The Playground

Clinic

Prologue

There are two ways to cross a moral line: Either slowly, so slowly it seems like you’re standing still; or by diving over, speeding toward water without thought as to what’s beneath the plunge.

Those who creep up to the line go with the flow, make decisions slowly, or don’t make decisions at all. They follow. Those who dive over the line are risk-takers, money-makers, leaders.

I was never a follower.

The first time I crossed the line was when I punched Charlie Butters in the sixth grade.

For weeks, Charlie had been vying for my attention. At first, he passed me little notes: Will you go out with me? Check Yes or No. But I wasn’t interested in the half-grown boys of Coral Cliffs Elementary School. I was saving my romantic energy for Adam Peck, who was already in eighth grade. Besides, if I were interested in such boys, it certainly would not be a tawdry, little punk like Charlie. I ignored the notes.

After my blatant snubbing, Charlie promoted attention-seeking to poking. He poked me as I walked by in the hallways or as I searched for a book in the library. I would scowl at him, Grow up, Charlie. And he would sneer, as if the gibe had no relevance.

All of that, I could handle. Weasels like Charlie weren’t going to ruin my day with notes and pokes. But Charlie really screwed up when he messed with my family.

Where’s your hat, Bran? I asked my younger brother, as we walked toward the bus to take us home.

Dunno, he replied diffidently.

How do you not know? I asked impatiently.

Charlie took it, Robert, our other brother, chimed in.

I stopped walking and turned Bran around to face me. Charlie took your hat?

His lip started trembling, but not as much as my temper did.

Stay here. Don’t get on that bus, I commanded Bran and Robert.

I walked to Bus 315, lined up two buses behind ours, filed in, and made my way to the back where Charlie was turned around talking loudly to other kids. He was wearing Bran’s hat.

I plucked it off his head. You’re a jerk, Charlie! Don’t mess with my brothers ever again! I shouted with as much bluster as I could conjure.

Charlie smirked with his hands up in surrender. Okay, sorry, Anna. The boys next to him all joined the commotion with smug laughter.

I could have inched back from crossing the line then and walked away. But I didn’t.

Another thing, Charlie. The next time you want to ask me out with those stupid little notes, make sure you spell girlfriend correctly. Friend is ‘i-e,’ not ‘e-i,’ you moron.

Charlie’s face turned prickly pear red and he stood up to rush me, but I punched him square in the nose before he could. Blood gushed down his face and I stammered back with a still-clenched fist; it was throbbing, but I couldn’t feel the pain.

The bus driver thrust back, and the next thing I knew, I was sitting in the principal’s office with my two younger brothers waiting for our parents to pick us up.

But at least Bran was wearing his hat again.

This time, the moral line I crossed felt as expansive as the Great Salt Lake. Bile rose in my throat as I sat in my office holding what I now knew was a duffel bag stuffed with cocaine.

How did I get here? I castigated myself, exhaling forcefully.

But the bag didn’t find me. I replayed the steps that led me to this bag, backtracking the last seven years to when I met the man who would change the course of my life on a snowy Philadelphia day. Yes; it had all started then.

And I wouldn’t change a minute of it.

Chapter One

I always knew my life in Utah was temporary, though I had nothing to complain about my childhood there.

I spent my days running barefoot in the red desert hills of St. George, chasing lizards and catching pollywogs in the creeks between the mountains where we would go to escape the 120⁰F summer days. Then, my three closest friends and I—two sisters and an awkward girl named Mickey—would drag our dirty bodies home, where we’d separate to scavenge for loose change between couch cushions, car floors, and drawer bottoms. When, among the four of us, we had gathered 50 cents ($1 on a good day), we’d walk the mile to the Market to buy as much penny candy as we could manage with our couch finds.

One day, as we played M.A.S.H. under the shade of a trampoline, the girls giggled as my fortune resolved that when I grew up I would live in an apartment in a city, work as a dog walker, marry Matt Tines, and birth 100 children.

