CORPORATE ACTION

“There he is! The one and only,” Cory said as I got to my desk. “I hope you don’t mind, but we couldn’t wait any longer. We started work without you.” Cory bared his teeth as he smiled at me and narrowed his eyes into thin slits.

“Sorry, I had to take my daughter to school this morning,” I replied, but he was already swiveling back to his desk, to his valuable work as Vice President of the team. I had been a VP, but came out of the merger an Assistant VP. A temporary setback given the bank’s corporate hierarchy, Peter, my former boss, had said. They wanted to get rid of you, but I wouldn’t let them. I was grateful, but also didn’t know if Peter fully understood, since he’d made out much better. He’d been promoted to SVP, and now was my new boss’s boss. And my new boss, Cory, was a prick.

I logged into my PC. As the three screens loaded, the screen savers displayed a stunning image of wine country in the south of France, which then dissolved into my inbox, the valuation model and pitch deck I’d left off on from the night before, long after Cory had disappeared for his client dinner.

I needed coffee. The reflection of the bright fluorescent lights bouncing off of the clean white surface of my desk was giving me a headache. The image of the south of France reminded me of the family vacation we had planned just four months ago, the one Cory had said I had to cancel last-minute to draft a pitch deck on our business area for upper management post the close of the merger. I opened my desk drawer and swallowed four Advil.

I walked the twenty steps to the break room. Sarah from Marketing was there. She was beautiful and nice. Also, she did good work.

“Hey, Sam,” she said with a smile as the Keurig finished spewing her coffee.

“Hey, Sarah, how are you? You were off yesterday, right? How was your long weekend upstate?”

I started making coffee, loading the pod into the Keurig and hitting the image of a coffee cup. Remembering, I hit the button that read, strong.

Sarah beamed. “OMG, it was AMAZING! We did a Tough Mudder race on Saturday. Our team came in second. Sunday we hung out by a lake, did some hiking. And yesterday went antiquing all along the Hudson.”

“Antiques?” Cory sounded over my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine. “You are anything but.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Hey, Cory,” she said, flatly. “How are you.”

“Well, ya know, we just don’t take that much time off around here. Isn’t that right, buddy?” Cory said, hitting me on the shoulder. I wanted to punch him in the face. Instead, I feigned a smile I feared came out more of a wince.

“Well, I better get to it,” I said, grabbing my cup. As I turned to leave, Sarah’s eyes popped a bit, as if to say, Don’t leave me with this creep. As I stepped out, I could hear Cory complimenting Sarah on her long necklace.

I logged back into my machine, only to see the south of France fade away once more. They had it right over there, with all their guaranteed paid leave. They had even passed a new law that management couldn’t send employees emails after hours. I scanned my inbox. 90% of the notes were irrelevant for me, but I was cc’d in the company’s attempt to keep me in the hive mind of Cascade Analytics Stocks Research Incorporated. Despite “stocks” being in the firm name, we actually didn’t deal with stocks. Our interest was fixed income.

But we weren’t the namesake anymore. Cascade no longer existed, legally speaking. We were now part of a bank, touted as the crown jewel, the differentiator, the focal point of the pitch to clients. Despite strong growth prospects, the bank decided to reduce its workforce by 15% immediately following the merger, a move that Wall Street rewarded by pushing the stock price to new all-time highs. It was such bullshit. I knew the firm would hire an additional 20% back the following year.

I turned my attention to my latest model, which was based on firm fundamentals, option prices on equity, and probability of default matrices. I got lost in the trends, the probabilities, the likely and unlikely distributions. I liked the work; I was good at it. But the company, Cory, getting demoted…I hated this place and the bastards who ran it. But I couldn’t leave. Not with my seven-year-old daughter, Tina, just starting private school. Tina and her mom, Tanya, had me deathly afraid of getting made redundant, for redundancy here meant redundancy there.

I walked myself through the updates I’d made last night, slowly finding my groove. Finally, I was locked in and in the zone. Cory and the bank had dropped away. It was just me and my model.

