by Kathy Wang
“Wait. Tigerlily. I’ve heard of that one.”
Stern examined him with interest. “In what capacity? Do you have access to documentation detailing its financial holdings?”
“No, I mean in more of a personal fashion. My mother is . . . she’s a client. She met her boyfriend, or whatever he is, on it.” Fred still couldn’t believe Linda had managed to find love across international waters, while he himself had been publicly dumped and shamed, triggering the worst professional crisis of his career.
“Well, Tigerlily does operate a legitimate business on the side,” Stern allowed, “though its main source of revenue appears to stem from far less scrupulous avenues. Has your mother’s boyfriend ever asked her for money? Is he by any chance based overseas, in Tunisia or Nigeria? Has she traveled to meet him?”
Tunisia? Linda wouldn’t even go to dinner in Berkeley, since it meant she’d have to drive on the 880. “I know he’s been pushing for some kind of condo investment. He’s overseas, but I’m not clear on the location.”
“Where is the real estate based? Has your mother actually transferred funds?”
“I think in the United States. I don’t believe any money’s been moved yet.” Or had it? Goddamn!
“Have they met in person?”
“Yes, but here in California. From what I know he came for a few days.”
“I hope this isn’t true for your mother’s sake, but it sounds like she could be the target of a scam. Tigerlily is a massive entity, very sophisticated. Our best estimate is that its revenues land at about $7 million per day, which would make it one of the key levers in the laundering operation. The company’s activities run the gamut—from your basic pop-up ads, Do You Want to Marry a Millionaire?, that sort of mild catfishing, all the way up to actual marriages, which last until the victim’s been sucked dry. We’re currently investigating a case in Florida where the couple was married for six years before the wife died, and the husband subsequently disappeared—we assume back to Egypt. Unfortunately, right now forensic evidence points toward homicide; she owned several lucrative commercial properties in Coral Gables, which have since passed into his name. Your mother must be a fairly significant target for them to have flown out a specific operator. They only do that if they think they can get half a million or more.”
“Homicide.” Fred felt dizzy. “I know they talk a lot, exchanged some gifts, but I never dreamed . . . I mean, I thought the whole thing sounded shady, but an actual conspiracy . . . my mom, she’s normally such a suspicious person. She thinks Lion Capital is a scam, for God’s sake, because she’s never seen it on the Forbes ‘Midas List’!”
Stern looked sympathetic. “You have no idea how sophisticated these operations are,” he said. “No one is immune.” He hesitated. “I’m going to tell you a personal story. If that’s all right.”
“Uh, sure.” Fred hoped the agent wasn’t about to share some horrific online dating anecdote that he’d later regret revealing. “Only if you’re comfortable.”
“Just last month I was in Bangkok,” Stern said. “For our first family holiday in Asia. Our whole time there, I’m driving my wife crazy. I keep nagging that she shouldn’t talk to anyone, to let me manage the interactions, because of all the scammers. But somehow—even though I did my research and scheduled everything in advance—we still end up visiting the Royal Palace on the one day a month it’s closed to the public. No can do, the guard says, as soon as we arrive at the front. So we turn around, and right outside the gates we meet this guy who offers us a discounted tuk tuk ride, on account of it being low tourist season. If he’d said it was free, I would have immediately said no, but the idea of a discount, and plus he still haggles. . . .
“The driver takes us to this local temple, and there we see another American, who I notice right away because he’s wearing a Chapel Hill baseball hat. And I get excited, you see, because I’m an alum. Honestly, what are the chances? So we chat a little about basketball, really hit it off, and he ends up pulling some strings and finagling us passes to this jewelry showroom where we can buy gems at wholesale. And these are beautiful pieces—no mall crap, I know my stuff, my brother’s a GIA gemologist. Real quality rubies.
“And I decide what the hell, we’re on holiday, and I buy a ring for my wife and a pair of earrings for my daughter. They’re beautiful, the girls love them, I’m a hero, and we’re all having a grand time, and it’s only when we get back to the hotel and I start talking with the concierge that I find out the whole thing was a scam. Starting from the guard at the palace gates who turned us away. The rubies are technically real, but they’ve been filled with lead glass. The tuk tuk driver must have eavesdropped on our conversation or looked me up somehow, and the guy at the temple must have hundreds of these hats to change into. I’m still fighting my credit card company a month later to get the charge reversed. And I’m a fucking FBI agent. So go talk to your mom after this, tell her you love her and that she needs to be careful. Make sure you keep track of those gifts you say she’s received—most likely they were purchased with stolen credit cards.”
“Excuse me.” Griffin opened the door. “Fred, I was just informed you were still here.” His thin, pale neck swiveled through the gap, taking in Stern. “I’m Griffin Keeles,” he said, extending his hand. “Fred reports to me. Formerly reported.”
“Josh Stern.” The agent eyed Fred, looking for some visual cue; Fred subtly lifted an eyebrow meant to communicate the low esteem in which they were to hold the intruder. “So you’re Fred’s manager? Fred, you moving on? Big promotion?”
Griffin preened. “I am the senior managing director of Lion Capital. And Fred Huang is no longer employed here.”
“That’s news to me,” Stern said. He turned back to Fred. “Is this news to you?”
“Yes, that’s what I was trying to tell you earlier. I no longer have access to—”
“Excuse me for being abrupt,” Griffin interrupted, “but this is a highly unusual situation. During your meeting today, has Fred Huang represented himself in any official capacity as an officer of either Lion Capital or Opus Ventures?”
