Page 91 of Token

23

If what is contained in the emails attributed to Phillip Draper and Samuel Weber from ECO Apparel is authentic, I can only convey my disappointment at the language and sentiment expressed in the emails. That kind of appalling and unprofessional conduct cannot be tolerated if we ever expect to have full equality not only in the workplace but in all aspects of society. The Token agency, which was founded to encourage and facilitate a more diverse and inclusive workplace, no longer does business with ECO Apparel.

Kennedy Mitchell

Kennedy reread the statement, and once she was satisfied it properly conveyed her feelings—without the inclusion of a single use of the wordmotherfucker—she emailed it to Julie to check over. Although it wasn’t a legal document, it never hurt to have a lawyer read it over before sending it out into the world.

Sahara commenced what would be a torrent of calls, practically shrieking furiously into the phone the moment Kennedy picked up.

“I’m going to bury them if it’s the last thing I do. Girl, they are so done. Because either they go or I’m gone. I don’t care what I have to do to get out of the contract, I’ll do it.” Her friend then went on to use every derogatory word in the book she could think of to describe them. Surprisingly, the list was more expansive than one would think.

At the end of her tirade, Sahara did an emotional one-hundred-and-eighty-degree pivot and inquired sympathetically, “So how are you doing?”

“Apart from the tire marks from the truck that ran me over, I’m doing all right,” Kennedy replied wryly.

“I know a couple guys who’ll rough them up for free. They’d do anything for a good cause, and if this isn’t one, one doesn’t exist.”

Kennedy gave a dry laugh. Her friend played a convincing mafioso.Not.“A friend willing to commit a felony for me. I’m truly blessed.”

“If not your friends, then who? We women have to stick together, especially us Black women. Let’s face it—if that’s what Phil and Sam said about you, can you imagine the shit they’ve been saying aboutmebehind my back?”

Sahara had a good point. Celebrity or not, the fact that a young Black woman was calling the shots regarding what was then a potential multimillion-dollar deal probably hadn’t sat well with them. They may not have expressed their true feelings via email, but she bet they’d communicated them.

“If they did, they were smart enough not to memorialize it. After all this time, you’d think people would learn that nothing in thetechstratosphere is ever really deleted or private.” Sighing, she grabbed her stress ball from her desk and began to squeeze. “And imagine, I did everything I could to help them win their contract with you.”

“How could you possibly have known?”

“The total lack of Black employees should have tipped me off,” Kennedy replied wryly.

Sahara harrumphed. “They werenotalone. Dozens of companies were exactly like them. Plenty still are. You know that. But because of you, the company’s, what, ten times more diverse.”

“That was because of you, not me. They wouldn’t have done any of it on my insistence alone.”

“All right, all right, then I say we call it a draw. We did it together.” There was an amused smile in her friend’s voice.

“It’s your clothing lines that are now half of their annual revenue. They literally can’t afford to lose your business.” Which put Sahara in the driver’s seat. If she wanted the men gone, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind—the men were going, going, gone. It was simply a matter of time.

“And don’t think I’m not loving this right now. Which reminds me—I have a call from Donald Edwards to return. You gotta know he’s straight-up panicking right now.”

Kennedy could only imagine. Donald Edwards, ECO Apparel’s CEO, must be beside himself. Value of their stock had more than doubled since the debut of Sahara’s clothing line. Anything that jeopardized the company’s bottom line would be treated like the five-alarm fire it was.

After promising Sahara that she’d call if she needed anything, even if it was just to vent, Kennedy hung up.

Then, as if a family newsletter about the incident had gone out that morning, like the opening of a spigot, the calls began to pour in. Her mother—who spoke while her father made noises of support in the background—was more the hovering, concerned mother hen than outraged,they will rue the day they were bornparent.

“My poor baby. Do you need me to fly up there?”

“No, Mom, that’s okay. I’m fine.”

“What would be wrong with you having a couple children by now? you’re almost thirty, not fifteen. Why don’t you come home for a bit? Take some time off work. Your father agrees with me.”

“It’s okay, Mom. And tell Dad I’m fine. I really don’t want you guys to worry.”

Her parents meant well.

While her mother continued through a litany of things sure to help Kennedy through the ordeal—offering to next-day deliver her a container of pholourie, because wasn’t food the answer to most problems?—her sister called.

Where their mother had covered the concerned parent, Cheryl had the outraged part down pat. The severing of a certain male body part required for procreation came up during the heated, mostly one-sided conversation. Making that another woman in her life willing to commit felonies for her. Her sister had always been protective of her, but this violent streak in her was new. Kennedy had never felt more loved.

---