“You may.”
“Will Friday affect your decision?”
“Yes.”
He blinked.
I continued before he could misunderstand.
“It affects my assessment of Lauren.”
His expression sharpened.
“Not necessarily your firm.”
“That distinction matters.”
“It should.”
He nodded slowly.
Then I watched him recalculate.
Ryan hadn't come to convince me Lauren was secretly wonderful.
He'd come to determine whether one employee had contaminated millions of dollars in potential business.
Finding out the answer was not yet must have been a relief.
He stood.
“Thank you for your candor.”
“Ryan?”
He stopped.
“If Lauren hadn't realized I was a client, would anyone at your company care how she behaved?”
His face went still.
Good executives hated questions they couldn't answer with policy.
Finally he said, “I would.”
“Make sure that's true.”
He left.
I didn't hear what he said to Lauren afterward.
I found out later that it wasn't gentle.
Ryan called her into his office, shut the door and explained the math.
Our household mandate was one problem.
My company was another.
Because the fund considering a minority investment in Bennett Hospitality had also been a target relationship for Hawthorne for nearly a year.
Lauren had managed to insult a woman connected to two potential revenue opportunities at once.
Apparently she argued that no one had told her who I was.
Ryan's response, according to someone who later heard about the exchange, was simple.
“You shouldn't need a net-worth statement before deciding whether to humiliate somebody.”
I liked him slightly more after that.
Lauren did not.
For her, the problem wasn't that she'd behaved badly.
The problem was that the target of that behavior turned out to have leverage.
I saw the difference clearly at the gala.
It was Thursday night.
One of those business events where two hundred people paid too much money to drink average champagne under excellent lighting.
I attended because Bennett Hospitality was receiving a regional growth award.
Ethan met me there after his own dinner meeting.
For the first hour, I barely noticed Lauren.
There were bankers.
Developers.
Two founders I knew.
A hospitality investor from New York.
The president of a regional bank.
One of our landlords.
I moved from conversation to conversation, discussing leases, expansion costs, labor, permitting and fundraising.
It wasn't glamorous to me.
It was work.
But I could feel Lauren watching from across the room.
The first time I caught her eye, she looked away.
The second time, she didn't.
I realized then what was happening.
She was seeing the thing she could not find on LinkedIn.
Relationships.
People came to me.
They knew me.
Some wanted something.
Some had something I wanted.
Some had worked with me for years.
None were looking over my shoulder for Ethan.
That bothered Lauren.
I knew because later, near the bar, someone I'd met twice before leaned toward me.
“Maya, I'm sure this is ridiculous, but I thought you should know.”
“What?”
She looked uncomfortable.
“Lauren Pierce has been telling people your company only took off because of Ethan.”
There it was.
I took a slow sip of water.
“Anything else?”
“That he funded you.”
He hadn't.
That I couldn't ignore.
Not because my ego was fragile.
Because in the middle of a capital raise, false statements about ownership and financing mattered.
I looked across the room.
Lauren was speaking to two people near a sculpture.
She saw me approaching.
Her smile disappeared.
“Lauren.”
“Maya.”
“Can we talk?”
“Of course.”
I didn't take her somewhere private.
Neither had she.
But I kept my voice low.
“You thought I was poor, so I was beneath you.”
Her face tightened.
“Excuse me?”
“Now you think my husband is rich, so anything I built must belong to him.”
Her eyes flicked around us.
“I didn't say that.”
“You never have to say much, Lauren. That's always been your talent.”
“Maya, people were asking how you two met. I said Ethan is obviously successful. That's all.”
“No. You told people he funded my company.”
“I may have said his resources probably helped.”
“They didn't.”
She crossed her arms.
“Are you seriously pretending having a wealthy husband has no advantages?”
“Of course it has advantages.”
That answer surprised her.
I continued.
“So does having educated parents. So does going to a private university. So does growing up with a network. So does never wondering whether the electricity will be shut off before payday.”
She stared at me.
“I don't pretend advantages don't exist.”
My voice stayed even.
“I just don't pretend yours are accomplishments and mine are explanations.”