The water rat of Wanchai al-1 Read online

  “Do you have another address for him?”

  “No.”

  “Hong Kong phone number?”

  “No, but you might get better information from Henry Cheng. He is the one who connected Seto to Andrew Tam. You have an appointment with him tomorrow in his office at 11 a.m. He doesn’t know why you want to talk to him, but he should be cooperative enough. One of my friends called him and made the arrangement.”

  “Where is the office?”

  He passed her a slip of paper. “Kowloon side, Nathan Road.”

  “I was thinking of going to see Andrew.”

  “Why don’t you wait until you see Henry Cheng?” Uncle said. “And even then it may not be a great idea. What can you tell him? That you’ve found out where his money is? What good does that do him? You might create false expectations.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “You know, Andrew’s uncle, my friend, used to call me every three weeks. Now he calls me twice a day. He is nervous for the nephew. The family does not have the kind of money where they can afford to lose thirty million Hong Kong. The repercussions would be massive. When he calls, I tell him I know absolutely nothing. And I’ll keep telling him that until you tell me it is over, one way or another.”

  “I need to find Seto.”

  “Maybe Cheng can help.”

  “And I need to find George Antonelli, the Bangkok partner.”

  “Our friends in Bangkok have already been working on that. By the time you get there they should have all the information you need.”

  “I don’t think Antonelli has access to the money. From what I can gather, Seto has those controls.”

  “But Antonelli can give you access to Seto.”

  “Exactly.”

  They walked slowly back to the hotel together, his arm looped through hers. The Mercedes was parked near the hotel entrance. Sonny stood near the car’s front door, watching them as they approached. He opened the back door for Uncle and helped him into the car. Ava said goodbye and turned to walk into the Mandarin.

  “Call me after you meet with Cheng,” Uncle said to her back.

  (6)

  Ava loved the Mandarin Oriental Hotel. the very first in the chain had been built on the Chao Phraya River in Bangkok in 1887. She had first discovered it when she was dating a banker and had travelled there with her for a four-day conference. They had splurged on their accommodations, booking the Somerset Maugham Suite in the Author’s Wing. After the banker left for her meetings in the mornings, Ava took the hotel’s private ferry across the river to its spa and indulged.

  Her afternoons had been split between the wing’s lounge, where she introduced herself to the works of Joseph Conrad and Graham Greene, and the restaurant terrace on the Chao Phraya. She was hardly a literary historian, but the fact that Conrad, Greene, Maugham, Noel Coward, and James Michener had all stayed and supposedly written there fascinated her. And the river was alluring in its own way. It was broad, brown, and sluggish, and as busy as a North American highway with ships, tugs, and barges working their way north from the Gulf of Thailand into the interior, while water taxis and ferries worked their way from east to west, dodging the bigger vessels as they went.

  Most evenings her friend had an official function to attend, so Ava ate at the hotel by herself. There was a Chinese restaurant — the China House — on the hotel property next to the main building. It served perhaps the best Chinese food she had ever eaten up till then: abalone that had been gently braised for twelve hours, stir-fried black chicken, soy-braised pomfret.

  The thing that had struck her most about the hotel was its level of service. It wasn’t just that it offered good service — that was routine for every five-star hotel in Asia — it was more that the staff seemed to anticipate everything she did or wanted to do. In the four days she had never pressed an elevator button. On her first day there she ordered ice at exactly four o’clock. The ice was there again the next day, the day after, and the day after that, always at exactly four o’clock. And every staff member in the hotel seemed to know her name.

  The only negative was the hotel’s location, which was outside the city core. If you wanted to go anywhere else in Bangkok, you had to contend with traffic that was perpetually paralyzed. The hotel wasn’t a place for someone who needed to get about quickly.

  The Mandarin in Hong Kong did not have a location problem. After a quick shower and a change into her business attire, Ava walked out the front door and got to the Star Ferry in ten minutes. After a five-minute wait she was crossing Victoria Harbour to her meeting with Henry Cheng in Kowloon.

  It was a pleasant day for Hong Kong, about room temperature, slightly overcast, with a light breeze. She sat at the back of the ferry, taking in the sun and looking at the skyline. There was nothing like it in the world — a solid wall of skyscrapers lining the harbour like some medieval fortress. The Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank. Central Plaza. Two international finance centres. The Hopewell Centre. The Bank of China building, designed by I. M. Pei. More than forty buildings over sixty-five storeys high. New York couldn’t even come close.

  The ferry docked in Timshashui on the Kowloon side. She thought about taking a taxi but had time to spare, so she walked instead. When she got to Henry Cheng’s office on Nathan Road it was five minutes to eleven.

  Kowloon isn’t as aggressively modern as Hong Kong Island. The building on Nathan Road was only five storeys high, its brick exterior faded and chipped. She rode its single elevator to the top floor and found that Cheng’s company occupied half of it — about three thousand square metres — a large office by Hong Kong standards. A hundred or so employees were working in an open-concept area. A handful of closed offices was at the far end, and a boardroom with its door open that Ava could see was empty. The receptionist noted her name and said in Cantonese that Mr. Cheng was expecting her; would she please follow her to the boardroom.

