Rodney and I enter the meeting. Every market team has one on Monday, and all the members covering Asia are already seated around a long table. I take an empty seat, and Rodney sits next to me. The meeting follows the agenda, like always.
Dad doesn’t say much, but he almost never does. One of the VPs explains that although many markets dropped, we still made a significant profit off our short positions, which doesn’t surprise me. This is why clients pay us the big bucks.
I jot down some notes from the projections. They seem solid, albeit a bit conservative. But some of our clients loathe losing money more than they love making it. Totally risk-adverse.
Toward the end, we have the time to bring up any ideas or suggestions. So I do.
“Right now, people are jittery and nervous about the unpredictable ups and downs, even though they’re very interested in growing their money,” I say. If I pass this stage, I’ll have to make a formal presentation. “I think it’ll be great if we can start a new product catered specifically to the upper middle class, which we haven’t been serving. We can brand it as ‘wealth building for the middle class.’”
“We only deal with people with real money,” one of the VPs says, sounding bored and slumberous. Dad nods almost imperceptibly.
I expected this. If Dad didn’t feel this way, he would’ve already started something similar. Undeterred, I continue, “Middle class doesn’t mean people with no money. They’re people with some savings. These days, even households that routinely make high six figures or more feel like they’re middle class.”
Many of the VPs start to close their leather folios, their movements crushing the fluttery excitement inside me. I glance at Dad, praying he sees the merit in my idea. But he taps his fingers twice on the legal pad in front of him, then shuts his.
I bite my lip. I didn’t presume he’d be all over it immediately, but I thought he’d give it more consideration than a couple of finger taps.
“Anybody else have anything to say?” he asks, his palms on the table.
“I think Pascal’s idea has merit,” Rodney says.
Thank you.
“Even under her proposed financial products, the type of people who feel comfortable walking in here and opening an account are going to have some significant assets. It’s a great way to increase our clients. And I like the branding she proposed. ‘Wealth building for the middle class’ is very welcoming and enticing.”
“That’s a good point, Rodney.” It’s the same VP who shut me down only seconds ago. “Catchy, too. Good job.”
What the hell? A bitter knot clogs my throat, making it impossible to speak.
“It’s really Pascal’s idea,” Rodney says.
“Great thinking, Rodney,” Dad says, as though he didn’t hear Rodney attribute it to me. “Outside the box.”
The words are like hard slaps. They’re what I wanted to hear from him for my idea. My hands start shaking, and I clench them so people can’t see my reaction and pity me. You can’t work at SFG if people start pitying you.
“Appreciate your bringing it up. Now if that’s all…” Dad stands.
And just like that, the meeting ends. Everyone follows my dad out, little specks of iron trailing the giant magnet.
Except me. I stay in my seat. I don’t think I can walk.
Rodney is leaving, but he turns back and sits next to me in the otherwise empty room.
“Sorry,” he says.
I shake my head, suddenly drained. “Wasn’t your fault. You tried to help.” I attempt to give him a smile, but my cheeks are like rubber. “I appreciate it.”
“But I feel terrible…like I took credit for your idea. I don’t understand why they didn’t take you seriously.”
Even though he says he doesn’t understand, his eyes show a glimmer of understanding.
I’m a woman. Somehow the fact that I have a vagina makes everything out of my mouth not worth paying attention to, according to some jerks. When the same words come out of someone else’s—a man’s—they’re worthy of notice.
I expect that from some of our subtly sexist VPs…maybe. But my own father?
That’s an unexpected blow.
Rodney pats my shoulder. “You know, one day they’re going to realize what an amazing analyst you are.”