Susan Rosenthal, a Sacrificial Lamb?*

The woman Albany condemned, the room she failed to read and the friends who survived by leaving her behind.

After Susan Rosenthal was fired, David Kraut would talk about almost anything except Susan. This was unusual because David could discuss a subject long after everyone else had exhausted both the subject and the available oxygen. When her name entered the conversation, however, he became careful. At first I mistook that restraint for discretion; later, I began to recognize guilt.

Susan and David had been drawn to one another by the qualities that made each of them difficult for everyone else. They were intelligent, profane, generous, insensitive and deeply attached to Roosevelt Island. They believed a second drink restored perspective and a third made everyone else less disappointing. Most of the people around them accepted the arrangement.

I came to know Susan through David and eventually became her friend. She was not gentle, but she was often kind, with a gift for making generosity sound like an order and an insult almost companionable. Their idea of sensitivity was remembering which insult belonged to whom.

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Affection Was Not Permission

Susan’s warmth had a hierarchy. She once cut off Chief Financial Officer John O’Reilly while he was explaining the pressure of finishing an audit, then called him a “warrior.” She praised Shelton Haynes for controlling expenses. Then she turned toward Comptroller Muneshwar Jagdharry. “Listen, if we left it up to you, we wouldn’t spend a penny.”

On another occasion, when Muneshwar told her which financial documents required review, Susan called them bedtime reading and reminded him how interesting he was. Muneshwar answered, “Yes, Susan,” and laughed like a man who had just remembered she also approved the payroll.

Susan heard Muneshwar’s laughter as permission without considering what it might cost an employee to withhold it. That was her most consequential flaw: she was present for her intention and absent from its effect. Her affection may have been real. So was the power.

While Susan Planned the Future

Susan fiercely defended Shelton Haynes, Gretchen Robinson and Tajuna Sharpe, but her faith in Shelton ran deepest. A friend close to Susan says Chief Financial Officer John O’Reilly tried more than once to raise concerns about him; she refused to reconsider. When Shelton said family pressures had left him needing somewhere to escape, Susan reportedly gave him use of her Long Island home. She offered more than professional trust. She offered refuge.

By June 2020, Shelton seemed to be listening differently. During a public meeting, Susan interrupted him to praise his work. He laughed, then cut off his camera. The laugh sounded affectionate; switching off the camera looked like an effort to keep that affection from being seen. Susan later began one passage, “Like Shelton said,” still treating him as a partner. The recording later disappeared from the RIOC website, taking with it her praise, his laugh and the instant his face vanished. What disappeared with it was a relationship in transition: the affection remained, but Shelton no longer seemed willing to leave it on display.

She misread Howard and David differently. Howard Polivy knew more of the financial machinery than Susan did and enjoyed making that knowledge visible. He knew every number in the budget except how many times a man could say yes before it became his title. Susan underestimated how useful Howard would become when Albany changed direction. David was her kindred spirit; she mistook shared irreverence for shared loyalty.

The directors were not entirely unaware of trouble. A June 12 complaint had reached the Governor’s Office, and a friend close to Susan says it circulated widely. Yet the June 18 Audit Committee does not sound like directors expecting a firing. Howard anticipated a “very smooth board meeting,” David spoke of working under “combat conditions” and declared himself satisfied, and Chief Financial Officer John O’Reilly told the auditors there had been no significant subsequent events. Less than a day later, the most significant event of Susan’s public life arrived.

What Juneteenth Made of Her

On June 19, 2020, Susan was fired by telephone and barred from the office. It was Juneteenth, two days after Governor Andrew Cuomo had designated it a paid holiday for state employees. By evening, the New York Post had Albany’s explanation: an investigation had substantiated racially and sexually offensive language. Susan later denied the allegations, saying the complaint established no policy violation and that she had not been allowed to examine the evidence Albany used, including recordings. Before any of that complexity reached the public, a phone call ended her job and a tabloid ended her reputation.

Susan prided herself on being a civil-rights advocate who had promoted Black employees. In her final days as president, she thanked young Islanders for marching against racial injustice. Her history could not settle the allegations, but it explains why the accusation felt less like losing a job than being told her life meant its opposite. Afterward, what had been social drinking became anesthesia.

David avoided Susan and moved toward Shelton, Gretchen and the new order. I came to believe that David’s repentance required only one sacrifice. Fortunately for David, Susan had already been selected. Defending her would have required him to confront the parts of himself their friendship had permitted. Howard required less torment; Albany moved, and Howard moved with it.

Betrayal does not always arrive before the knife; sometimes it is measured by how quickly friends make room for the successor.

What a Flawed Woman Is Owed

On August 10, 2026, the Second Circuit vacated the dismissal of Susan’s due-process claim and sent it back for further proceedings. The court neither found her allegations true nor cleared her name. It held only that this claim had not already been adjudicated on its merits and could not be dismissed as litigation she had already lost. Albany believes deeply in due process: first it decides what you are, then it gives you six years to object.

Theo will explain what the court reopened, what Susan must still prove and why the missing recordings and disputed investigation matter. My concern is what readers must carry into those pleadings: What does a state owe a flawed person before it uses its authority to define her publicly?

Due process does not become important only after someone proves herself innocent, sensitive or pleasant. A woman can be difficult and still have rights. Men have built entire careers on that combination. Susan’s flaws may explain why people abandoned her. They do not excuse what the state denied her.

Susan may not have been innocent enough for a lamb, but she was useful enough for a sacrifice. A lamb would have been easier. Lambs rarely spend six years in federal court demanding the recordings and their names back.

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*This is a work of narrative storytelling inspired by real events. Some characters, dialogue, and scenes are imagined to convey broader truths and do not depict actual conversations or individuals.