The Crazy Rich Asians Trilogy Box Set
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Two nights ago, Tai’s personal chef, Milla Lignel, who resides at the house and was babysitting that evening, allowed the child’s mother, Kitty Pong, into the home. Pong, who is currently estranged from her husband and lives in Hong Kong, removed her daughter from the house. “Madame asked me to make her an omelet, and it only took me cinq minutes, but by the time the omelet was ready, madame and Gisele had disappeared,” said a tearful Lignel.
Tai knew something was wrong when he was served with divorce papers in the middle of a sound-bath healing workshop in Santa Monica. After speaking with Ms. Lignel, he immediately suspected that his wife intended to leave the country with their daughter. LAPD has confirmed that Tai activated a secret GPS tracking device in Gisele’s TOMS shoes that also alerted the police. The police pursued the child to Van Nuys Airport, but it was too late to stop the private Boeing 747-81.
Officer Scot Ishihara, who was on the scene, calmly noted, “We gave chase, but it’s hard to stop a 450-ton jumbo jet from taking off if it wants to.”
Tai, who has filed kidnapping charges against his wife in Los Angeles, has apparently left the country. Calls to TTL’s corporate headquarters in Hong Kong were unreturned.
SOUTH CHINA MORNING POST
KITTY TAI ESCAPED WITH DAUGHTER ON MAINLAND BILLIONAIRE’S PLANE
Hong Kong—The Los Angeles Police Department, together with officials at Van Nuys Airport in Los Angeles, can now confirm that the Boeing 747-81 used in the alleged “kidnapping” of heiress Gisele Tai by her mother, Kitty Tai, was owned by Chinese industrialist Jack Bing.
Mr. Bing, who is said to be worth upward of $21 billion, apparently lent Mrs. Tai his $350 million jet at the behest of a mutual friend. Mr. Bing’s spokesperson today issued this statement: “Mr. Bing lends his planes from time to time to various individuals and organizations on humanitarian grounds. Mr. Bing is not acquainted with Mrs. Tai in any way, but was urged to provide the plane for what he understood to be a humanitarian rescue mission. Neither Mr. Bing nor his family has played any role whatsoever in what is a private family matter between the Tais.”
After a brief refueling stop in Shanghai, Bing’s jet landed in Singapore, where representatives for Mrs. Tai say she intends to divorce Bernard Tai and sue for shared custody of her daughter. Tai, who arrived in Singapore earlier today, has already countersued and filed kidnapping charges in both Los Angeles and Singapore.
Giving a brief statement after landing at Changi Airport, Tai, whose face appears to be drastically altered by cosmetic surgery, said, “My wife has never played an active role in the raising of our daughter, and this is a well-documented fact that can be confirmed just by looking at any society magazine to see all the events my wife attends in Asia while her daughter has been in Los Angeles. Gisele has spent most of her conscious life in Los Angeles, and she is missing out on valuable learning and developmental opportunities. This is a tragedy of epic proportions and Gisele needs to be immediately returned to those who truly love her and care for her.”
Mrs. Tai was unavailable for comment.
NOBLESTMAGAZINE.COM.CN
The latest scoop from China’s most trusted society columnist, Honey Chai
Is everyone sitting down? Because I have so many scoops for you that we might as well make a giant banana split! First scoop, and you heard it here FIRST: Mrs. Bernard Tai, aka Kitty Pong, is the mistress of Jack Bing! Extremely reliable sources tell me that Pong and Bing have been carrying on for quite a while now; they met two years ago at—get this—the funeral of Kitty’s father-in-law, Dato’ Tai Toh Lui! Tai was a great mentor of Bing’s, and apparently sparks really flew at the crematorium when Jack met Kitty. Meanwhile, a devastated Mrs. Bing has reportedly checked into the health spa at Brenners Park-Hotel in Baden-Baden, Germany. Colette Bing, who by all accounts is furious with her father, has also left Shanghai and was last seen canoodling with a certain notorious playboy at a club in Ibiza.
