Ian Hamilton - The disciple of Las Vegas

She read the document, aghast at how dumb — or desperate — Philip Chew must have been to sign the contract. Jim Cousins’ lawyer had done a very good job.

“Can I keep this copy?” she asked.

“Sure, I have others.”

“What a mess this is,” she said to herself.

“Go and talk to Philip.”

“I’m not sure they’ll leave you alone, you know, the guys in Manila. They’re capable of deciding that, contract or no contract, you have their money. It could get ugly.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No, a friendly warning.”

“I’m not giving it back,” he said again.

She could tell he was uneasy, but the truth was she didn’t want to push too hard. The two million wasn’t going to make much difference to Ordonez, and Cousins had been cooperative. She could always explain to Manila about the contract and tell them she didn’t want to risk having Cousins go public.

“Fair enough,” Ava said. “Tell you what, we’ll leave it like that for now, under the condition that you don’t show that contract to anyone else. This is strictly between you and me.”

“Why would you do that?”

“You’ve been honest with me when you could have lied.”

He looked dubious.

“I’m not lying to you,” Ava said.

“And all I have to do is bury the contract?”

“Basically.”

He extended his hand across the table. “It’s a deal.”

Ava sat in the rented Audi outside Cousins’ apartment building, going through her options. About one thing she was certain: if she went to Chang Wang and Tommy Ordonez with the information she had, her involvement would be over. They would circle the wagons around the family and deal with Philip in their own way. She did not want that to happen. For one thing, she was curious, really curious, about the Costa Rica connection. Even if there wasn’t any money for her to reclaim in Central America, she wanted to understand the how and the why of what Philip had done. And then there was the money — maybe a lot of money — and she wanted her chance to go after it. The job still had the potential of being one of the biggest paydays she and Uncle had ever had.

It was just past one thirty in the afternoon, which meant that it was four thirty in the morning in Hong Kong. Still too early to call Uncle, but the perfect time to call Vancouver. She needed to confirm for whom the shares were being held in trust. She didn’t have much doubt that it was for Philip Chew, but it would be a way for her to start a conversation with Edward Ling, and he might help get her access to Chew.

The receptionist at McDougal, Fraser, and Ling informed her that Mr. Ling was not in the office and asked if she wanted to leave a message. “This is a matter of some urgency involving a member of his family,” Ava said. “I need to speak to his assistant.”

“To whom am I speaking?” Ling’s assistant asked.

“My name is Ava Lee. I need to speak directly to Mr. Ling.”

“What is this concerning?”

Ava knew she wasn’t going to get anywhere by being evasive. “I’m an accountant, a forensic accountant, and I’ve been engaged by a multinational corporation to investigate the improper transfer of a considerable amount of their money. I believe that your law firm has an involvement in this transaction. Specifically, I believe Mr. Ling has an involvement through a client of his.”

When the assistant didn’t respond, Ava made things clearer. “I need to talk to him to straighten this matter out, one way or another, before I submit my report and various authorities, legal and otherwise, get dragged into it,” she said.

“He’s in conference and won’t be back for another hour or two.”

“Please have Mr. Ling call me as soon as possible. I’ll be waiting.”

Ava sat in the car looking up and down Post Street for a restaurant, but she didn’t see one that interested her. Then she realized she was only a short ride from Chinatown.

At one time San Francisco’s Chinatown was pre-eminent in North America. But with a growing Chinese diaspora across the continent, the Bay area could no longer boast having the best Chinese restaurants. Maybe she was just being biased, but Ava didn’t think any city could surpass Chinatown North in Toronto. In fact, she and Uncle sometimes argued about whether Toronto was on par with Hong Kong. A thousand of the best Hong Kong chefs were now practising their trade in Toronto, and they hadn’t lost their skills in moving to the West.

Ava parked her car in a lot on Bush Street and walked two blocks east to Grant. The southern entranceway to Chinatown was framed by two sets of double pillars connected by an archway crowned with a traditional green tile roof. She headed north and was immediately immersed in the sights and smells of every Chinatown she’d even been in: restaurant windows displaying barbecued ducks and pigs; porcelain, fabric, and furniture stores selling “genuine” Chinese antiques; herbalists and tea merchants; fruit and vegetable stands spilling out onto the sidewalks; and clinics offering acupuncture and whole-body massage. She admired the quality of the architecture. The Bank of America’s columns and doors were tattooed with gold dragons and there were fifty or sixty dragon medallions on its facade. She stood in front of the Bank of Canton and studied its triple-tiered green slate roof with upward-sweeping eaves, the edges painted poppy red.

She walked the entire eight blocks to Broadway Street, turned, and then headed back. She stopped at the Sing Chong Building, a jewel of old Chinese-style architecture and the first structure to be erected in Chinatown after the 1906 earthquake, before entering a neighbouring restaurant that advertised dim sum for four dollars a plate.

She ordered hot and sour soup, chicken feet, steamed cow stomach, and salty fried scallops. The dishes came in quick succession. The food is good, she thought. Maybe not quite Toronto good, but good.

She was halfway through her meal when her cellphone rang. The screen displayed a Vancouver area code, and she guessed it was Ling.

“Ava Lee.”

“Ms. Lee, this is Edward Ling.”

“Thank you for calling me back — ”

“I’m not sure what game you’re playing,” Ling said swiftly, “but you caused some distress to my assistant.”

“I assure you, Mr. Ling, this is not a game.”

“Then what is it? I’m a senior partner in this law firm, and my client list is exceedingly short and select. I’m not aware that any of them have engaged in the kind of activity you described to my assistant.”

“I’m in San Francisco. I flew here this morning from Manila. My plan is to catch a plane to Vancouver either late this afternoon or early this evening. I would like to meet with you when I get there.”

“Manila?”

“Yes, Manila. I’ve been hired by a company with its headquarters in Manila.”

“Do I have to guess who it is?”

“I think it’s best if you don’t. I just want to assure you that right now I am party to information that I haven’t yet shared with my client. There are questions that still need answers, and I think you can help me and perhaps help your client as well.”

“And which client of mine are you trying to assist?”

“Mr. Ling, let’s not say any more than we have to over the phone. We can discuss the situation when we meet.”

“I really don’t like doing this,” he said.

“Me neither, but the alternative is almost guaranteed to be less palatable.”

He sighed. “I have a working dinner at six o’clock at the Pan Pacific Hotel. Meet me in the lobby at eight o’clock.”

“Do you know anything about the flight schedules between here and there?”