Ew, Matt Tines?! Rebecca threw her head back with a gag.

Angie frowned. At least if you had to marry Matt, you’d be lucky enough to live on the beach!

Or live in a mansion, Mickey added.

But I didn’t feel sad about my fortune because it contained what was paramount to my future: Living in a city. Since our school project on skyscrapers, I had become obsessed with a whole new world full of concrete and steel, crowded streets, and people who seemingly had purpose.

I itched for city life: Bigger, faster, and full of opportunities.

I made it as far as Salt Lake City after college. And though I was still inside the walls of Utah, Salt Lake seemed like a metropolis compared with the desert hills of St. George. I landed a job at a global bank working in a niche department for special clients. It was here that I would overhear the 14 words that would finally offer the way out.

How am I going to find someone to move to Philadelphia in six weeks? a senior vice president mumbled as he walked past my cubicle one October morning.

I will! I blurted.

He pivoted. Anna, right?

Yes, sir, I replied.

You don’t know what the job entails. But you’re willing to go, just like that?

Yes, sir.

I didn’t jump at this opportunity; I plunged.

Chapter Two

I stepped onto Chestnut Street and was instantly immersed in the sounds and smells of Philadelphia: Taxis honking their horns; the weighty footsteps of horse-drawn carriages clopping tourists through cobbled streets; and the smell of soft pretzels, cheesesteaks, and coffee wafting from vending trucks. I could hear the street lights changing colors and feel the surge of energy that followed with accelerating cars and people rushing across the street. People with purpose, I thought.

I was headed to my interview with Kahn & Hague, a client my bank had been servicing for a decade. My body buzzed with excitement to be standing on the same streets as Benjamin Franklin and George Washington.

I continued to observe the city as I walked to the Kahn & Hague building, curious about the people fulfilling their morning routines. There was a man in a dirty jacket sitting on the marble steps of an old stone building, throwing crumbs from a paper bag to a flock of pigeons. I wondered if he considered these pigeons his friends: The interaction appeared ritualistic.

A woman with oversized sunglasses walked her baby in an aerodynamic contraption of a stroller. She didn’t have the dewy new-mother look I was accustomed to seeing in Utah. She seemed rushed and miserable, and in pursuit of strong coffee.

And my eye caught on a man wearing a leather jacket standing precariously between adjacent brick buildings. He was short, almost boy-short, though he was clearly not a boy. As he lit a cigarette, he shuffled his feet as though he were standing on something hot. The conversation with a tall man whose back was to me ended abruptly, and the boy-man ducked off in the opposite direction.

I thought contentedly: City Life.

Standing in the birthplace of America’s freedom, I couldn’t help but feel that perhaps Philadelphia also would become the birthplace of mine.

My meeting was with Benoit Massenet.

Benoit was a key director from the Paris office. He reported to Kahn & Hague’s acting CEO, so surely had a name to make for himself. Which meant he’d be looking for something specific during this interview.

I had prepared for the interview with research and readiness to address an international corporate superstar. The former didn’t concern me: I excelled at my job, although I was still somewhat junior. But the latter did: I had been prepped for the interview with guidance that Benoit was very European. I didn’t know what being very European meant. My cultural experiences were limited growing up in a small desert town. We had an Indian girl join our school in ninth grade: On occasions that she dressed in a full saree, we would pet her as she walked by like she was an exotic peacock.

As I waited on the top floor of the Kahn & Hague building, a drab eyesore of aluminum lattice and concrete—nothing like the skyscrapers of my dreams—I tapped my foot on the leg of the veneered conference table and ran numbers over in my head.

The door opened and Bob Linden walked in. Bob was in Procurement and worked for Benoit two management layers down. Bob was nondescript, like the extra in a movie who was cast as a stand-in for any average white male actor in his mid-forties. He was medium everything.

You must be Anna! Bob said, jovially.

