Part 3 — The Head Of The Table
When the chair turned around, Tiffany stopped in the doorway. Her portfolio slid out from under her arm and landed on the carpet with a soft slap, and a stack of beautifully designed brochures fanned across the floor.
I stood, walked around the table and helped her pick them up. I said, Good afternoon, Ms. Lambert. I am Patricia Lambert, chair of the board. Please sit down. We are glad to have you. She sat, and her hands shook.
I told her what I had told Denise in my email. I would be recusing myself from the decision, and I would not ask a single question. The three executives would conduct the interview, and they would decide on merit alone. I stayed only to listen, as the board chair sometimes does.
Tiffany took a deep breath. To her credit, she gathered herself, and she gave the best interview I have seen in years. She walked through a campaign she built for a boutique hotel, showed real numbers, and answered every hard question without fumbling.
I did not come to punish her; I came to see whether she was as good at her work as she was at making fun of mine.
When she finished, I excused myself and waited in the hallway. The executives deliberated for twenty minutes. Denise came out and told me they had voted unanimously to offer her the position, with the standard reporting line to our chief marketing officer and none to me.
I asked Denise to make sure the offer letter said so in writing. A board chair does not manage a daughter in law. Everything about the job would stand or fall on Tiffanys own work, and I wanted no whisper of favor.
Tiffany found me in the lobby afterward. She said, Patricia, I owe you an apology that I cannot make small. I posted that photo because I thought it would be funny. I did not think you were a person. I only thought you were a story.
I told her I accepted the apology. I told her also that the post had been seen by two hundred and fourteen people, and the best repair would be as public as the offense. She understood immediately.
That night she deleted the original and posted a new photo of the two of us at the kitchen table, with a short caption. It said she had been wrong, that her mother in law had built a company from a twelve room motel, and that she was proud to be her family.
The comments were kind. Even the commenter who had said, Kick her out, wrote, Good for you. Jason hugged me in the kitchen and said, Mom, I should have said something. I told him he was saying it now.
In September I bought a small condo ten minutes away. Tiffany helped me choose the curtains, and I let her. She still has not learned to alphabetize the pantry, but I have stopped trying.