We Meet Again by Suzanne Park
Jessie! My office. NOW!” Gordon Strauss had a German Shepherd–like bite to his bark. Referring to me as “Jess” or “Jessie”washiswayofshowinghewasenraged,butnotneces- sarily at me. When I did something wrong, he would yell my first and last name, akin to a parent yelling at his or her child. “JESSICA KIM, get inhere!”
But this tirade wasn’t about me. Thank God.
I slammed my laptop closed. The company policy was strict: anyone leaving their laptops unattended without locking their screens would be terminated. Too many leaks to the press about companies’ bankruptcies, mergers, and acquisitions over the years made our higher-ups tighten security. I grabbed a legal pad and pen along with my computer and scurried to his office. He motioned for me to come inside. “Jess, have you seen Wyatt Jenkins this morning? I’ve been trying to get a hold of him and he’s not answering his phone. Is it acceptable to not answer an MD’s call during work hours?” Gordon liked to ask rhetorical, nonhypothetical questions as his way of “teaching.”
I shook my head.
“Exactly, Jess. It’s unacceptable.”
Good, he was furious with Wyatt, the senior associate. He’d been at the bank six months longer than me, and thanks to the good ol’ boy tenure at the bank that relied more on senior- ity than merit, I reported to Wyatt, even though I knew more about raising money, selling distressed businesses, and cashing out than he did. He was the kind of boss who harangued his junior analysts and associates about deadlines and then claimed ownership of the work.
Deadweight Wyatt. Worthless Wyatt. Wanker Wyatt. That’s what all the junior bankers called him.
I cleared my throat. “It’s Friday, and lately he’s been, um, taking half days for self-care.”
“Half days? For . . . self . . . care?” His right eyebrow raised so high I thought it might lift off his face.
“Yes.” I gulped. “Self-care.”
He frowned. “I see. Well, I’ll have to discuss this bullshit with him at a later time. Is the Beauchamp pitch document ready?”
My stomach lurched. What pitch document? “But I—I’m not staffed on the Beauchamp deal.”
“I need the model updates sent to me by end of day. Plus a color printout so I can look over them while on my Peloton tomorrow morning. Thanks.” He grabbed his wireless headset and slap-motioned his hand, signaling for me to shut the door. Did he not hear me? Or did he have me confused with some- one else, like maybe the other Asian female, who was an analyst in our group? People here always mixed us up, even though we weren’t anything alike. She was tall, svelte, and put-together, and I was not. Beauchamp wasn’t my account though. It was Wyatt’s. He was supposed to work on the pitch document, not me. Where the hell was he?
Wyatt strolled in around lunchtime, sunglasses still on, even though he was indoors. A sunlit glow on his face suggested he’d successfully practiced his on-the-clock self-care. I didn’t want to ask about where he’d been. Whatever came out of his mouth would infuriate me.
“Gordon’s been looking for you all morning.” I glanced at my wristwatch. “He says the Beauchamp pitch doc is due this afternoon. And, well, it’s afternoon.”
“I was celebrating.” He leaned back in his chair, stretched, then laced his fingers behind his head.
Should I ask? He was baiting me, clearly. But I was curious. I growled, “Celebrating what?” My computer screen froze, my cursor blinking inside a cell of a complicated Excel macro.
It took all my willpower to not throw my laptop across our open workspace. Please autosave, please, please, please.
He jumped forward, nearly springing off his Aeron chair. “Wait, you don’t know? Do you have a meeting on your calendar for this afternoon?”
“Nope.” I’d cleared my entire afternoon in case I needed to work on Wyatt’s stupid deal. There was definitely no new mystery meeting on my calendar.
He grinned. “I heard that Hamilton and Cooper was having layoffs this year, and a friend in HR confirmed it last month.” After all the years he’d worked here, he still called the company by the wrong name. It was just Hamilton Cooper. No “and.” No ampersand.
