My mother blamed herself for anything that ever went wrong in my life, and as a result, anything that went wrong in my life became about her. When I was young, she used to apologize for my asthma and my slight scoliosis, telling me she was sorry she “made” me that way. But my problems were harder to solve now, and I had no patience for this. I scratched at my forearm as I planned an exit strategy from this topic of conversation. “I do love Sam. I guess you might be right. It’s probably cold feet. I just need time.”

As I took a long drink of wine and watched her posture relax, I felt a hollowness in the pit of my stomach, an oblong shape with round edges that was so dark it was almost black.

*

On Friday the entire office vibrated with the rumor that Derrick had just gotten fired for his indiscretion at First-Year Academy, the stories spinning so fast it was impossible to tell fact from fiction.

I heard he got arrested in the hotel.

He had a huge party in his room with hookers and blow.

He’s dating a stripper.

The firm is freaking out because he was their star black associate.

He’s cleaning out his office right this second.

I didn’t know what had precipitated his downward spiral, but I felt a blinding guilt for not sitting down with him earlier to figure it out, as well as for my role in his being caught. I shot him a quick note.

From: Alexandra Vogel

To: Derrick Stockton

Subject: Can I stop by?

From: KLASKO TECHNOLOGY SUPPORT

To: Alexandra Vogel

Subject: ERROR: Invalid email address

ERROR1209724 - [email protected] is not a valid email address

I typed his name into our firm database, only to find that his picture was no longer up on the website. It didn’t surprise me that an institution as powerful as Klasko had a way of making people who reflected poorly upon the institution vanish into thin air. I opened my iPhone to send him a Facebook message but couldn’t find any trace of his account. He must be mortified, I thought. He must want to disappear. I got up out of my chair and marched down the hallway. Maybe I could catch him before he left the building.

When I arrived at his office, the door was half open, but he wasn’t alone. Lincoln stood watching him, arms folded and his expression stoic and tight-lipped. They both looked up as I entered.

“Hi,” I said softly, and turned to Lincoln. “Um, can I have a moment with Derrick?”

“Afraid not,” he said apologetically.

It took me a moment to realize that he wasn’t joking. Derrick had stopped packing up the cardboard box on his desk and was looking at me expectantly.

“Can we sit a minute?” I asked Lincoln. He thought for a moment and nodded, as though making a concession. I took a seat in his guest chair.

“I just wanted to come by . . . I just wanted to say . . . I’m sorry this happened.”

Derrick took the seat opposite mine. “Thanks. You’re the only person who’s come by.” He watched me for a moment, then arched his spine backward, as though he had a pain in his rib. “I totally deserve this. I think sometimes I get so sick of this place treating me differently, even if it’s better, because I’m black. I was sick of it. It’s like being a show pony. I guess I just got carried away with testing the boundaries.”

I paused before answering that. “I think I sometimes feel just a fraction of that as a woman.” I didn’t want him to think I was pretending to know exactly how he felt, or experiencing it at the same level. But I did feel some of it. And honestly, most of the time I was grateful for it. “I’ll miss you. Can we stay in touch?”

Derrick nodded at me and then looked at Lincoln, as though weighing his next words. “Watch out for yourself here, Alex. You’re one of the good ones.”

I hugged him goodbye and headed back to my office, not realizing until I settled into my chair to start drafting a term sheet that Derrick had not given me his new number.

*

I spoke quickly as I watched Harold Gottlieb, my fellow first-year associate, scribble down every word I said. I should have been kind and spoken more slowly, but part of me took a twisted pleasure in challenging him. Harold had worked for the tax group for his first five months, and had only recently decided he wanted to make the switch to M&A, so Jordan and Matt had staffed him on a deal with me, and put me in the unusual position of supervising a peer.

Harold combed through his curly red hair and scanned the room, looking everywhere in my office except at me—he was awkward and unsure of himself. He was put together, though—his suit was perfectly tailored, and he wore a tie clip, which I thought gave him a charming and old-fashioned touch of flair—except for his fingernails, which he’d bitten down so far that they were simply small strips of keratin with bloodied borders, the equivalent of webbed feet paddling frantically below a glassy surface.