Which brings me to my next hot scoop: Everyone on the planet has by now seen the leaked video of Colette’s epic takedown by an unidentified woman. It’s the video that made Prêt-à-Couture cancel the multimillion-dollar endorsement deal with Colette. I can now reveal that this woman, whose monologue has become a rallying cry for every non-billionaire in China (and unfortunately, there are still quite a few of us who didn’t make it onto the Heron Wealth List!), is none other than Rachel Chu, the sister of Colette’s ex-paramour Carlton Bao. (Everyone still with me here?) Anyway, the video also led to Carlton and Colette’s breakup, and when I asked Carlton how he felt the other night at DR Bar, he gave me a frown and said, “What breakup? I’ve always said that Colette wasn’t my girlfriend. But she was a good friend at a time I really needed one, and I wish her the best.” That’s a classy response in my book.
Speaking of classy, Carlton’s parents, Bao Gaoliang and his wife, Bao Shaoyen, hosted a farewell dinner party at Yong Foo Elite last night for his daughter, Rachel Chu, and her husband, Professor Nicholas Young, who would be heading back to New York shortly. There wasn’t a dry eye in the splendid art deco room when Bao made an emotional toast to his “long lost” daughter, recounting the harrowing story of his youth and how he rescued his infant daughter and her mother from the clutches of an abusive family. The glittering crowd of China’s top political and financial powerhouse families clapped wildly after his speech, including Hong Kong’s tech titan Charles Wu. Wu, who stunned le tout Hong Kong by announcing his separation from his wife, Isabel, just weeks ago, spent the whole night glued to the side of a beautiful lady wearing the most drop-dead-gorgeous pleated white dress. Many at the party seemed to know her, but I was never able to catch her name.
When I can mention Yong Foo Elite, abusive families, and girls in white dresses in the same breath, I know it’s time to end my column. In the meantime, stay tuned for more updates on the Bing-Pong affair. I just know there will be more bombshells hurtling our way once all the legal teams get involved!
• • •
“What in God’s name are you doing?” Corinna screeched when she was finally able to reach Kitty.
“I take it you’ve read this morning’s paper? Or did you read Honey Chai’s latest post?” Kitty said with a giggle.
“You sound almost as if you’re proud of yourself!”
“I am proud of myself! I finally got Gisele away from Bernard.”
“But you’ve completely sabotaged all the work we’ve done! This scandal is going to do untold damage to your reputation in Hong Kong!” Corinna moaned.
“You know, I no longer care about all that. Ada Poon can have Hong Kong all to herself—I’m in Singapore now, and there are all these lovely international people here who have lots of fun and don’t give a damn about local society. And I’ve just moved into a fabulous new house on Cluny Park Road. Actually, it’s a very old house, but you know what I mean.”
“Oh my goodness—you’re the mysterious buyer of the Frank Brewer house?”
“Haha. Yes, although just between you and me, it was a gift from Jack.”
“So Honey Chai isn’t making it up. You are Jack Bing’s mistress!”
“I’m not his mistress, I’m his girlfriend. Jack has been a wonderful friend to me. He has bought me many lovely things, and he has rescued me and my daughter from the hellhole that was Mar Vista. Funny that the neighborhood was called that—it means ‘view of the sea,’ but the only view we ever had was of that damn 405 freeway.”
Corinna sighed. “I guess I can’t blame you for escaping from there. How is Gisele doing?”
“She’s as happy as any little girl can be. She’s in the garden playing on the swing with her grandmother. And she’s been discovering wonderful things, like pineapple tarts and Barbie dolls.”
“Well, I hope you won’t come to regret your actions,” Corinna said worriedly.
“Higher, I think. Sorry, what were you saying, Corinna?” K
itty asked, momentarily distracted.
“I said…oh never mind. I hope you can work things out with Bernard amicably.”
“What does ‘amicably’ mean?”
“Friendly, peacefully.”
“I don’t want a war with Bernard. I just want him to be able to share Gisele with me, that’s all.”
“That’s the spirit. Anyway, good luck, and be sure to call me the next time you’re in Hong Kong.”
“We’ll take Gisele for high tea at the Four Seasons!”
“No, the Mandarin. Always the Mandarin. And don’t say ‘high tea’—high tea is only for factory workers. It’s ‘afternoon tea.’ ”
“Of course. Whatever you say, Corinna.”
Kitty hung up the phone and took a few steps back. “You know, Oliver, you were right. It didn’t need to be higher. Let’s move it all back to where you had it originally.”
Oliver T’sien winked at her. “I was right when I told you to buy this house, and I was right when I told you to buy the painting, wasn’t I? I always imagined it looking utterly exquisite against this wall. It’s all about how the light filters in through those old lead-glass windows.”