  Ava sat there and waited. The office tea lady stuck her head in the door and asked if she wanted anything.

  “I’ll have some green tea,” Ava said.

  Henry Cheng was carrying a bottle of water when he arrived. He looked at Ava in her linen slacks and pink Brooks Brothers shirt with green jade cufflinks and said, “You’re not what I was expecting.”

  “I’m not sure how to take that,” she said.

  “It doesn’t matter. Never mind,” he said, offering his hand. “I’m Henry Cheng.”

  “Ava Lee.”

  He sat a couple of chairs away from her, tapping his fingers impatiently on the table. “What can I do for you?”

  He was short and chunky, and Ava guessed he was in his mid-forties. His hair was parted in the middle and swept over his ears in a style that might have suited someone twenty years younger, six inches taller, and forty pounds lighter. He’s still Hong Kong slick, she thought, eyeing his Gucci loafers, tailor-made dress shirt with monogrammed cuffs, and D amp;G belt around a thirty-eight-inch waist. “I need to know about Jackson Seto.”

  “I know next to nothing.”

  “You introduced him to Andrew Tam.”

  “I mentioned Andrew Tam to Seto, and I called Andrew to tell him I was referring Seto to him. But I was never part of any meeting between them, and I had nothing to do with the business they did.”

  “How did you meet Seto?”

  “I met him through his brother, whom I do know very well.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Frank.”

  “How did it come about that you met?”

  “I was having lunch with Frank when Jackson came into the restaurant. He joined us and we started to have, you know, the normal kind of conversation businessmen have. Sometime during lunch Jackson mentioned that he was looking for some purchase-order financing and I brought up Dynamic Financial. Andrew — if he hasn’t told you — and I went to school together.”

  “That’s it? Nothing more than that?”

  “That’s all.”

  “You never saw Se
to again?”

  “Never saw him, didn’t talk to him.”

  “Andrew suggested that you might have received a finder’s fee.”

  “No,” Cheng said forcibly. “At the time the only reason I even mentioned Dynamic was that I thought if I helped Jackson, it might help me in my relationship with Frank. Little did I know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Frank is embarrassed by his brother. He wants nothing to do with him and is quite determined to keep him away from his social circle.”

  “When did you find that out?”

  “When I had lunch with Frank a few months after that first meeting.”

  “Who is this Frank Seto?”

  “He is married to Patty Chan, Carter Chan’s only child.”

  “Ah, the all-powerful Mr. Chan. Is he still the wealthiest man in Hong Kong?”

  “Maybe in all of Asia.”

  “Nice catch.”

  Cheng shrugged. “Patty is ugly and fat, but she’s going to be the richest woman in Hong Kong when Carter dies.”

  “What does Frank do?”

  “He tries to keep her happy.”

  “No, I mean his job.”

  “He tries to keep her happy,” Cheng said and laughed. “Officially, though, he’s the president of a real estate operation they own, Admiralty Properties. The office is on the Hong Kong side, Gloucester Road, overlooking the harbour. He wanders in there a few times a week.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “The family — the entire Chan family, including Carter, lives — where else? — at the top of the Peak. Security is very tight at the house. Actually, I should say houses, because it’s more of a compound.”

  “I get the picture,” Ava said. “Still, I’d like to talk to him.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Would you — ”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” Cheng interrupted. “If you want to speak to Frank, contact him yourself. I’ve told you all I know. I understand that Andrew may have problems as a result of dealing with Jackson. I’m sorry about that, but none of it was my doing. Andrew had an obligation to do his own due diligence.” Cheng stood up. “Now I have another appointment.”

  Ava rode the elevator to the ground floor but waited until she was back on Nathan Road to call Uncle. She gave him a summary of her meeting with Cheng, then said, “Can you arrange for me to sit with Frank Seto?”

  “I don’t know Frank Seto. I do know Carter Chan, but if I was face down on the street bleeding, Carter would probably kick me for good measure,” he said. “I’ll tell you who does know Carter, though, and probably Frank Seto too.”

  “Who?”

  “Your father.”

  (7)

  Marcus Lee didn’t seem surprised to be hearing from his daughter, but then he never did. Whether it was six days, six weeks, or six months since their last contact, he always acted as if they had just had breakfast together.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” he said, “are you in Hong Kong?”

  When she had phoned his office the receptionist had said he was in a meeting and wasn’t to be disturbed. “Could you tell him that his daughter Ava called?” she said.

  “Ah, wait,” the woman said. “For you, I can disturb him.”

  For some reason it made her feel good to hear that, and then to hear him “sweetheart” her when he came on the line.

  “I am.”

  “That’s funny. I talked to Mummy this morning and she didn’t mention that you’d be here.”

  “A last-minute change of plan. I’m really heading to Bangkok, but I need to do something here first.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I just got off the Star Ferry on the Hong Kong side.”

  “You know, it’s almost lunchtime. Do you want to join me?”

  “Why not?”

  “They have very good dim sum at the Shangri-La Hotel. Why don’t you grab a taxi and meet me there in about ten minutes.”

