Page 74 of Token

At seventy-three, she was a handsome woman in the way Adam Driver was a sex symbol. Maybe not at first or second glance, but the longer a person looked, the arrangement of her individual features grew more pleasing when observed together. She wore a cream pantsuit that fit her petite figure in a way that screamed its custom-made origins.

“Mrs. Hanson-Gertz, this is an unexpected surprise.” Kennedy greeted her politely.

“Is it really a surprise? After your recommendation to my board, I thought you’d be expecting me,” she said in a voice that sounded as if she’d recently given up cigarettes after decades of chain-smoking two packs a day.

Oh wonderful. It was going to be one ofthoseconversations. Kennedy had naively hoped the woman would want to do what was best for the company. Clearly not.

“What can I do for you?” Kennedy asked calmly, ignoring her sharp tone and the question.

Irritated, the jewelry heiress thumped her veined, age-spotted hand on the table and replied, “You had no right to advise my board to fire me.”

Having watched more than her fair share of period dramas, the heiress reminded Kennedy of a haughty nineteenth-century British aristocrat who made it their job to belittle “the help” to the point of enragement.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hanson-Gertz, but under the circumstances, it was the right thing to do.”

“What circumstances?” Her voice rose imperiously. “Whatever it is you were told, I did not write that email. In your line of work, I would think you’d want to hear the whole story.”

One day, Kennedy would love it if the first thing out of a client’s mouth was them taking responsibility for whatever mess they’d gotten themselves into.It’s all my fault. I take full responsibility.However, it looked like she’d have to wait for hell to freeze over for that to happen, and until then,thiswas what she’d be dealing with. A litany of denials upon excuses upon denials.

“I did hear the whole story and I’ve viewed all the evidence. And as I told Mr. Bellamy yesterday, whether you wrote that email or not is immaterial. It was sent from your email address and your signature was at the bottom. If that was done in error, the mistake should have been corrected three years ago, not now.” The woman was trying to close the stable doors long after the horse had been let out. Long enough for the horse to have been impregnated and given birth several times over.

“You didn’t hear from me,” she said crossly.

Good lord, the woman was a piece of work.

“I may begin to sound like a broken record, but as I told Mr. Bellamy, the only thing I can do is to try and salvage the company’s reputation, not yours. The email is too damaging, and your employees have established, to everyone’s satisfaction, that they were following orders. Now, as I said, the sooner you issue Ms. Scott a public and personal apology, the sooner the press will lose interest.”

Vanessa Scott had already issued a statement of her own. Not only had she vowed never to step foot in any of their stores again, she was also returning the three-hundred-thousand-dollar diamond bracelet she’d purchased from their store in England the week before.

“This is my company. They are going to vote me out of the company my grandfather started at the turn of the last century.” She was all self-righteous indignation with her gratingly strident tone.

Kennedy took her job of being the voice of reason seriously. “I understand how you must feel, Mrs. Hanson-Gertz—”

“With all due respect, Miss Mitchell,” she snapped, “I doubt very much that you do. You can’t possibly understand what it’s like to watch your life’s work being taken from you.”

Haughty must be second nature to her, as she lapsed into it effortlessly. Haughty was also a surefire way to get Kennedy’s back up. “While this agency hasn’t been open quite as long as Hanson’s, nor does it come close to its considerable net worth, I do understand hard work and, more than that, I understand what it’s like to start with nothing.” She made a pointed reference to the Hanson heiress being handed a thriving multimillion-dollar business upon her father’s death more than twenty years ago.

Mrs. Hanson-Gertz cast a dubious look around the room, no doubt comparing it unfavorably to the offices and conference rooms she was accustomed to. But her smile, doggedly stiff and polite, never once wavered. She’d been at this a long time and was used to playing the game.

“Managing a half-billion-dollar company that spans several continents and countries isn’t quite the same as running a business...less involved.”

Kennedy kept a tight rein on her derision. The woman was a caricature of a caricature, a jeweler mogul version of Cruella de Vil come to life.

“Well, I can only imagine what that’s like. But as I said before, there is nothing I can do to extricate you from this quagmire you’ve gotten yourself into.”

The older woman studied her through narrowed eyes. “I don’t want to hear any nonsense about quagmires,” she said, sucking her teeth. “I was told you’re the best at what you do, but what is clear to me is that you don’t want to help me.”

Such damning praise. Kennedy would take it.

“Whoever told you that was right. I am the best at what I do. But what I’m not is a miracle worker, and that’s what you would require. Now, I’m not sure whether you’re a snob, a bigot, or a racist, or all the above, but at this point, it doesn’t matter. Your current position as CEO of Hanson’s is untenable and is already having an adverse effect on the company. The last time I checked, your stock was down fifteen percent. If you resign today, you can turn it around, and with that I’m sure the calls for boycotts will cease. No customer wants to run the gauntlet of protesters to shop at your stores.”

Since the incident, protesters had arrived with signs in hand to picket the Park Avenue store. There were also protests going on at their London and Paris stores, successfully keeping customers away.

Mrs. Hanson-Gertz pursed her lips, causing deep lines to snake from her lips like tributaries. “Just because I bring my old-fashioned values to my business, it doesn’t make me a bigot or a racist.”

Kennedy noticed she didn’t deny being a snob. But then again, being a snob didn’t make someone a social pariah.

“If by old-fashioned you mean posting a figurativewealthy whites onlysign on the doors of your stores in the form of store employees, I don’t agree with you. Which isyourproblem. Those days are over, despite efforts to resurrect them.” Kennedy kept her voice free of censure and malice, simply letting her words do the unpleasant but necessary work of dressing down a racist.

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