Tash Aw - Five Star Billionaire

I explained calmly that there were a number of ways in which I could effortlessly facilitate this transaction. I could have the money paid directly from an account in Geneva and no one would ever know anything. She could simply say her daughter had received a scholarship.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Mr. Chao.” She was beginning to cry, dabbing her eyes with a piece of tissue without making any attempt to hide the fact that she was overcome with emotion. “My family and I will forever be indebted to you.”

“Think nothing more of it — say no more, or you will embarrass me.”

“I will forever be indebted to you,” she repeated, ignoring what I had just said.

“Let’s change the subject,” I said, pouring her some tea. “As I said at the start of our conversation, I am quite interested in developing an old landmark building — a project that will help preserve a famous heritage site.”

“Yes, you are such a generous person; you are so admirable.”

“I’ve heard about a place called 969 Weihai Lu — that sounds suitable for me.”

She looked alarmed. “Mr. Chao, 969 Weihai Lu is not possible — it has already been sold. Well, I mean, an agreement in principle has been signed with an overseas developer. Anyway, you don’t want that building — it is too shabby! I will search the records and find you a much better site.”

“Who is to buy 969, then?”

“I’m not sure — I can’t remember.”

“I’ve heard that it is L.K.H. Holdings from Malaysia.”

She looked at me with red eyes and bowed her head. “Yes,” she replied. “It’s supposed to be confidential, but I can confirm that fact to you.”

“Well, that’s a shame, because I really want that site.”

“But, Mr. Chao, there are many other buildings in Shanghai — much better ones!”

I shrugged. “This one has a sort of emotional appeal to me. And, anyway, I hear that company is in trouble. Are you sure they can complete the deal?”

She looked at me for a few moments. “I will check the situation as soon as I get back to the office.”

I signaled for the bill and smiled. “I’m full of admiration for your work. And I’m so excited that your daughter’s future is secured and that she will be able to fulfill all her dreams. It would be such a shame if that didn’t turn out. I would be very sad.”

“If you need any information or help at all, please call me, Mr. Chao,” she said, handing me her name card.

“Please send me your daughter’s details as soon as possible,” I said as I was leaving.

She nodded. “You really are an outstanding, charitable man, Mr. Chao.”

PHOEBE DID NOT DARE TO LOOK AT HER PHONE. SHE PUT IT ON “SILENT” mode, but even then, every time she felt it vibrate in her handbag, her stomach would begin to clench, small knots forming in her gut. Looking at her phone really gave her a sick feeling. Walter had left eight voice-mail messages and countless texts, which she now deleted without reading. Luckily, she had not told him exactly where she worked; otherwise, she was sure, he would have come looking for her. It was ten days since their last contact, and he would be very anxious by now.

In the first of the messages she’d listened to, he sounded happy and calm, wanting to know when they were next going to meet. For him, it was as if nothing had happened. In fact, she thought his voice carried more intimacy than before, as if he assumed that their relationship had passed to another level. In the second message, still sounding happy, he signed off by saying, “Okay, well, see you on Sunday as usual. Think you will like the restaurant … sweetheart .” There was a moment’s pause before he said the word — as if he was searching for the right expression or summoning enough courage to say it. His voice quieted slightly as he said it, hurrying the syllables the way teenage boys do when they are afraid or nervous. She felt a darkness rising from her belly and spreading into her chest; it gave her such a sad feeling. She deleted the message at once, but Walter’s low voice remained in her head. Sweetheart. Sweetheart .

She had been avoiding him ever since that night at his apartment. She did not even want to think about what happened, she was so embarrassed. She had gotten drunk on Hennessy X.O, she had not felt well, she had even been a bit teary, though luckily he had not noticed. She had refilled her glass several times, and on one occasion she had heard Walter say, “It’s brandy, not wine; you shouldn’t pour so much.” He said it weakly, his voice surprising her because she thought that he had fallen asleep. He had been stretched out on the bed, his feet dangling over the side, his leather shoes so smooth and clean that they shone in the light of the crystal table lamp. She had stretched out next to him, talking, telling him stuff that made no sense, all sorts of secrets about herself — things she liked, disliked, things that made her sad. She had spoken in long, breathless sentences that ran on and on, tumbling from one subject to another. Once or twice, she knew, she had become agitated; she had lost her temper and lashed out at all the injustices in the world.

She could not remember most of what she’d said, but one or two sentences would come back to her now and then, making her freeze with terror and shame at the things she might have revealed about herself. She recalled saying at one point, “… and my most hated thing of all is when men lie about being married or having a steady girlfriend. If you are already attached, who cares? I can just use you for sexual relations, so why hide it? You think I’ve never experienced casual sex acts with men? Huh! Men always think that women only want love, but do you really think I want love? You truly think I need a man to love me? Hey, big brother, I’m okay by myself, you know.”

She had felt his immobile body next to her, his breathing deep and heavy but steady. By then she had lost her composure, she knew she had. All of what she had learned from her books and practiced over the last nine months in Shanghai had vanished into the early-summer air. She could hear the quality of her voice becoming rough, the coarse nature of her pronunciation creeping through. When she sat up, she felt her shoulders hunch and her back slump, the way lazy girls in rural coffee shops sat while waiting for customers who would never come. She did not have the strength to keep up her perfect posture, so she lay down flat on the bed again. That way at least he would not see the silhouette of a harsh village girl. And she had said, “I only came to this city to find love. I don’t care about the rest; I don’t care about money or handbags or an apartment. All I want is to find someone who will love me and look after me.” She waited in silence for his response. There was a problem with the automatic dimmer on one of the table lamps — it would light up brightly, casting the room with blinding light, before dimming to near darkness. It really gave Phoebe a sick feeling. Then she realized that his breathing had gotten sharper, noisier. His nose was blocked; he was snoring softly. She got up and turned off all the lights before coming back to bed.

She crept next to him and put her head on his chest. She listened for his heartbeat, which was quick and strong. But then she thought that maybe it wasn’t his heartbeat she was hearing but the pounding in her head, the blood coursing through her temples. She held her breath and tried to locate his heartbeat again, but it was gone — it was like a radio frequency that she had briefly tuned in to but then lost. She could feel only the warmth of his body through his shirt; it was burning, sticky. She realized she was falling quickly into a heavy sleep. It felt as if she were stepping off a cliff, dropping like a stone into warm, dark water.