John switched on his Dell laptop, feeling a little apprehensive but resolute at the same time. The familiar Windows chime sounded, along with the red, green, blue and yellow quartered symbol. He entered his password, which according to I.T. policy had to include at least one capital letter and one number, changed monthly. He was up to iteration 53 of his grandmother’s first name. The computer verified who he was and booted up.

A Macintosh wouldn’t take this long, he thought.

Two minutes later, the computer was ready to start being productive. He opened Lotus Notes and started typing. Tap, tap, tap, his fingers punched out the email.

John wrote directly to Kevin, the Global Head of M&A, rather than King Howell. "I hereby give my resignation. The past two months working under MacDonald has highlighted for me that to remain in this position is simply untenable. The culture is vastly different to that which I enjoyed while working under Rob and Geoff MacDonald’s knowledge is simply not adequate to understand the transactions on anything other than a superficial level. Rather than join a competitor, my intention is to start a fund to invest in distressed businesses and property. The past 10 years have been a rewarding experience. I wish you and the bank all the best moving forward."

There was no point being verbose—he didn’t need to go on about it and he couldn’t be bothered with bullshit.

He readied himself to hit the send button and found his hand was shaking. 10 years done with the push of a button. He steeled his resolve and hit the “send” button. John then called his team, the old timers pre MacDonald, into one of the internal meeting rooms, where he told them of his resignation. “I’m going to set up a fund. I’ve been working on it for some time now and things are in motion. I hope to be in business in three or so months.” John was careful to say “I,” as agreed with Rob. Rob had a lot of money still in the bank’s vault, which he didn’t want to lose without good reason. John’s resignation though, as opposed to retirement, meant John would lose not an insignificant sum of money, which up to a few years ago, he considered to be a small fortune.

Almost half a million dollars gone just like that, he thought. Whoosh. Vanished in a second.

“Is Rob with you on this?” Frank, their in-house lawyer, asked.

“I’ve asked for his counsel, but his situation is sensitive. His retirement savings are locked up with the firm. So please don’t cast any aspersions with respect to Rob. In fact, if there are rumors, please shut them down. It’s just me at this stage.”

Frank’s eyes kept searching John for a real answer. Blood-sucking lawyers, thought John.

“Are you recruiting a team? Is that what this meeting’s about?” asked Richard.

“I will be recruiting a team, including a spreadsheet modeler, a manager, a lawyer …” John listed all their jobs individually. “However, I cannot solicit anyone from the firm while I am still employed by the firm.” Rob and John had obtained legal advice on this point. The last thing they wanted was a lawsuit from the firm before they’d even started the business. “Solely for personal reasons, in the sense that I would like to continue personal relationships with all of you after I’ve left, can you please write your home phone numbers on the back of a business card and include any personal email address you may have. I know you all have them.” John smiled knowingly. Most of his team nodded or smiled back.

“With Rob’s and now my departure, there has been some uncertainty over the last few months. However, I think with my resignation, it will allow everyone to move forward with confidence and without feeling torn between me and MacDonald.”

“The guy’s a kiss-ass,” said Richard.

They all laughed. Still, Richard was taking a risk saying something so publicly.

As the room emptied out, John said to Richard, “Keep your head down for a while. MacDonald will be sniffing around, insecure about who will walk out next.”

“There’s a good reason for that,” said Richard with a wink.

After the meeting adjourned, Penny went about organizing a going-away lunch. That was until Thurston returned from his meeting. John stalked behind him, following him into his office. Penny sat at her desk, fidgeting nervously.

Thurston started with an order: “I’m going to need a one-pager on how things are going on the airport deal.”

“I’ll ask one of the guys to get on it.”

“You can do it. I need it today. Before I leave.”

John smiled. “Actually, someone else will have to take care of it. I’ve resigned,” and placed a copy of his letter of resignation on Thurston’s desk.

King Howell’s face contorted for a second but he quickly regained his composure. He didn’t refer to the letter. “Is it a question of money?”

“No.”

“Where are you going, then?”

“I’m starting my own shop.”

His eyes squinted as he digested the information. “Who are you taking with you?”

“No one. Just me.”

“Just you?” MacDonald mulled it in silence, eyeballing John. “What about Rob?”

“He’s retired.”

MacDonald sat there, thinking.

“Well someone from HR can tell you how thankful the firm is for your years of service. Clear out your desk now and leave the building. It’s nothing personal, just protocol. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk to the others. I’ll pass on the news.”

Of course it was personal. “I mentioned it to them while you were upstairs.”

The air audibly came out of Thurston’s nose like from a bull who was about to charge. He pursed his lips then said, “Leave your things with Penny and leave.”

The entire team was looking at him as he confidently strode out of MacDonald’s office. Some, like Frank, kept a subtle eye on him, while Richard openly stared, beaming in his direction. John couldn’t help but smile back.

Thurston stood next to Penny and watched as John gathered his things, handed them over to Penny, and thanked her for years of service. She whispered goodbye.

John turned to the room and said, “See you all later,” and started walking to the elevators. Simple as that.

The emotions didn’t flood out until he was in the lift—relief for being rid of the place, anger at the way that asshole had spoken to him, pride for his personal composure. Nostalgia also overwhelmed him. But when the lift doors opened and he walked out past security, there was also a sense of freedom, opportunity, and hope at what the future might bring.