“Buddy, buddy, buddy,” Cory said right at my right ear, causing me to jump out of my chair just a few inches. His voice tasted like blood and metal. “You busy?”

“Actually—”

“’Cause I really need your help with something, man. It’s for a report I’m working on that Peter needs to review on Big Mountain Gaming. Wait, are those Girl Scout Cookies?” Cory took the rectangular box off my desk, bringing it eye level. “Samoas, no less! Oh man, you’ve been holding out on me. Mind if I have one or two?” As he finished asking, Cory palmed four cookies. “That time of year, huh? How old is your daughter again?”

“She’s seven.”

“Right on.” Cory shoved an entire cookie in his mouth while maintaining eye contact with me. “So, Big Mountain Gaming. Their debt is a total buy. There’s some clear positive trends I’ll leave it to you to dissect. Also, they’re a huge client of the bank. We happen to be the lead book runner on their upcoming bond offering.”

In hindsight, I wasn’t surprised by Cory’s meteoric rise. He’d always been bluster and bullshit, stuck in his role as Assistant VP for years. He’d reported to Mark, who was cut early in the integration. I wasn’t there, but I was 100% sure he’d undermined Mark’s contributions when the corporate action consultants came knocking. Cory, the prick, had impressed the bank’s senior management with his leadership in heading the Welcome Drinks Committee. His first event was the “Integrated Opener,” an open bar reception for legacy Cascade people with the bank’s leadership team. The venue was trendy, was even written up recently in the NY Post. He’d taken a poll ahead of the event, asking Managing Directors and up their favorite songs, which played all evening. Ever since, the Machiavellian fuck had been my boss.

I missed Peter. He was fair, looked out for his team. Had my back; had hired me, years ago. He’d take me to lunch and tell me about his kids, the daughter destined to play college ball. But now management demanded all his time, and what little time he had left over, Cory would weasel in his brownnosing bullshit.

“So, I really need your help on this, buddy. I’ve near finalized a finished introduction and conclusion that really hits on the key points I want explored. But what the report really needs are some charts and tables to substantiate the buy recommendation. Can you help me out with that? Along with a few words describing what you see in the data?”

Is this prick for real, asking me to write this report for him?

“You know, I’m really bogged down on—”

“We’ve got your performance review coming up, right?” Cory checked his phone. “Yeah, 5 p.m. tomorrow. I know our employer-employee relationship is still somewhat new, and you’ve been doing business as usual, but this will go a long way to our convo. It’ll give me a sense of what you’re capable of, bud.”

I was biting so hard I could feel my gums stretch. Again, I wanted to punch him in the face. I always wanted to punch him in the face. I wanted to take my keyboard and crack him a real good one, severance package be damned.

“Send me what you got. I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

Cory smiled, showing his stupid fucking teeth again.

“Thanks, buddy,” he said, slapping me on the shoulder.

Cory went back to his desk. Moments later, the email arrived:

From: Cory

Subject: Big Mtn Gaming

Hey bud,

Here’s the start point for our new coverage on BMG. Can you pls flesh out in manner we discussed?

Thx, C

I opened the attachment. He wasn’t lying—there was an introduction and conclusion with like-named section headers. Each were short paragraphs amounting to a whopping total of 250 words of total fluff. He had added the author section of the report. He listed himself as the sole author and froze the section of the document. No Excel attachment, no working or developing model. My fingernails went white on the desk as I looked at the pathetic Word doc. Just a big, fat nothing burger.

I breathed in and out in deep breaths, counting four in and four out like my therapist taught me. I waited to go from boil to simmer. I brought Tina to mind, and a minute later felt my rigor mortis loosening.

I didn’t have a choice—I started in.

“Hey there!” chimed a voice over my shoulder. A few hours might’ve passed, but I couldn’t be sure. I was making progress on Cory’s piece. It was Gwendolyn, our division’s Head of Compliance. “Steve, right?”

“It’s Sam. Hey, Gwen. We met at a few of the integration mixers.”

