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Listen, I need some information discreetly about an investment banker at your firm, Derek Ashworth.”
There was a pause. “Any particular reason?”
“Ah.” Another pause. “Give me a day.”
James called back the next morning with a comprehensive rundown.
Derek was 35, had been with Thornton for eight years, currently managing a portfolio of mid-level clients. His performance was good, but not exceptional. He’d been passed over for senior partner twice.
He was ambitious, hungry to move up, and very aware that his current trajectory wasn’t matching his lifestyle. “Interesting thing though,” James added, “he’s currently courting a major client for the firm. If he lands it, it would be career making.
We’re talking a potential promotion, corner office, the works.”
“What client?”
James named a holding company I was very familiar with, because I owned it. “Is that so?” I said quietly. “Yeah.
The principles are notoriously private. Nobody at the firm has even met them face to face. All communications go through lawyers, but the potential account is massive.
After we hung up, I sat in my workshop for a long time, turning a piece of wood over in my hands. Derek was chasing the very client that could make his career, and he had no idea that client was his future father-in-law. The universe, it seemed, had a sense of irony.
November arrived with the kind of gray cold rain that makes you question why anyone lives in Canada. I flew to Vancouver on Friday, rented a car, checked into the hotel near the country club. Saturday dawned clear and cold.
I put on the same gray suit, looked at myself in the mirror, and wondered what Sarah would think of what I was about to do. The Vancouver Country Club was exactly what you’d expect: manicured lawns, views of the mountains, valets, and weight staff dressed better than I was. The engagement party was in the main ballroom, decorated within an inch of its life with white flowers and twinkling lights.
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