Tash Aw - Five Star Billionaire

I think we have already spoken of the value of education. Those of you who follow the cut and thrust of modern international entrepreneurship will be quick to point out that the majority of the world’s billionaires are not in fact highly educated in the traditional sense. All those Chinese property tycoons and coal-mining emperors, those Indian steel magnates — they skipped the glitter of Harvard and slid straight into life’s great river, thrashing about in the muddy waters until they learned to swim. The more pedantic among you will say that they were educated too, only in a different way — all that nonsense about the “university of life,” et cetera, et cetera.

But that is not what I meant when I spoke of education, for, to my mind, learning how to double-cross someone is not education . All those fancy things that men (yes, it is usually men, though increasingly women too) of high finance speak about, like takeovers, selling short, asset stripping — are these not rich people’s terms for bullying, gambling, and cheating? I risk the wrath of my fellow entrepreneurial giants by saying all this, but most tycoons I know are, frankly, not very gracious. What can you expect? “Tycoon.” “Mogul.” “Magnate.” Even the words these people use to describe themselves would indicate a certain ruthlessness for they are not kindly words but ones designed to impress in the most crass of ways. They seek to dominate in that old-fashioned feudalistic way, to conquer, to destroy. And it is these base tendencies that you must resist if ever you are to become a gracious, generous billionaire. The time for that kind of old-fashioned accumulation of wealth is over. Indeed, part of the purpose of this book is to announce the end to this financial smash-and-grab and urge you to look away from the excesses committed by those who consider themselves the elite.

I say “they.” But maybe I should say “we.” Most of you who are aware of my reputation will have assumed that I belong to this band of brutal overlords, and I do not blame you for doing so. On paper, my ruthless credentials are impeccable: the swift mergers and acquisitions of well-known companies that take the markets by surprise, the penthouse living, the transcontinental first-class flights — certain elements of my life will not endear themselves to the casual observer. Sometimes when I read an article about myself, even I recoil at the seeming callousness of my financial maneuvering. I look at the unflattering photo of me sitting in front of a microphone at some hastily arranged press conference, my face largely expressionless. What a dreadful life this Walter Chao must have, I think: Imagine being him . Often I forget that he is in fact me.

But then I remember my tireless charitable and educational projects, such as the construction of modern fiberglass bus shelters in rural areas of Southeast Asia, which provide schoolchildren with respite from the downpours of the monsoon season, or the recent community center built entirely of recycled plastic bottles — the first of its kind anywhere in the world, I think. I read with dismay a few ungracious accusations in the press that made it seem that my bus shelters were a sneaky way of marketing in hard-to-reach villages, simply because they happen to carry advertisements for the brand of soft drinks that I acquired several years ago. Next they will be saying that my carbon-neutral, waste-utilizing community center is a mere publicity stunt because it is made from the same soft-drink bottles.

Fortunately, I pay little attention to these sorts of comments, just as I ignore the sneering that accompanies my self-help books. I write these not to make money, you understand, but to share the map of my success with ordinary people in need of inspiration. Nor are these books an outlet for vanity or a search for deeper recognition: Most of them have been written under various pseudonyms, including the multimillion-bestselling Secrets of a Five Star Billionaire .

So those of you who think you know me — think again.

Shrugging off all ungracious thoughts, let us return to the concept of graciousness and education. Of giving and not expecting any return. I mentioned before that I am planning a long-lasting legacy to the world, and the ideas are accelerating as I write. My original proposal to build a fairly unassuming cultural center seems to have mushroomed somewhat since I began working on it. I was at dinner with one of the world’s leading avant-garde architects and urban planners (whose identity must remain secret until approval for the project is granted), who became terribly excited at my plans. This architect leapt out of his/her chair as soon as I explained what I intended to do, nearly embarrassing our host (the cold hors d’oeuvres had barely been served). He/she called me a visionary — a compliment indeed, coming from someone responsible for some of the most arresting buildings in the world. The architect has flung him/herself with great enthusiasm at this project — the first set of drawings is in development right now: part charitable foundation, part cultural center, part dreamscape. No municipal council in the world will be able to resist a work of such groundbreaking importance.

Annoyingly, I have been somewhat distracted from this noble project by developments elsewhere in my portfolio of interests — what the ungracious would call my “empire.” But as I am on the brink of a daring acquisition of one of the oldest, most famous companies in Southeast Asia, I suppose it is hard to dispute accusations of bravado and entrepreneurial plundering. Yet I am only doing what others have done many times before me. It will hit the headlines in the next few days, so you will know all about it then — there’s no need to elaborate here. I will be a happier, more contented man once the deal is done and I can return to the work that really matters to me — the gracious business of giving.

I forgot to say that I have identified a site for my cultural center. I will be traveling there very shortly to push matters along. The city? I said before that it should be one capable of showing off my legacy in all its twenty-first-century glory. That doesn’t leave many choices. In a few weeks I shall move my base of operations to the chosen city: Shanghai.

IT SEEMS THAT GARY HAS A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE THAT STRETCHES BACK some years, which is impressive for someone so young. Readers of tabloid newspapers will not fail to be astounded by the unexpectedly long catalog that is beginning to emerge. How the record company has managed to keep these incidents hushed up for so long is anyone’s guess — public relations people are so powerful these days.

Among the revelations on the front page of the papers recently are: The wrecked luxury suite at the Mandarin Oriental hotel in Singapore after his much lauded concert there last year (no comment was made by the hotel, which prides itself on discretion, but everyone supposes that they were paid off by Gary’s record company).

A hotel chambermaid in Hangzhou who claims Gary exposed himself inappropriately to her last week. She says that he came out of the bathroom and let his towel fall to the ground before making an obscene suggestion to her. She did not report the incident, because no one would believe her.

An unpaid bill of $12,000 U.S. in an upscale Kuala Lumpur restaurant, which included five bottles of Krug champagne.

And an altercation in a trendy drinking spot in the Soho area of Hong Kong, when Gary allegedly grabbed the barman by the throat and threatened to kill him.