  When Ava arrived at the hotel, her father was already standing by the restaurant host, waiting for her. He was just under six feet and slender, with no hint of middle-age spread. His hair was still jet black and fashionably long at the back. God, he’s handsome, she thought. He wore a charcoal grey suit with a white dress shirt and a red silk tie — the very picture of conservatism.

  Her mother swore that Ava bore the closest physical resemblance to him of any of the children, even though she’d only seen pictures of the four sons from the first wife and knew nothing of those from the third. It wasn’t just that Ava was lean and easy on the eyes. Her entire appearance was striking: a combination of good looks, the ability to carry herself well, and an aura of self-confidence.

  Marcus Lee saw her and waved, then walked across the lobby to meet her halfway. He threw his arms around her and they hugged. She could feel a hundred eyes on them.

  “You look gorgeous, sweetheart,” he said.

  “Thanks, Daddy. You look great too.”

  “I’m still running, still watching what I eat.”

  “It shows.”

  The restaurant was jammed but a table had been held for them. He ordered from the dim sum menu without asking her what she wanted. Her mother loved that about him, that he always took charge.

  “I told Mummy this morning that I’m planning to come over to Toronto in May, when the weather improves. I’ll stay maybe for the whole month. I hope you’ll be there,” he said.

  “It’s a long way out, and with my work — ”

  “Anyway, I’m giving you notice. I told Mummy that maybe we could have a family holiday. You know, take your sister and her kids and you and go on a cruise, or down to the Bahamas.”

  “How is everyone here?” Ava asked as if she hadn’t heard him.

  “Good, really good. Jamie and Michael are in business here. Neither of them is married yet, although Michael is now living with a girl for the first time. David is in Australia finishing up a Ph. D. and trying to find himself. Peter has just joined Barclay’s Bank.”

  It always amazed her that he could talk about the children from his first marriage with such ease in front of her. What was as surprising was that her mother spoke about them and took pride in them as well, as if they were part of her extended family. Ava wondered if it cut both ways. Did they even know she existed?

  “Yes, Mummy keeps me posted,” she said.

  The waiter put a small tureen of hot and sour soup on the table. Her father filled her bowl.

  “So, what brings you east again?”

  “Business,” she said.

  “Are you still working with Chow?”

  “Yes, of course I am.”

  “I can’t help but wish you weren’t.”

  “But I am.”

  “Be careful,” he said. It was the same thing he said every time Uncle’s name was mentioned.

  “Daddy, I’m an accountant,” she said.

  His eyes flickered in her direction. She felt a nervous flutter in her stomach, her face flushed, and she found herself confronting the fact that this man was nobody’s fool. He knew what she did for a living, and though she never discussed her work in detail, he’d been in business long enough and knew Hong Kong and China well enough to know what it could entail.

  “So what is this business?”

  “The usual. Someone took off with someone else’s money, and I’m trying to track it down and have it returned to its rightful owner.”

  “You make it sound so simple.”

  “It is.”

  “Do I know any of the principals?”

  “I don’t think so, and even if you did I couldn’t acknowledge it.”

  “So why did you call me, then?”

  The question was asked gently but the point was direct; she couldn’t lie to him. “I need to speak to a man named Frank Seto. He is Carter Chan’s son-in-law. I’m quite sure that if I approach him on my own I’ll be put off. I was hoping you could help me.”

  “I don’t know Frank very well,” h
e said. “Still, I can’t imagine him getting himself immersed in anything untoward.”

  “It isn’t him. He has a brother who I’m trying to locate, and so far there’s nothing but dead ends. I’m hoping that Frank can help me.”

  Their food arrived: shu mai, fried turnip cake, scallops fried with salt, and steamed duck feet with mushrooms.

  “I’m not sure my calling Frank will do any good. He might not remember me,” he said. “On the other hand, Carter and I have had a long and uneventful relationship. In his own strange way, he may even consider me a friend. I’ll call him and see what he can set up. You want to meet with Frank, correct?”

  “Yes, thank you, Daddy.”

  “Would you find it upsetting if I came along?”

  She glanced up at him.

  “It might make things easier all around,” he said.

  “What would you tell him? I mean, what would you tell him about me?”

  “That you are my daughter, of course. What did you think I would say?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, Mummy and me and Marian are in another world. This is your world here. I don’t know who knows what about what.”

  “You aren’t a secret, if that’s what you think.”

  “I don’t think I need a complete explanation,” she said.

  “Well, anytime you do, just ask,” he said. “I know it seems to Westerners that some of us Chinese have very complicated lives. Actually, the opposite is true. There are rules to this tradition of ours, and as long as everyone — and that includes the wives — plays by the rules, the family remains harmonious. What are the other options? Divorce? Secret mistresses? Messy and hurtful.”

  She sat mute, a shu mai between her chopsticks.

  “I know it’s old-fashioned, but I was raised that way, and it can’t be helped,” he said.

  “No, I guess not,” she said.

  They finished lunch and went into the hotel lobby. He turned on his cellphone. “This could take a while,” he said to her. “I have to get past a receptionist and then at least two personal assistants.” He was sitting directly under a harsh overhead light and still looked ten to fifteen years younger than he was. Ava saw several women close to her own age glancing at him as they walked past.