“I can never find your attachments. You attach them way at the bottom of the chain. It’s like a treasure hunt,” I said, scrolling down. Harold parted his lips to apologize, but I cut him off. I was trying to remember what it was like not to know anything, but annoyance trumped my sense of empathy. “So, after you read the minutes, you and I—” My phone rang. Jordan. I heard Anna pick it up. “—you and I can sit down and review any of the flags you raised on stock—”

I half heard Anna saying “. . . in with an associate. I’ll give her the message.” An instant message popped up on my screen.

JORDAN SELLAR: NEED YOU ASAP!!!! DEAD BODY IN MY OFFICE

I peered at my computer to confirm what I had just read. “I’m so sorry, Harold. I need to go. I’ll call you as soon as I can to finish up our conversation. Feel free to stay in here and finish up notes,” I said, already halfway out the door. Anna stood up in her cubicle as I exited.

“Make sure he doesn’t touch anything,” I whispered to her. She eyed the back of his head through my open door and raised an eyebrow.

I pushed the elevator button repeatedly, despite knowing it would do nothing to accelerate its arrival. When the doors opened on Jordan’s floor, I ran down the hallway to Jordan’s office to find his door closed and the sound of a frantic female voice coming from inside. I almost turned to leave before reminding myself that he had begged me to be there. Instead I knocked casually.

“Come in!” I heard him call, and I swung the door open to see a woman standing by the desk. Her eyelids were so swollen they drooped low, leaving only little slits. Her hair was piled into a messy bun, and the unforgiving fluorescent light of the office did no favors to her blotchy skin, a mosaic of tear stains. Was that what I looked like after I closed a deal?

I glanced at the wedding portrait behind Jordan’s desk to confirm that she was the same bright-eyed, glowing bride I’d spotted across the ballroom at the Pierre in December.

“Hi, Jessica! I’ve heard so much about you!” I smiled and then allowed it to fade, pretending to just now notice the expression on her face. “Is this a bad time?” I asked innocently.

“Yes,” she hissed.

“It is,” Jordan began. He’d been pacing nervously. “But actually, it’s good that you’re here.” His wife whipped her head around to him in disbelief. “Shut the door.”

I obeyed.

“Jessica, Alex Vogel.” Jordan pointed to his wife and then to me.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” I said, bending my legs at the knees just in front of Jordan’s spare chair.

“Don’t sit!” she snapped. I straightened up.

“Alex, I can’t tell you what this is about, but . . . answer one question,” Jordan said, then paused and looked at me squarely. “What do I think of Nancy?”

Jessica whipped her head at him, looking indignant, but then she turned to me, and I saw something softening her features—maybe hope.

In that moment, I threw out any sense of morality or girl code. There was only loyalty.

“Nancy who?” I asked. “Duval?”

Jordan nodded. I let out a small snort of laughter.

“She’s fit for a straitjacket. She’s the butt of all our jokes,” I said. “Look, I don’t really know that much about her, but I do know that she’s totally unstable.” Jessica looked at me, clearly latching on to my words. “I know it’s not nice, but Jordan and I spend every waking work hour together, basically, so we need something to make fun of, and she’s just such an easy target.”

I saw Jordan’s shoulders relaxing away from his ears as he took a seat at his desk.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, touching Jessica’s shoulder and furrowing my brow. “I don’t understand. Are you friends with her? Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. We’re just mean and bored.”

“No.” Jessica shook her head and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “You think she’s crazy?” I nodded. “How do you know?”

“Oh, it’s all rumors,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. “But I heard she just gets really obsessed with guys. Like apparently she’s even created fake boyfriends.” I swirled my finger around my ear and crossed my eyes, my Oscar-worthy performance continuing.

“She texted me,” Jessica whispered.

I looked up at Jordan, who gave me a small nod.

“Saying?” I asked, looking incredulous.

Jessica burst into tears again, and I suddenly understood that Jordan had called me, rather than Matt, to his office because she’d never ever have believed a man’s answer. A surge of guilt went up my spine but instantly dissolved at the base of my skull.