Hi, Bob. Thank you for meeting with me today. For small talk, I added as sincerely as I could muster, This building is remarkable.

This building is obnoxious, Bob sneered. His smile also was medium, but genuine. I liked him immediately. Benoit will be here shortly. How do you like Philadelphia?

This is my first time here. I haven’t had much time to explore, but I like what I’ve seen so far.

Have you had a cheesesteak yet? he asked.

As I started to respond, the door swung open and in swept a tall, attractive man with brown manicured hair and a beautifully tailored gray suit. An inaudible gasp caught in my throat as he closed the door behind him and nodded to Bob, whose demeanor markedly changed. An imperceptible pause swept over Benoit’s face before he extended his bronzed hand out to me, the peek of his French cuff revealing a fleur-de-lis cufflink. You must be Anna.

I shook his hand. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Benoit was much more magnetizing in person than he was in his corporate photo; it was hard not to be instantly sucked into his presence.

Thank you for coming to Philadelphia from…Utah, I believe? Benoit asked. I understand you are here about the prospect of consulting on our cash management practices. Forgive me for being curt, but since you’re already privy to some of Kahn & Hague’s payables data, tell me what value you could bring to us by being dedicated to our account here in Philadelphia.

Mr. Massenet… I began.

Call me Benoit.

Benoit. I caught a trifling of an upward curl in his lips.

Kahn & Hague has been a customer for nine years, I continued, "with a rebate basis point of .65 in your commercial card spend, which equivocates to roughly $300,000 per quarter back to your business as a rebate. As I dove into your actual spend, however, I realized we only are capturing your travel spend. If you were to reallocate your purchasing spend—specifically, the raw materials—it would be four times as much as travel, thereby giving you an extra $1.2 million in rebate per quarter.

And this is only one area of spend. I have identified three others, which add another $2.1 million in rebates. If given a chance to analyze your full payables, I am confident I could find a significant amount more.

Benoit’s expression stayed the same. I could tell I got his attention, but it wasn’t enough. What was he looking for?

And once you’ve identified these areas of savings and rebates, how do you execute the plan? He did not change his position or tone.

My first step would be to work directly with Accounts Payable to strategize on payment terms. One large area of interest that often gets overlooked is the use of credit cards for everyday payables, ones you would typically issue a check for. It can extend your payment terms by 30, sometimes up to 90, days. The interest made on the money for the extended payment terms could be quite significant. Not to mention the rebates you’ll earn on the card spend. Second, I’d work with Treasury to analyze your debt terms. I’m only aware of the debt you hold with our bank. But if you’d allow me to, under full nondisclosure of course, I can look at the terms across the board and determine where it might make sense to consolidate or shift your debt. Debt management, again, in my opinion, is often a game that needs delicate handling. After that, we’d move on to managing terms in contracts and investing cash flow appropriately.

Benoit’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit, as if amused. I have a treasury team, a very large one, that is supposed to be doing all of this.

True. Most companies do. But in my experience, even the departments meant to have a wide reach typically end up working in silos. The advantage to bringing in someone from the outside is that I have no loyalty to any one department. My only loyalty lies in making and saving you money, which in turn, of course, makes my bank money, I smiled tenuously.

And how will I know if you’re succeeding? Benoit probed.

I’ll provide you with weekly and monthly reports, and to Bob of course, I added, remembering that Bob was in the room. I’ll prepare a quarterly presentation. Whatever you need to see the measure of my success. I’ll give you a report each day if you’d like.

He remained in the same position in which he started the conversation, with the same facial expression and tone, staring as if we were in a Western fast-draw.

Why are you interested in this? Benoit asked. What are you gaining by coming here?

Opportunity, I said matter-of-factly.

Opportunity? he smiled briefly. I’m not convinced that you understand how much work this will be if you achieve all that you’ve laid out to me today. The groups here can be slow to take to change, and even slower to helping it along once they’ve taken to it. I’m not an extraordinarily patient man, so I’d expect results quickly, especially with the fee required to get you here.

