The Two Sisters of Borneo Read online

  She had booked online a direct flight on Cathay Pacific to Amsterdam. Normally she would have used her travel agent, Gail, to make the arrangements, but Gail would be home in bed. Using travel agents these days was a bit old-fashioned, Ava knew, but she liked the idea of having someone to call, someone who actually cared if things went wrong. So she booked the first-class seat herself and copied Gail on the details.

  Finding a hotel was a bit more of a challenge. Her hotel preferences were more eclectic than her airline choices, which were typically Asian-based carriers. She liked staying at the big five-star chains when she was in Asia; the Mandarin Oriental was her favourite, with the Peninsula and the Shangri-La not far behind. In North America and Europe she found the service in the larger hotels far too impersonal, so she typically opted for smaller, high-end boutique hotels in a central location. Searching online for hotels in Amsterdam, she found a room at the Dylan, a five-star hotel with only forty-one rooms and a Michelin-starred restaurant, situated on the Keizersgracht Canal, almost in the middle of the city.

  The twelve-hour flight passed smoothly. Ava had two glasses of champagne when she boarded, downed two glasses of a French white burgundy with a dinner of Dover sole, and then fell asleep watching the Chinese film The Election. The film chronicled the election of a chairman of the triad societies. She had seen it before but it always fascinated her, if only because Uncle had been chairman for consecutive terms. The machinations, the betrayals, and the violence that accompanied the election were horrific. It was difficult for her to accept that Uncle might have been a guiding hand in such venal events, but she knew that Hong Kong triad films were only loosely based on reality. She nodded off before the final sudden, vicious encounter between the two protagonists.

  When she woke, they were still three hours from Amsterdam. She did a bathroom run, ordered a coffee, and then opened the envelope that May had given her. It contained a large volume of paper but less hard information than Ava had expected. The partnership agreement was the biggest component: thirty pages of corporate boilerplate that said nothing more than what May Ling had already explained, although Ava did find it strange to see her name affixed as a director and executive vice-president of Borneo Fine Hardwoods and Furniture. She had been a partner with Uncle for ten years without any written agreement. She could remember only one handshake. There had certainly never been any titles.

  The letter from May Ling’s lawyer was a simple one-page document attesting that the partnership agreement was a valid document and that Ava was fully empowered to act on any matter relating to the corporation and the bankruptcy proceedings. The bankruptcy notification itself was just that. It said, on the company’s own letterhead, that Timmerman BV had been appointed as trustee in bankruptcy to liquidate the assets of Janssen Volker NV. All secured and unsecured creditors were invited to a meeting that was scheduled for eleven a.m. the coming Tuesday at 113 Damstratt in the city of Amsterdam.

  Attached to the notice were lists of creditors with the amounts they were owed. Only two were secured: a bank for a nominal amount and a company called Meijer Finance, which claimed 15 million euros as the debt owed. The list of unsecured creditors was longer: several trucking firms, a landlord, some warehouses, credit card companies, and, dwarfing them all, Borneo Fine Hardwoods and Furniture.

  Ava had packed a black Moleskine notebook in her Chanel carry-on bag. She opened it now and wrote Borneo Furniture across the top of the first page. She had kept an individual notebook for every job she undertook for Uncle and herself. Her friends joked about her low-tech approach, but she had found that writing numbers, names, facts, questions, and theories by hand somehow enhanced her retention level and her analytical skills. And when a job was done, the notebook provided a permanent record. The notebooks for all of her jobs were stored in a safety deposit box in a bank close to her Toronto condo.

  She took the details from the Timmerman document and transferred them to the Moleskine. Then she listed May Ling’s suspicions about the brothers and their relationship with the Dutch company. On the surface the situation did look as if it had been contrived — everything was so damn neat. But while it was easy to make charges, it was something else entirely to prove May’s assumption that there had been fraudulent collusion among three or more parties. What if it was a just a case of incompetent business management that had stumbled its way into the efficient Dutch bankruptcy system?

  Ava closed her notebook and sat back. She hadn’t done any work in more than five months. In the past it had taken her a while to get up to scratch after a prolonged absence. That was a luxury she didn’t have this time. The bankruptcy meeting was only a day away, and the money involved wasn’t someone else’s to lose. As she began to contemplate the enormous sum that was $30 million, the plane banked and the flight director announced they had begun their descent into Amsterdam.

  They landed at eleven thirty, and in less than thirty minutes she had walked out into the cold, damp night.

  The distance from Schiphol Airport to the Dylan Hotel was only about ten kilometres. In-bound traffic at that time of night was light; in fact, Ava saw almost as many buses as cars, and by twelve thirty she was at the hotel entrance. It looked like something from another century with its stone façade interrupted by metal grilles and its metal doors crowned by a high arch. The Dylan hadn’t originally been conceived as a hotel; it comprised a number of three-storey brick and stone houses surrounding a courtyard, which had been built in the 1600s.

