Just because I’m the only woman in my office doesn’t mean that I don’t play fuck marry kill in my head during meetings with every possible combination of my coworkers. It also doesn’t mean that I’m not one of the guys. When the FBI showed up to go through our files, my coworkers made me feel like just another dude.
“They found evidence of your insider trading,” Brandon yelled at me. It meant a lot to be called an insider. I’m pretty sure I’ve never done that, though–it must have happened during the meetings where I’m supposed to wait outside. It’s thoughtful of the guys to include me now.
“You ran our asset management team into the ground,” Mark said. I don’t think so, but he has a great memory for that type of thing. And I was overjoyed to hear him say we’re on the same team. “Why are you smiling?” he asked. “You have to appear in court by yourself.”
Court, I thought dreamily. Where the boys go to play sports and defend financial crimes that they’re saying I did even though I think it was just them and maybe also those guys they hire to look over my work after I do it right the first time.
“Pay attention,” said Brandon. “You’re looking at up to two weeks in federal.” That’s even longer than Sarah went to prison for last year when she apparently defrauded all of our investors.
I decided to lighten the mood. “Speaking of assets, that stripper last night sure had hers inflated!” They all got quiet, as if one of the bros was sharing something emotional like embezzling and pinning it on his son’s really pretty second-grade teacher.
“She was a victim of human trafficking,” said Joe. “You knew that and still booked her.” I was in shock. Joe had never made eye contact with me before.