I blinked quickly. I knew this move would mean a promotion, but we hadn’t finalized my new salary. I was glad to have the knowledge now that the bank was charging a substantial fee for my services: I’d surely use that to negotiate.

So, does this still sound like an opportunity to you, Anna?

I smiled confidently. Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work.

I saw for the first time a hint of warmth in Benoit’s eyes. I’m not sure I follow.

Thomas Edison said that, I recited, then remembered Benoit was French. The American inventor. I’m sure you know that. I just mean that I find the reward far greater if it took hard work to obtain.

His eyes narrowed into a smirk. Thomas Edison. He invented the lightbulb?

I nodded, embarrassed. Why had I brought up Thomas Edison?

He met with Gustave Eiffel during the construction of the Eiffel Tower, if I recall French history correctly, he added.

I countered, surprised. He did. In his secret apartment.

We exchanged a look that could have been confused as flirting. And perhaps it was: Benoit clearly had read my resume, and was playing off my minor in American History.

Benoit stood up from the table and we followed. I must run to another meeting, but I think this will be a good fit for you, Anna. Can you be here before the holidays?

Absolutely. Thank you. I really look forward to working with you.

Benoit nodded to Bob, then turned to shake my hand. Me, too. Before letting go, he glanced at my left hand, then left.

Well, if that wasn’t the fastest interview I’ve ever witnessed! Bob chaffed.

As we gathered our belongings, a mixture of relief and excitement hummed through my belly. There was another sensation I tried to temper with professionalism and reason; the nuisance of a flutter.

Benoit had looked at my left hand for a wedding ring. I was sure of it.

Chapter Three

Six weeks later as autumn fleeted and winter loomed, I packed up my life in Utah, including my Labsized mutt, Polo, and moved it into an apartment in Philadelphia’s Old City district, one mile from the Kahn & Hague building.

You sure you’ll be okay? I had asked my parents as I sat on the couch with them before leaving. My mother shared the same tired expression she had for as long as I could remember, though since Dad’s accident, the lines ran deeper. Her hands had the gnarled wear of one who works three jobs.

My dad reached his thin hand out and I squeezed it tenderly. Of course we’ll be okay, he said in a sure voice. My mother’s languid nod concurred.

I can’t wait for you to come visit, I said. But we all knew they wouldn’t be visiting any time soon, if ever. One consolation was that my move to Philadelphia came with a two-level promotion and a substantial pay increase, which meant I could send money home to help with some expenses. I’d love to help Mom quit that waitressing job.

It was just before Christmas, and I had three free days between my last working day in Utah and my first working day in Philadelphia. I put off unpacking, and instead took Polo out to explore the city. The city was laced with lit snowflakes, bustling patrons, and plumes of sugar and cinnamon.

I routed my walk to the Kahn & Hague building, timing how long it would take and which streets to avoid. I noted the coffee shops along the route and took pleasure trying each barista’s version of soy chai latte before choosing the one that would become my regular. I found a little grocery store and stocked up on a few essential items.

My first evening in Philadelphia, I met Kam. A tall, shiny-skinned black man sat smoking a cigarette on the patio I shared with my upstairs neighbors as I arrived back at my apartment with Polo. With a wide grin, he exclaimed, You must be our new neighbor! He held the gate open while I walked in.

Yes, I’m Anna.

I am Kam! he exclaimed with a loud, deep, smooth, accented voice that I couldn’t place.

Pleasure to meet you, Kam. You live upstairs?

Yes, me and Angelique, he said, staccato-like. You will meet her. You will love her. As long as you’re not offended by loud, temperamental Lithuanian women, that is. He laughed at his comment, clapping his hands together loudly before taking an elegant drag of his cigarette. I couldn’t stop staring at how beautiful his skin was.

Who is this, then? he asked, holding his hands out to Polo.

