Then toward the woman's face.
"Are you hurt?"
The CEO shook her head.
"Not seriously."
Her assistant stepped closer.
"Did she strike your eye?"
"Mostly frosting."
The assistant's expression tightened.
"That's not what I asked."
The CEO sighed.
Then answered honestly.
"My face is sore. I need to clean up and assess whether I should get medical attention."
The assistant nodded.
She immediately arranged for appropriate assistance and documented the condition of the gown and visible frosting before anything was cleaned.
The CEO looked toward her.
"You don't have to turn this into a crisis."
The assistant stared.
Then shook her head.
"Someone smashed a cake into your face in front of hundreds of people."
A pause.
"It's already a crisis."
The CEO almost laughed.
But the sound did not come.
Instead, she looked toward the mirror.
Her reflection startled her.
White frosting remained in her hair.
A faint red mark had developed along one cheek.
Her emerald necklace was sticky.
And the beautiful gown she had selected that morning looked ruined.
For several seconds, she stared at herself.
Then slowly sat down.
The assistant approached.
"Are you okay?"
The CEO opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
The question seemed simple.
But the answer was not.
She was angry.
Humiliated.
Disappointed.
And unexpectedly exhausted.
Not because she had never experienced discrimination before.
Because she had hoped she might eventually become successful enough that people would stop treating her presence as a problem to be explained.
She knew that hope was unrealistic.
Money could change access.
It could provide protection.
It could purchase resources.
But it could not erase another person's prejudice.
She looked toward her assistant.
Then whispered.
"I'm tired."
The younger woman's expression softened.
She sat beside her.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then the CEO continued.
"I'm tired of being asked to prove I belong in places where my work is already paying the bills."
Her assistant looked down.
The CEO swallowed.
"I spent eighteen months negotiating that transaction."
She looked toward the stained gown.
"Eighteen months."
A pause.
"And she looked at me for thirty seconds and decided I must be an intruder."
The assistant reached for her hand.
For several seconds, they sat quietly.
Then the CEO took a slow breath.
Her expression became focused again.
"All right."
The assistant looked up.
The CEO continued.
"Let's deal with this properly."
She looked toward the tablet.
"First, the incident."
The assistant nodded.
"Security preservation request?"
"Yes."
"And the physical-contact complaint?"
The CEO considered.
"Document the facts. Let counsel advise on the appropriate options."
Her assistant nodded.
The CEO continued.
"Second, the transaction."
She looked toward the window.
"The funding releases remain on hold until the proper committees verify compliance with the agreements."
The assistant opened a document.
"Understood."
The CEO paused.
Then added.
"And no one is to tell the public that we've canceled four-point-two billion dollars."
Her assistant looked surprised.