Outside, the lunchtime crowd fought along the pavement. A street vendor sold hot dogs and pretzels from a cart on the street. Lincolns were lined up on the curb waiting for executives from the firm. Only an hour ago, they would have taken him anywhere in the city or beyond. From his stationary vantage point in front of one of the world’s most powerful financial institutions, John slowly merged into the pedestrians going his way. He was instantly surrounded and pushed along. New York foot traffic doesn’t let you walk at your own pace. It’s their pace or nothing. But at this moment, that was fine by him.

* * *

The first week of his new life ended without him doing much of anything except taking what John considered to be a well-deserved break. By Friday, a mess had grown around the couch that included newspapers, empty coffee mugs, and crumb-dusted plates from breakfast and lunch. John had felt Barbara’s frustration rise through the week and had ignored it. On Friday evening, she walked in fuming.

“Hey, this place is a sty. Can’t you tidy up a bit? You’ve been home all day.”

“I’m not the maid,” John said and instantly regretted it.

Barbara was on her way to the bedroom, but stopped long enough to glare at him. “You’ve been home all day and it would be nice to come home to a clean place.”

“Okay,” John mumbled. This is my place.

“It’s not like I’m asking you to mop the floors. It’s pretty basic to put your plates in the dishwasher,” she said from the open door of the bedroom. “It’s what any adult would do.”

John felt himself getting hot under the collar.

Barbara held her ground, but didn’t add anything more to what she’d already said. It was fortunate, because John had heard enough. “I’ve been working today too, you know,” John said. “On the business plan.” It was a lie. John had watched TV for most of the day and his only trip outside had been for the paper and to Moroc for a coffee.

Barbara ignored him. “All I am asking is that you clean up after yourself so when I get home we can enjoy being here together.”

I am not enjoying this, he thought.

John held her stare until she turned and walked into the bedroom. He turned the TV back on and tried to tune out. He’d gone from days of back-to-back meetings to having an empty calendar. He was feeling low and unproductive about not having somewhere to go.

I need to get my own office.

* * *

During the third week of his gardening leave, Barbara and John attended a dinner party at the apartment of Barbara’s boss on the Upper West Side. The old art deco building with paint peeling off the facade hid a spacious apartment inside, recently renovated. Double doors opened onto a spacious dining room where their elegant oak dining table sat 10 comfortably.

Barbara and her colleagues kissed on the cheek as they greeted each other. John was surprised at the overly friendly exchange, considering Barbara had spent the cab ride telling him how competitive the women in her office were, especially when it came to Timothy’s, the publisher, attention. Based on Barbara’s tales, John concluded that her business sounded like the female equivalent of investment banking—one male executive trying to pacify the conflicting agendas of the troops. After all the proper introductions, one of Barbara’s colleagues asked what he did for a living. “I’m setting up my own company.”

“Doing what?” Joanne, a colleague, asked.

 John felt the glare of the spotlight. “We’re in the process of setting up a private equity fund.”

“It seems like everyone’s doing that,” Timothy said.

“What area of private equity?” Joanne asked.

He was flummoxed. This was New York, where even non-finance types knew about banking. And here he was, trying to redefine himself as more than just his job.

“Um …,” he said.

“What would you like to drink, John?” Timothy’s wife finally offered.

It was a small reprieve. John asked for a scotch and Coke and took a few seconds to digest the questioning. He’d never had a problem talking about work before. He felt awkward and exposed. I don’t have a job, I have a business plan. Or, I will after I’ve written it. And then it will be an unfunded business plan. We’ll then need to panhandle for money.

“How much money have you raised?” a colleague’s husband asked.

 “We haven’t started fundraising yet.” In other words: not a cent. John’s face reddened. The husband smiled back knowingly.

What the fuck do you do? John felt like asking.

Barbara apologized repeatedly in the cab on the ride home and John insisted the inquisition was nothing. Later that night, in bed while Barbara slept, he lay awake thinking about the conversation.

With the exception of Rob and some other colleagues, he’d never cared what people had thought of him. Why now? Was it Barbara? Did she mean that much to him?

It didn’t make sense to him how her colleagues and spouses really got under his skin. Does my self-esteem rely on my job that much? Am I that insecure? What if we can’t raise any money? He couldn’t go back to the firm and ask for his job back. Fuck the economy. They should value me even more in a recession.

That bastard asking how much they’d raised—how the fuck is it any of his business!

John considered the moves he’d made over the past few weeks. He’d met with Rob’s placement agent and signed him up on his first official day of unemployment. He said it could take between six and 12 months, part of the reason John was now feeling so unsure about things. Fortunately, he wasn’t without an income, as his contract with the firm specifically stated they would continue to pay him for three more months. That was the upside.

The downside was that he couldn’t work for a competitor in that time. According to legal advice he’d received before he resigned, it was ambiguous as to whether that included starting up your own firm, but it was better to be safe than sorry, so they were trying to get things started without getting things started. Rob had confirmed his commitment, subject to them raising over $100 million. If it was less, it just didn’t make financial sense for him at this stage of this life. As such, John told the placement agent they weren’t going to go ahead unless they raised a minimum of $150 million. He didn’t want to do this without Rob and he knew like any salesman, the placement agent was probably going to try and talk him down when it came to closing a deal. Rob had only briefly mentioned it to his wife, buttering her up. Given her approval was necessary, he’d promised John he’d sort that out in good time.

John also booked an appointment with his bank manager to arrange a stop on mortgage payments on his apartment for up to nine months. He explained that he was in the process of setting up a fund.

“What sort of fund?” his bank manager asked.

“A private equity fund.”

“Can I join?”

John laughed. “We haven’t raised any money yet, hence my question. It could take up to 12 months.”

John gave an empty promise to get back to him and walked out, temples throbbing.