Wyatt continued. “Pink slips go out this afternoon. I’ve been informational interviewing the last few weeks and I think I might have something lined up at my dad’s friend’s hedge fund. Or I might go out on my own since I have so many business connections. The best part is—we get severance pack- ages!” He tapped down his sunglasses so he could peer at me. “Well, if you didn’t get the invite, then looks like you’ll be stay- ing, and maybe you’ll get my job. Or Sammy’s—he left last week. Oooh, a big promotion opportunity for Jessie when Wise ol’ Wyatt gets the boot.”
Deadweight Wyatt, actually.
He checked his watch. “Oh, my meeting starts at one thirty and I’ll need a coffee and a good seat. Good luck with the Beauchamp deal. See ya around Wall Street, kid!”
Kid. I rolled my eyes as he swaggered down the hall to the
executive conference room, joining the stream of ten or so other people, all of them more senior than me. Presumably all dead- weights too. But Deadweight Wyatt was right: when people left the firm or groups restructured, that left opportunities for moving up. And without a doubt, I could do Wyatt’s job. Even without half days of self-care. I’d expected a promotion with my last review two months ago, but maybe they knew this time was coming. Maybe now, when the company trimmed its fat, I’d be brought in to lead my group. My stomach turned flips thinking about the promotion bonus.
Ding!
A new meeting request popped up in my calendar for 1:30
p.m. A Zoom link sent by HR accompanied the email along with the meeting description “The Future of Hamilton Coo- per, Founded 1984. Virtual Attendance Required.” Not the type of meeting I’d hoped to see. While I looked in Wyatt’s shared drive to find the Beauchamp spreadsheets, which were a mess of hard-coded numbers, I put in my earbuds and clicked on the Zoom link, expecting a companywide all-hands meet- ing. The company had transitioned to more online meetings for company events, mainly so they wouldn’t have to pay for a venue, or for catering. So many cost conservation initiatives at this bulge-bracket bank known for big deals and fat bonuses. Ridiculous.
On the call was a smallish group of maybe a dozen junior level analysts and associates, all probably expecting to mute their audio and video and multitask while some executive talk- ing head shared his screen to pontificate about the state of the industry and the vision for our company using a boring Power- Point deck. Blah blah blah who cares, we had a ton of work to do. There was a small chance that this could be a group promo- tion call, with the layoffs happening in the other conference room—what better way to have people step up to take on more work than with a pep talk and maybe some public promotions in an intimate, albeit online, setting?
Come to think of it, something was amiss.
The head of HR appeared on the screen, one of many in the sea of faces in the video conference, unnerving me with her stern demeanor. Why wasn’t she in the other executive room, laying off Wyatt and the other do-nothings?
She began. “Hamilton Cooper hires the best and the bright- est from all over the world, and we compete with esteemed em- ployers such as JP Morgan, Goldman Sachs, Morgan Stanley, and companies outside of banking like McKinsey and Google. We appreciate you. After all, you were the top recruits from your entering class, and the hard work and dedication you’ve put in over the years has had significant impact on our firm. You make Hamilton Cooper who we are—the world’s best diversified financial services company engaged in investment banking and capital markets, asset management, and direct investing.”
She should have been smiling with the spouting of this brochure jargon and praise. Alarm bells rang in my head as she continued her rehearsed speech. “After extensive work with our third-party organizational consulting firm Rowling and Associates, with the preceding two years of flat growth, we regret to inform you that the company will be rolling out a reorganization plan for the deal, equity, debt, and high yield groups. As a result, your positions have all been affected by being eliminated. No additional head count will be added and we will be offering generous severance packages based on tenure and performance.” She added robotically, “You are, however, welcome to apply for any openings, but do note that all of the open positions are entry-level.”
My sushi lunch traveled up and I had to swallow hard to push it back down. Was this for real? It didn’t seem like some kind of elaborate joke. Was this actually happening? Was I get- ting laid off on a goddamn Zoom call?