Polo lurched eagerly for Kam to scratch his ears. Polo playfully growled and jumped up on Kam, who took his front paws and bear-hugged him.

This is Polo, I laughed.

You must come for dinner. Both of you, he said. Thursday night. It is my night off. We are having some friends over. It will be a welcome to the neighborhood party, although none of our neighbors will be there. I can’t say Angelique and I win on being social. Not here at least.

I knew the feeling. I worked too much to be social. I look forward to it.

I said goodnight, and Polo said goodbye with a lick to Kam’s hand. I couldn’t help but feel like an astronaut who just found life on another planet: I had made a friend in a foreign place, and it made me feel as high as the moon.

My first day at Kahn & Hague arrived. Bob Linden walked me to my desk.

Hope you’re adjusting to Philadelphia? Bob asked nervously as we strolled past cubicles in the center of the floor; large offices lined the perimeter. He stopped in front of a small office on one of the inner walls. This is you.

I hid my surprise at being granted an office, a real office with a name plaque outside the door. It was windowless and had paint the color of gravy, but it was an office, and it was mine.

It’s perfect.

Great, well, uh, if you need anything, Cyndi can order you supplies or whatnot. He pointed to a woman typing at a cubicle.

I think I can manage. I had most of my stuff shipped. Is it here? I looked around, then noticed my two boxes sitting on the floor beside my desk.

Okay then, I’ll let you be. IT should be sending someone to set up your passwords and all that. Oh, and I almost forgot: I asked a colleague, Kelly, to show you around Philly today. Like a little tour, I guess, Bob shrugged.

That sounds great. Thanks Bob.

Bob left. I picked up one of the boxes and started taking out items, putting them in their new spots. A young man with piercings came to set up my networks, and I spent the day settling in.

Kelly Malan poked her head into my office around 1 pm. She was my age, mid-20s, attractive, with short, white-blonde hair and blue eyes. She was wearing a black lace top with a black skirt and red heels. Hey. I’m Kelly. You’re Anna? she asked as she stood in my doorway.

Yeah, I’m Anna. Nice to meet you, Kelly. Bob tells me you got the shit job of taking the new girl around town?

Shit job? No! This got me out of a meeting that made me want to stick a steak knife in my eye. Ready? Kelly tapped the side of the door.

I laughed as I grabbed my coat and purse.

Kelly and I took the elevator to the B2 floor, which required a special badge to access, two stories underground. A parking attendant met us off the elevator. Kelly gave him a white card and he disappeared around the corner. Moments later, screeching tires echoed off the walls and the headlights of a small white minivan with a Kahn & Hague door logo appeared and slowed to a park in front of us.

Kelly snorted. I haven’t driven in three years and they give me a minivan? This will be fun.

We got into the minivan and exited the parking lot to a cold, but sunny Philadelphia day.

You haven’t driven in three years? I asked. Is it because you just don’t like driving? In Utah, if you didn’t drive, usually it was because you lost your license for a reason that you were not proud of.

"Nah, my fiancé and I have lived in the city for four years. Three years ago, our car broke down and we didn’t bother getting a new one. Haven’t missed it. Everything we need is a walk or train ride away. By the way, that’s the department store they filmed Mannequin in, Kelly said while pointing to a beautiful white building with a grand entrance. The other big white building ahead is City Hall."

Who’s that statue on top of City Hall? I asked.

I actually don’t know. I’m from Pittsburgh and I hate history. I’m seriously the worst person to give you a tour. But Bob insisted, saying I was the only person at Kahn & Hague who was close to your age. The people there are fucking dinosaurs.

I laughed as she rounded the turn next to City Hall. I knew the statue was William Penn, founder of Philadelphia, but I wasn’t about to reveal that, or that I loved history and read historical biographies for fun. I was hoping to make my second friend in Philadelphia and being a straight-A new kid didn’t seem likely to win people over.

Where do you and your fiancé live? I asked.

"In the