“You’re right, it’s all going to be utterly exquisite,” Kitty said, gazing out the window as the workmen began rehanging The Palace of Eighteen Perfections on her drawing-room wall.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I could not have written this book without the help, inspiration, expertise, patience, support, genius, and general good humor of these remarkable people:
Alan Bienstock
Ryan Matthew Chan
Lacy Crawford
Cleo Davis-Urman
David Elliott
Simone Gers
Aaron Goldberg
Jeffrey Hang
Daniel K. Isaac
Jenny Jackson
Jeanne Lawrence
Baptiste Lignel
Wah Guan Lim
Carmen Loke
Alexandra Machinist
Pang Lee Ting
David Sangalli
Jeannette Watson Sanger
Sandi Tan
Jackie Zirkman
Copyright © 2017 by Tyersall Park Ltd.
Anchor Canada edition published in 2018
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system without the prior written consent of the publisher—or in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, license from the Canadian Copyright Licensing agency—is an infringement of the copyright law.
Anchor Canada is a registered trademark.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Kwan, Kevin, author
Rich People Problems / Kevin Kwan.
ISBN 9780385689403 (pbk.)
I. Title.
PS3611.W36R53 2018 813’.6 C2016-907830-2
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover illustration and design by Joan Wong
Published in Canada by Anchor Canada,
a division of Random House of Canada Limited
A Penguin Random House Company
www.penguinrandomhouse.ca
v4.1
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Contents
Master - Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Genealogy
Prologue
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Part Two
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Part Three
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Part Four
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
For my grandparents,
and for Mary Kwan
Detail left
Detail right
PROBLEM NO. 1
Your regular table at the fabulous restaurant on the exclusive island where you own a beach house is unavailable.
HARBOUR ISLAND, THE BAHAMAS, JANUARY 21, 2015
Bettina Ortiz y Meña was not accustomed to waiting. A former Miss Venezuela (and Miss Universe runner-up, of course), the exceedingly bronzed strawberry blonde was these days the wife of the Miami auto-parts tycoon Herman Ortiz y Meña, and at every restaurant she chose to grace with her presence, she was always greeted with reverence and whisked to the exact table she desired. Today she wanted the corner table on the terrace at Sip Sip, her favorite lunch spot on Harbour Island. She wanted to sit on one of the comfy orange canvas director’s chairs and stare out at the gently lapping turquoise waters while eating her kale Caesar salad, but there was a large, noisy group taking up the entire terrace and they didn’t seem in much hurry to leave.
Bettina fumed as she glared at the tourists happily savoring their lunch in the sun. Look how tacky they were…the women overly tanned, wrinkled, and saggy, none of them properly lifted or Botoxed. She felt like walking up to their table and handing out her dermatologist’s business cards. And the men were even worse! All dressed in old rumpled shirts and shorts, wearing those cheap straw hats sold at the trinket shop on Dunmore Street. Why did such people have to come here?
This three-and-a-half-mile-long paradise with its pristine pink-sand beaches was one of the best-kept secrets in the Caribbean, a haven for the very very rich filled with quaint little wood houses painted in shades of sherbet, charming boutiques, chic oceanfront mansions turned into inns, and five-star restaurants to rival St. Barths. Touri
sts should have to take a style exam before being allowed to set foot on the island! Feeling like she had been patient long enough, Bettina stormed into the kitchen, the fringe on her crocheted Pucci caftan top shaking furiously as she made a beeline for the woman with a shock of pixie-cut blond hair manning the main stove.
“Julie, honey, what’s the dealio? I’ve waited more than fifteen minutes for my table!” Bettina sighed to the owner of the restaurant.
“Sorry, Bettina, it’s been one of those days. The party of twelve on the terrace showed up just before you did,” Julie replied as she handed off a bowl of spicy conch chili to a waiting server.
“But the terrace is your prime spot! Why on earth did you let those tourists take up all that space?”
“Well, that tourist in the red fishing cap is the Duke of Glencora. His party just boated over from Windermere—that’s his Royal Huisman you see moored off the coast. Isn’t it the most handsome sailboat you’ve ever seen?”
“I’m not impressed by big boats,” Bettina huffed, although secretly she was rather impressed by people with big titles. From the kitchen window, she surveyed the party assembled on the terrace with new eyes. These aristo British types were such a strange breed. Sure, they had their Savile Row suits and their heirloom tiaras, but when they traveled, they looked so painfully frumpy.