She continued speaking while hands shot up. We were all muted by the presenter and she was not yielding the floor. “This was not an easy decision to make, as you can imagine. Although we’re still profitable, our firm is cutting back on hir- ing this year and reducing head count, but also reallocating budgets to IT spending and overseas virtual support. We’ve just emailed you all details about the severance packages and will remain on the call to answer any questions you might have. The remainder of the afternoon, you can pack your things and stop by HR to pick up hard copies of your exit packets. We’ll unmute you now so you can ask questions.”
An angry chorus of analysts and associates talked on top of one another. I managed to squeeze in a question uninterrupted: “But how did performance reviews factor in this decision?” Up to this point, mine were all positive. Glowing, in fact. With good reviews came nice bonuses, which I received. None of this made sense. Our midpoint quarterly perf review check-ins were due soon and I didn’t expect anything other than high marks.
Jodi of HR cleared her throat and mass muted everyone again. “Those who were chosen for termination fell into three categories. One, performance. A number of you on this call have been on probation for months and unfortunately, the time has come to part ways.” Half of the meeting participants wagged their fingers at their screens, shook their heads, or silently screamed at the screen, then blacked out their videos and logged out. The rectangles of remaining people shuffled on the screen to form a more intimate group of eight people.
“The second cause of termination was due to incriminating behavior or egregious spending that were under review by Human Resources. All of these cases were deemed negligent and warranting termination. Consider the severance a gift.” Six employees rolled their eyes and although I was no lip-reader, most of their rebuttals were profanities. They blacked out their screens and left the meeting, just as the poor performers did.
This left me, alone with stone-cold Jodi of HR.
She looked straight at her webcam like she was peering into my workaholic soul. “And you, Jessica Kim, are the other bucket.”
I gulped as she pulled out a single paper from a red folder and placed it in front of her on the table.
“According to our records, you had a good run here. Great work on the Perkins Media and Dixon Communications deals. Those were well-earned bonuses.” Those were my career- making, big-fish-big-pond deals.
She adjusted her glasses before speaking. “But this year, we almost lost Montgomery, one of our biggest clients.” Yes, Ryan Montgomery, the adulterer twice my age who belittled me in a meeting in front of my peers and got too handsy at an after-work function with another junior banker. I knew #MeToo Montgomery. All the women at Hamilton Cooper did. “Your reviews over the years have been consistent. You’re very analytical and don’t make many mistakes. MDs and VPs love having you on their teams because you’re heads down and get your job done. But you’re at a turning point now. We needed to decide how promotable you were.”
Were? She allowed me to unmute myself. “But those are all positive things. I had big wins. I don’t understand.”
She laced her fingers together and rested her hands on the paper. “In order to move up from associate to VP, we need to see leadership potential. Someone who can drum up new deals. Wine and dine clients. You’re a great follower.” A long pause. “But you’re not a leader.”
YOU’RE not a leader.
You’re NOT a leader. You’re not A LEADER.
The world went silent. Those four words were sledgehammer hits to the knees, crippling me into anguish and silence. Had I even gotten any leadership opportunities with the grunt work avalanche I’d been buried in the last few years? After all of my eighty-plus-hour weeks, all the secrets I kept—from marital af- fairs to botched financials I had to fix—and all the sick-to-my- stomach things I witnessed, they were letting me go.
Me.
I had to look strong in front of Jodi on the Zoom call. Be- cause that’s what a leader would do. But you’re not a leader, Jessica Kim. If you were a leader, you would still have a job.
A faint buzz from Jodi’s desk distracted her. She glanced down at her phone, her jowls resting on her neck as she fur- rowed her brow with a look of concern, showing more emotion toward her iPhone than she had with me in the last few minutes. “I have to run to a meeting, but feel free to speak with your team lead, Wyatt, if you have questions this afternoon. He and other managers are in a session now, being notified of these personnel shifts and how to cope with team change, and he’ll help transition your work back to the remaining team. Your severance package is also awaiting your electronic signature. Good luck in your future endeavors.”
