Page 4 of Pride and Protest
That was it. He was shut down. He was acting CEO and had never felt theactingpart more completely than he did right now. At thirty, he was too young to be taken seriously and too old to brush off. The board had been prepared to hold a nationwide search for a CEO when Gigi sounded the alarm and pushed him out in front, muscling their majority shares into a hammer and forcing the other shareholders’ hands.
On cue, Gigi spoke, working her magic. “The CEO makes a valid point about the connection between strong philanthropic initiatives and economic success. Corporate giving programs can provide a competitive advantage when they are well designed and carefully executed, both of which I believe we’ve been capable of doing in the past,” she said. “I mean, I’m just a business student here, but I think after we successfully launch Netherfield Court, we might be well-placed for federal development projects.”
The room discussed the possibilities of federal contracting. The board members were seeing green, but Dorsey caught his sister’s double meaning.Give them Netherfield, and they will give you your philanthropy budget.
The meeting adjourned early, though Dorsey, ever the realist, knew his presentation was likely already forgotten. Hampden came up to him and clasped his shoulder.
“We’re more alike than you know, Dorsey. Your dad was a powerful personality, and your mother was a compassionate soul. I was there when he adopted every single one of you kids.But you have to understand, his board is the same way—afoundfamily handpicked by him for our skills. This meeting seemed harsh, but your father trusted us, and so should you.”
Dorsey shook himself loose of the man’s firm grip. “I trust you, Mr. Hampden, to maintain the same level of giving as we had just two years ago.”
“I think coming from suchadversityas you did, you’ll always have a fighting spirit, and knowing that your father named youryoungersister over you couldn’t have been easy. But you have an opportunity here that only a handful of people in the world have. So let’s just stay the course until she’s ready to lead.” Mr. Hampden tilted his head toward Gigi. “Make sure you’re handing her a company in the best position it can be.”
Dorsey had heard this many times over from his father’s friends and family in the past year. It went like this:
The reminder that he had been plucked from obscurity out of the Philippines as a boy
The subtle acknowledgment that he should be grateful for his position
The even-gentler dig that he was not his father’s choice to lead
Not necessarily in that order, but always there.
“Mr. Hampden, I understand I am not anyone’s idea of a natural heir to Pemberley Development. Instead of getting an MBA, I went into the Peace Corps. You read theWall Street Journal, I readThe Atlantic. Iunderstandwhat that costs me. But right now, Iamthe CEO, and I want a larger budget for our key strategic philanthropic measures.”
Gigi sidled up beside Dorsey, polished as ever. “Thank youfor your perspective, Mr. Hampden. We’ll take it under consideration.” She nodded politely to the older man, and brother and sister walked out of the boardroom in silence.
Gigi pressed the button for the elevator. “Datu, don’t piss off the board.” She always called him his Tagalog surname when she felt conspiratorial. He was born ________ Datu-Ramos. How eager to get rid of him must his mother have been to not even quickly scrawl a first name for him before she left him wrapped in a soft T-shirt at an international orphanage. By nine years old, he was just a surname and did not even know he waswithouta first name until his first day in America. Unlike his sister, who had known her Kenyan full and elaborate name her entire life. The double standard, of course, was that she despised being called Gheche.
“Gigi, I know I’m not a good surrogate, but I believe in this.” The doors closed behind them, and Gigi immediately took off her high heels and put them in her enormous bag. She pulled out a pair of simple Chuck Taylors and shoved them on, holding on to her brother’s arm for stability.
“You made brilliant pointsandhad research to back it up. They simply don’t want to increase the budget because it risks their own take-home. Your pitch was solid, bro. You just cannot understand purely self-interested motivation.” Gigi pulled off her suit jacket and stuffed it into the bag as well.
When the doors peeled open, Dorsey and Gigi exited the elevator nearly in perfect lockstep. Dorsey eyed an older woman who had stopped to stare at them. Physically, they looked nothing alike. His sister’s skin was the rich mahogany of the soil of her native land, Kenya, while he had the umber complexion of his native Philippine Islands. Her hair was a spun-cotton cloud of tight brown coils, and his was a uniform curtain of bone-straightebony strands that he kept shoulder-length. Sure, they didn’t look like siblings, but Gigi was his sister all the way down to their matching vintage Chucks and identical mannerisms. He’d grown accustomed to the looks they got and used to think it was purely racial. But as Gigi grew into womanhood, the looks had changed from confusion to something else—admiration. She had finally grown into her long features and had gone from gangly and bucktoothed to graceful and, well, slightlylessbucktoothed. Braces could neverquiteconquer her prominent incisors.
He had also found himself suddenly the center of giggling girls’ attention in high school when he shot up to an ostentatious six foot two. He had been a brooding teen, one of no less than ten adopted Asian children in his high school, and he was the only boy. They all actively avoided one another in school. It had somehow been lonelier to acknowledge the other kids’ existence.
His recent breakup only proved what he’d known for a long time: he didn’t fit anywhere. Even when he actually tried (and, god, how hehatedtrying), women really only wanted him to be someone else—to stay rich, of course, but to be some other fantasy they had. He had even watchedSpinster Islandfor a girlfriend once—objectively the worst show on television.Thatwas love, watching trashy reality TV for someone.
Why were there somanywomen if he was so terrible? He imagined the money helped. His older brother, Alexi, had had no problem keeping girlfriends. Pale as alabaster with sandy curls and piercing gray eyes, Alexi was rowdy and irreverent and had clashed with his parents about everything. They had lost him in the same devastating car accident that claimed their parents. Now the trio of siblings was down to two. Dorsey knew if Alexi were here, he would have much more vulgar words for Mr. Hampden and the board. Alexi had done everything boldly. What Dorseycalled “thoughtful,” Alexi would call “chickensheet” in his curled Slovenian accent. Now with his father and Alexi gone, and Gigi skilled but too young, Dorsey was suddenly the face of a development corporation. His family’s legacy now rested on his shoulders.
“That wasn’t too bad,” Gigi said, bringing him back to the present. “If you give them Netherfield, they’ll increase their CSR funds.”
“Why can’t they just keep the same rate they had in the past? Why do I have to beg for money that should have been set aside?” Dorsey asked.
“Sometimes to get what you want, play your cards a little closer to your vest. You’re too rigid, D—”