  Ava had arranged for a late check-in and her room was ready when she arrived. They called it the Kimono Room. It was entirely black and white, ultra-modern Japanese minimalism with clean, hard lines. Even the bed’s four posts were thin and reed-like, more for accent than function, more symbol than decoration.

  Ava unpacked her Shanghai Tang Double Happiness bag and carried her toilet kit into the bathroom. Her plan was to shower, slip into clean underwear and a T-shirt, and then sleep. As she stripped, she became aware of how dazzling the light was.

  Her room was on the top floor of the hotel, and the bathroom had been built loft-style, with black wooden beams crisscrossing from wall to wall and a glass ceiling open to an overcast sky. Because of the dark contrast created by the bathroom’s ceiling, the room seemed flooded with a brilliant glare when she turned on the lights, a glare that accentuated every pore of her body. Rarely had she felt more naked. Ava looked at herself in the mirror and was startled by how pale her skin seemed, even more so when she turned sideways and saw the red scar on her upper thigh where she had been shot in Macau.

  Even in the harshness of the light, her body looked to be that of a younger woman. A combination of running and bak mei — the Chinese martial art she practised — had helped her maintain her physique for as long as she could remember. She was beautifully proportioned, her waist almost perfectly centred, her thighs and buttocks firm and muscular.

  The bathroom, like the rest of her suite, was starkly minimalist. The immense white porcelain bathtub was completely encased in black marble. She drew water, added bubble bath, and eased herself into the tub.

  As she soaked, she focused on two white pots shot through with streaks of electric blue, sitting on a ledge at the foot of the bath. They were probably Japanese pots, she thought, but they could just as easily have been Chinese. What was she doing in Amsterdam? Then it occurred to her that not only was she away from Hong Kong for the first time in five months, she was also completely alone. She closed her eyes. The image of Uncle lying in his bed at the Queen Elizabeth leapt into her mind. She stared into his eyes. She smiled, or thought she did, but all she felt were tears running down her cheeks.

  ( 8 )

  Ava slept until almost eight o’clock. She woke with a start. It took a few minutes before she realized she wasn’t at the Mandarin Oriental, and that she had slept the entire night. She rolled out of bed and walked over to the window. It was still raining, and so heavily that she c
ould barely see past the courtyard to the front entrance gate.

  She brushed her teeth and hair and then dressed in a clean white T-shirt and training pants. Before going to bed she had made a mental list of the things she wanted to do that morning, but now her stomach was rumbling and had her attention. Eat, then work, she told herself.

  She called Reception. The main restaurant, Vinkeles, was closed until dinnertime, but breakfast was being served in the Long Gallery lounge. She debated ordering room service and then decided to go downstairs.

  Half an hour later, fortified by two cups of coffee and Eggs Benedict with smoked salmon, she sat at her computer and opened her emails.

  She had let everyone in Toronto know that she was leaving Hong Kong for a few days. The reactions from Maria, Mimi, and her mother were identical — worries about Uncle and about how she was holding up. She assured them that Uncle’s situation hadn’t changed and that she was just taking a few days after the wedding to unwind.

  Two of the emails were from May Ling. There was a seven-hour time difference between Amsterdam and Borneo; the first email, sent late the night before, said that she had arrived and had been met at the airport by Ah-Pei and Chi-Tze. They had spent several hours that evening reviewing the situation. The women were devastated, but they seemed determined to keep going, whether or not they had additional support. Their attitude had pleased May.

  From a preliminary look at the books and their anecdotal recap of the state of the business, it was obvious that the financial situation was dire. Their cash flow had been destroyed, and unless more funds were pumped into the business quickly, production would have to be suspended. If that happened, then their supply lines for hardwood would come under pressure. If they lost those sources of supply to another manufacturer, God knows when or whether they could ever get them back. May estimated they needed at least another $5 million to stabilize the situation.

  May’s second email had been sent about the same time Ava was awakening in her hotel. Amanda landed in Kota Kinabalu just before lunch and came directly to the office, May wrote. To the sisters’ dismay, I sat with her alone for the first hour. She was very upset that I hadn’t told her about the problems. I explained I hadn’t wanted to jinx her wedding, and she began to calm down when she found out that I hadn’t told you anything either. I assured her that we did not hold her responsible for the mess in Borneo, and told her that we were prepared to put in whatever money was required to keep the business viable as long as she was willing to manage the process until things were clearer. She couldn’t have been more agreeable. I hope your trip was uneventful. I’m leaving my hotel with Amanda and Chi-Tze in a few minutes for a meeting with a lawyer who we think is smart and tough enough. I’ll update you later tonight, she closed.

  I’m in Amsterdam. Flight was fine. Call me on my cell when you finish with the lawyer. I’m going to start hunting things down at this end, Ava replied.

  She closed her computer and glanced at the envelope and Moleskine notebook that sat on the desk. She reached for the book and then noticed her cellphone. Uncle, she thought. She punched in his number.

  “Wei,” the familiar voice said after the second ring.

  “It’s Ava.”

  “I could not tell. There is no number showing on my end.”

  “I’m in Amsterdam.”

  “And I am in Shanghai.”