“But—” My voice finally came back just as her screen turned dark and then disappeared. I was the only one left in the meet- ing. My sad face took up the entire screen. “—what about my MBA program?” I whispered to no one.
I had been accepted into NYU Stern’s part-time business school program earlier that week and was slated to start classes in the fall. My managing director knew that completing an advanced business degree was one of my career goals and was sup- posed to work something out with HR where I could transition to a business management role at the firm when school started. With Hamilton Cooper’s Employee Assistance Program, my MBA tuition would have been subsidized. But not anymore.
Ding! A new member joined the video call. Cam Simmons,
the guy who was hired because his dad was one of our clients. The dude who passed out under his desk after the company holiday party and woke up covered in a rainbow of Post-it notes, courtesy of his pranking peers. The associate who did half the work but took more than his share of credit.
He squinted into the camera and said, “Sorry I’m late. Long lunch. What’d I miss, Jess?”
I left the meeting. You missed everything. And you can figure it out on your own, Cameron.
I threw some personal items from my desk into my laptop bag and left my workspace in a hurry. My cheeks burned with embarrassment and I knew I had to hightail it out of there, or I’d burst into tears. I didn’t have much time.
Mashing the button multiple times didn’t make the elevator come any faster, but I found myself feeling so suffocated and desperate that I tried it anyway.
Three executives I’d worked with directly on recent deals walked down the hallway and stopped around the corner to chat. With everyone tied up in meetings, or being laid off, there wasn’t the typical typing, arguing, or yelling surround sound to drown out their conversation. My ears perked when I heard my name.
“Jessica Kim was one of them. A damn shame, she was one of those Asian worker-bee types. Always here past midnight. I heard she worked on Christmas. A real numbers whiz.”
“True, but she wasn’t the best fit for client services. At her level, she needed to be a thinker, not a doer. I know this sounds crass, but her clothes never fit. They were a little too baggy for my taste.”
“Maybe you should have paid her more so she could hire a tailor.”
Laughter.
“Wasn’t she already being overpaid anyway, especially for a female associate?”
My stomach lurched. I’d heard enough. My sadness vortexed into pure rage as I stomped over to them.
“I gave blood, sweat, and tears for this company.” I growled and pointed at Robert. “You begged me to cover for you if your wife called when you were wining and dining that female client last year.”
Robert’s face reddened. “But you didn’t. I’m going through a divorce now.”
I went down the line to the next asshole. “Shaun, you tried to expense your escapade at a strip club by saying it was my birthday dinner and HR thought I was in on the scam. And Dan, you transposed all those numbers on the deal sheet and I caught them just before they were sent out, remember? You could have been fired for that, especially for showing up to work high. I went above and beyond for you. I saved your ass.”
Their jaws dropped. No, they weren’t going to schmooze their way out of this one.
“I know what you’re thinking. How dare she say these things to us? She’s just bitter because she was let go. Well, it’s partly true. I’m bitter because I’ve wasted seven years of my life at this company that turned around and stabbed me in the back. If I wasn’t leadership material, why didn’t a female mentor coach me? Oh right, because there aren’t any female execs here. But thank you, sincerely, for the wake-up call. Now I can take my bonuses and severance and do something better with my time rather than covering for you and making you all richer.”
The only good luck I had that day was that the elevator doors opened immediately, and no one was inside. Heaving my bag strap onto my shoulder again, I hit the lobby button and the doors closed on my past.
On the way down to the ground floor, it started to sink in. The elevator dinged. I had no job as of today.
The doors opened. No career at Hamilton Cooper.
Through the lavish lobby with the crystal chandeliers and the white-and -gray swirled marble floors, I pushed through the revolving door and walked straight into an unyielding NYC spring thunderstorm.
With nowhere to be, I pulled out the travel-size umbrella from my bag and walked thirty blocks home to clear my head. I had no idea what to do the rest of the day. Even more tragically, I had absolutely no idea what to do with the rest of my life.
Preview of So We Meet Again by Suzanne Park