She smiled, swatted her hand through the air.

“That’s right! Of course, I remember. I still remember those welcome drinks—that was a hoot! Cory even managed to get in my song—‘I Get Knocked Down’!”

I forced an awkward laugh.

She looked me up and down, noting my polo shirt and jeans. “Only internal meetings today, I hope.”

No meetings, actually. “Yes, that’s right.”

Gwendolyn smiled and, after a pause, said, “Anyway, I’m going by everyone’s desk and reminding people to do their Safe Spaces Sensitivity Trainings. They’re due by next week, though I’d appreciate if you could complete them by tomorrow end of day.”

“I’m actually sla—”

“I’m tracking everyone who gets it in early and will make a positive note on our system, which can never hurt.” She winked. “After all, no reason I should process surveys all weekend, am I right?” She laughed and I forced a smile.

“I’ll do my best,” I offered.

“Great,” she said. There was an awkward moment of silent eye contact. “Right. Well, carry on.” She walked off.

I got back to it, though couldn’t focus. The screen was starting to blur, numbers and formulae dancing in circles around the infinite grid of Excel. I got up and walked to the coffee room.

“She had massive tits, which I motorboated—”

“Oh, hey, Sam,” said Cory. “I was just telling Tim about last week’s conference in Montreal.”

I did my best to smile as I moved to make coffee.

“Hey, Tim,” I said.

“Hey, Sam. Sounds like you guys had a wild time over there!”

“Oh, Sam didn’t go,” said Cory. “Unfortunately, there was only budget for Peter and me. I think it might’ve been only for VP and up—”

My coffee cup and its scalding contents slammed into Cory’s face. He screamed in agony as his bloodied face continued to burn, kissed by corporate napalm. He fell to his knees as he cried. I smiled as for the first time I saw him without his look of smug, knowing satisfaction.

But that didn’t happen.

“We’ll, there’s always next time,” Tim said. “Gentlemen,” he said tilting up his cup and exiting the coffee room.

“How’s the report coming, bud?”

I squeezed the mug’s handle. “It’s coming. I should be done with the initial model this afternoon.”

“Good. Well, don’t let me keep you from it.” He left.

I breathed ten slow breaths, counting to four on every inhale, then every exhale. I grabbed one of the free company-provided bananas (talk about perks!), sat, and ate in peace.

Back at my desk, the south of France dissolved again, and I made a mental note to talk to Tanya about going on a vacation. The tickets were still valid for another eight months.

I put on my headphones and went to work on the model. A few hours later, I was done with the model, though I still had to write the report. I opened the Word doc and started in, after turning on Track Changes.

A few hours later, I jumped as I felt a sting on my back and neck. I swiveled around to see Cory’s smiling face, backpack on, clearly headed for the elevator bank.

“Gotta run, bud. I’m playing squash with a potential client. Send me what you got on BMG tonight, okay?”

I nodded.

“Thanks, man. Can’t wait! Later.” And he was gone. It was 5:15 p.m. Prick.

An hour later, I ordered a burger from Five Guys. I texted Tanya I’d be home late again. I got in the zone.

Two hours later, I was done. I opened Cory’s email and hit reply.

Cory,

Please find attached the model for BMG along with a finished report. If it looks good, this should be ready for Peter to review.

Track Changes is on, so you could see my contribution to the text.

Regards,

Sam

I stared at the note, unsatisfied. My model was one of the best I’d done. The report was strong. I’d made specific changes to the garbage Cory wrote for the intro and conclusion. Made it readable, made it mean something. The key takeaways were different, though the conclusion was still bullish on BMG’s bonds. Cory was a prick, and I was done.

Then I smiled. I thought of sweet severance and Cory’s flustered face, if Peter ever called him out. I changed the email:

Cory,

Please find attached the model I created for BMG along with a finished report. I think this is the best report I’ve written in a while, and look forward to hearing the response you get from Peter.

Regards,

Sam

I added Peter on blind copy and hit send.