Page 114 of The Pucking Date
“I recommend we terminate our relationship with Vanderbilt Financial. Engage another firm. One that can separate professional obligations from personal grudges. I’ve prepared a list of alternatives, firms with better trackrecords, competitive rates, and most importantly, ethical standards.”
Silence stretches between us, thick as the cigar smoke that clings to these walls. Rothschild’s expression shifts slightly, his mouth tightening just enough to suggest displeasure, but his voice remains carefully measured. Then he leans back in his chair and sighs.
“Jessica, your diligence is commendable, as always.” His tone carries that particular brand of condescension reserved for mansplaining things to children and women. “I appreciate your...thoroughness. But you need to understand how these relationships work.”
My jaw locks. I keep my face neutral.
Here it comes.
I feel my spine lock vertebra by vertebra, like armor clicking into place.
“My family’s relationship with the Vanderbilts goes back generations. Cutting off their firm isn’t an option.”
My pulse spikes, heat surging beneath my skin. But I keep my expression perfectly neutral, refusing to betray the turmoil inside me.
“With respect, Mr. Rothschild,” my voice is level, “this isn’t about personal connections. His actions were unethical. He weaponized his access and nearly tanked a major sponsorship. Loyalty should lie with the players, and the brand we’re supposed to be protecting.”
I stop there. Because what Iwantto say, what’s blistering just behind my teeth, is that tradition has limits. That honoring some dusty old handshake between rich people at a fraternity isn’t loyalty, it’s fear disguised as legacy. It’s terror enforced by dead men. But I bite it down. Because saying that to his face would be career suicide.
For now.
My lungs burn. I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
Rothschild’s eyes flash briefly, a flicker of irritation or perhaps disappointment. He leans forward a smidge, words quieter, more patronizing. “Jessica, I appreciate your passion, but there are complexities here beyond just business decisions. Connections matter in ways you may not fully appreciate.”
My nails dig discreetly into my palms, the sting grounding me. My voice stays calm, cool, utterly stripped of emotion. “I understand complexities perfectly well. But this situation is straightforward. Chad put his personal feelings above his professional duties. It’s reckless and damaging to the team.”
Rothschild’s mouth tightens. “You’re letting emotions cloud your judgment.”
Heat crawls up my neck as his Yale class ring catches the light; even his jewelry dismisses me.
Emotions. Of course. When a woman identifies a problem, it’s emotions. When a man does it, it’s leadership.
“This is pure business logic,” I counter, tone steady despite the fury building in my chest. “We can’t have sponsors questioning our stability because our financial partners can’t maintain professional boundaries.”
“The boy comes from good stock. His family has ties to half the boardrooms in Manhattan. Cutting those ties would be inadvisable.”
“Inadvisable,” I echo, tasting the word like poison.
“Besides,” he continues, straightening his cufflinks, “young men sometimes let personal matters affect their judgment. He will learn from this. Consider it handled internally.”
Handled internally. Like a boys’ school disciplinary hearing. Slap on the wrist. Don’t do it again, sport.
“And O’Reilly?” I ask. “What do I tell him when another ‘mistake’ happens? When Vanderbilt decides to inspire another outlet to revive stories of his father?”
“That won’t happen.” Rothschild’s tone sharpens. “I’ll speak to him personally. Make expectations clear.”
A conversation between old friends. Between men who summer in the Hamptons and winter in Aspen. Who trade favors like baseball cards and consider the rest of us pieces on their board.
“Sir—”
He nods slightly, offering an indulgent smile that sets my teeth on edge. “I’ll discuss this with Chad personally. However, our association with his firm remains. I’m sure you can manage this situation effectively from your end.”
My jaw tightens minutely as I stand, smoothing my skirt deliberately. “Of course. Thank you for your time.”
“I’m glad we understand each other.” He slides my tablet back across the desk. “I suggest you focus on the team optics. Make sure our players present well. That’s what we pay you for.”
That’s what we pay you for.
