I had tried to leave Fido before because of its culture. One day, after a year or so at my job, I walked into a recruiter’s office—I remember the early sun straining to warm up the dark, wooden room—and he looked at me across the table and said, “You have two strikes against you already: you’re a woman, and you’re Asian.” I never saw this recruiter (who himself was of Asian descent) again. Through other avenues, I interviewed at a few places, though nothing panned out. Then, in 2008, the economy collapsed. I stayed put. Fidelity whittled its workforce. My two associate friends weren’t given promotions and had to leave. I was promoted, and a year later promoted again, to a co–portfolio manager, but I was not sure I deserved any of this: workers around the world were losing their jobs, homes, and retirement savings as I watched my base and bonus and profit sharing go up and up and up with, honestly, very little effort on my part—and this felt cosmically wrong. I did not feel like I was adding value to the world. I felt insulated from harm, disconnected from humanity. I had to get out. I did not report the sexual harassment because there was, I thought then, no point. The people to whom I would report it—HR and my higher-ups, about whom I had heard rumors of extramarital affairs with people they had either met at or through work—I saw as part of the problem.