  “Already?”

  “They released me from the hospital early this morning. We caught a flight before lunch.”

  “And you are feeling okay?”

  “I napped on the plane.”

  “Sonny is with you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Are you at the hotel?”

  “For an hour.”

  “The Peninsula, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Uncle, please take it easy. Nothing good can come from overdoing things.”

  “Ava, stop worrying. I am not here to lift bricks.”

  “Still . . .”

  “And how are things for you in Amsterdam?”

  “I don’t know. I just woke up and I’m about to make my first contact.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  “If you need me, call. It appears I will be here for at least two full days.”

  “And you will call me, or you will instruct Sonny to call, if you need me?”

  “I said I would.”

  “Sorry for being a pest about it,” she said, sensing a touch of annoyance in his voice.

  “Ava, go and look after your business. I will see you in Hong Kong in a few days,” he said gently.

  He’s right, she thought, opening the notebook. There was nothing to be gained by worrying about what he was doing eight thousand kilometres away. Better that she focus on the problem less than five kilometres from her hotel doorway, one that started with Timmerman BV, the bankruptcy trustee. She picked up the hotel phone and made the local call.

  From her previous trip to Amsterdam she knew that most Dutch people speak English, and many of them other languages as well — a testament to their trading background. So she wasn’t surprised when the receptionist at Timmerman switched to English as soon as she heard Ava’s voice.

  “How can I help you?” she asked.

  “My name is Ava Lee. I’m here for a creditors’ meeting tomorrow, and I’d like to speak to the trustee who is handling the file for Janssen Volker NV.”

  “That would be Patrick Visser,” the woman said, and then paused.

  “Is there a problem?” Ava asked.

  “No, I’m just checking to see if he’s in the office today.”

  The line went silent and Ava knew she had been put on hold. Several minutes passed and she began to get impatient. Then a man’s voice said, “Visser.”

  “Hello, my name is Ava Lee and I’m in Amsterdam for the Janssen Volker creditors’ meeting.”

  “Really?”

  “You sound surprised. The meeting is still scheduled for tomorrow, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, of course, but I wasn’t expecting any creditors to actually show up. Just who is it you represent?”

  That’s strange, Ava thought, and then said, “Borneo Fine Hardwoods and Furniture.”

  “And you came all the way from Borneo?”

  “Hong Kong, actually.”

  “Your English is excellent, if I may say.”

  “I’m Canadian.”

  “Ah, that explains it. But tell me, what is your relationship to this Borneo business?”

  “I’m an officer and a shareholder.”

  “I see,” he said, and then hesitated.

  “Mr. Visser, I have to tell you I was somewhat surprised when I saw the list of creditors. It seemed to me rather short for such a large filing.”

  “It is, of course, but it’s accurate. Aside from your company, Meijer Finance is the only other major one. They, of course, are secured and have already started the process of recovering as much of their funds as they can.”

  “Short or not, I couldn’t help being even more surprised to see there were no other furniture suppliers listed.”

  “Janssen rid themselves of nearly all of them over the past few years. Their business appears to have become almost completely focused on your products.”

  “And there was only one bank involved?”

  “Yes, and that was only for operational purposes — paying bills and payroll and things like that. Janssen had a very modest line of credit. It was secured, of course, but I’m told that Meijer paid it off so they could have uncontested rights to whatever assets still remained in the business.”

  “And what assets were those?” Ava asked, knowing already what the answer was going to be.

  “Furniture.”

  “Just furniture?”

  “It does app
ear to be that way.”

  “And all of it ours?”

  “Yes.”

  “So Meijer has taken possession of it?”

  “Yes, as they are legally entitled to do.”

  “And now they’re selling it off.”

  “That is the case.”

  “For cents on the dollar.”

  “Ms. Lee, they are a secured creditor,” Visser said carefully. “Under our laws, they are simply exercising their rights.”

  “And as the trustee, you have no power, you have no influence?”

  “We have a complete record of the inventory, and Meijer is required to report any and all sales they make from that inventory. If they recover funds in excess of what they are owed, the money will be accrued to us. If they recover their funds and any inventory is left, then we are able to sell it ourselves and disperse those funds among the unsecured creditors on a pro rata basis.”

  “Yes, I saw there were other unsecured creditors, but aside from warehousing and transportation companies, they hardly amount to anything.”

  “That’s correct, Ms Lee. You’re talking about a landlord owed a few months’ rent, and other such minor claims. The warehouse companies have already been looked after.”

  “What?”

  “I’m told they were holding the furniture for ransom and Meijer had to pay them off to get access to it.”

  “So, what you’re telling me,” Ava said, her agitation growing, “is that there’s only one unsecured creditor of any size, and that’s us.”

  “True enough.”

  “And any assets in the firm happen to be tied directly to us as well.”

  “That is the case.”

  “And you don’t find that strange?” Ava said.

  “I don’t understand your question.”

  “How does it come to pass that this finance company would extend that level of credit to a company that appears to have had no assets except for inventory they bought on terms from us?”