“Maybe.” The agent crossed his legs. “Should he have?”
“Emphatically not. Fred Huang has been fully relieved of his responsibilities. We thank him, of course, for his years of service.”
“Let me make sure I understand,” Stern said. “As of today, Fred Huang no longer has any involvement—in any capacity—with Opus, Lion Capital, or any of its associated entities and partners, including Draper Carlyle.”
“Correct.”
“And Mr. Huang is no longer employed with Lion Capital.”
“His employment has been terminated, and he has signed paperwork acknowledging such.”
“And all inquiries on Opus should be now directed to . . .”
“Me,” Griffin completed.
“Well, fuck.” The agent looked at Fred. “I guess you’re free to go. But keep your phone near.”
Fred left in a daze. Once outside, he realized he’d forgotten his crate, which contained nine years of office swag. He let it go; the most pressing issue now was Tigerlily.
Kate picked up on the first ring. “Where are you?” she asked in an agitated voice. “I’ve been calling and calling. I even tried your office!”
“Why? What’s happened to Mom?” All of a sudden Fred felt a deep panic at the thought of someone hurting Linda, either physically or mentally. Mama! he cried in his head. Ma! I’m so sorry!
“Mom? No, she’s fine, why would you ever think otherwise? She would survive the apocalypse. She’s meeting me here. I’m on my way to Dad’s.” Kate’s voice broke. “They think his time is very soon.”
Chapter 21
Kate
She was with Camilla when Deborah called. This time it was Kate who’d reached out, for the simple reason that she was in a badly confused state after Vegas. Though the two were interlinked, she found herself struggling to reconcile the random violence of Lars Sundstr
om and the pride and uncertainty of Sonny’s offer; lurking over both were the continuing tragedies of Denny and Stanley. She thought of dialing Linda before quickly dismissing the idea as insane; next she went through a variety of the usual suspects, but each would require too much backstory. Only then did she admit that Camilla was the only person with whom she could easily share the most shameful and sad parts of her life.
When did it become so difficult to say certain truths to old friends? Like Denny cheated on me, or my marriage is done, or I wonder about my father’s will. Sometime during the journey into adulthood these details had become too burdensome to share; the dread of the stressed silence that usually followed such admissions, the subsequent awkward straining of friends to reveal a secret of their own. So now Kate opted not to see those who’d known her in a better period, in favor of someone who’d started off meeting her at her worst.
“Do it,” Camilla said. They were back at Maggie’s in Mountain View, this time inside, having lucked into one of the two small tables that allowed the establishment to call itself a café. Kate had intended for the meeting to be a quick coffee and pastry, a verbal unloading and then an efficient call for the check, but Camilla had immediately ordered a series of dishes as soon as they’d been seated, ensuring a multi-course meal. “Do it,” she said again. “Do the bras. You have to.”
It had been a relief to unburden herself of the memories of CES, after the drama of the last few days at Stanley’s. While Kate normally hated to talk excessively, with Camilla she felt none of the polite anxiety that usually came with monopolizing a conversation. “I don’t have the bandwidth for any additional responsibility. There isn’t the time.”
“Time.” Camilla’s voice held an edge of disgust. “You sound just like Ken. He was always going on about being Mr. Busy, so pressed for time. Of course, that only really applied to the things he didn’t want to do, anyway.”
“I really don’t think I rate a comparison to your ex-husband. Last night I had a bed-wetting incident to mop up, and after that I spent three hours on a presentation for Sonny. What would you have me do, get fired and let my children sleep in urine?”
“Don’t be flippant.” Camilla tapped her fork impatiently. “Get more help. What’s the point of being a martyr? You know how much I’d love to have a schedule like yours? Boredom is its own sort of busy, except there’s less variety. You think Denny wouldn’t immediately go out and blow the money for assistance? He would consider himself above scrubbing wet sheets even if he didn’t have a big, important job. Which, I’m just saying—”
“Now you’re being cruel,” Kate interrupted. She didn’t like it when Camilla dug into Denny, which she sensed was done in some way for her approval. “You willingly slept with him.” She felt the fact needed to be vocally stated. “Multiple times.”
Camilla reddened. “Well. That was then. And you have to admit I make a good point. What’s the big deal about hiring some staff? You didn’t seem to have any particular scruples about Isabel. Isn’t that how men get ahead? They all want to build their little empires. Ken never had a real office job like that here, he was just a bored old guy playing investor, but I remember when Manesh Das would come by, he would always announce how he was growing his influence, gobbling up all these partners for his little fiefdom. Hey, why do you care so much about what I say about Denny, anyway? Have you seen him lately?”
“Yes. He is the father of my children, you understand.”
“Right,” Camilla said. Her face turned sulky. “You’re not going to get back together, are you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Good. He’s an ass and not deserving of your forgiveness.”
“Stop it,” Kate said, annoyed. “You don’t need to make him sound like such a jerk. If I want to bitch, I’ll tell you. Otherwise, if you want to be friends, you need to cool it on the nasty monologue.”
“Okay,” Camilla said. She had brightened after hearing the bit about friends. “Did I tell you I’m dating someone? And he’s not even married.”
“Rich and boring?”
“No! Retired air force captain. The most annoying thing about him is that he bicycles.”
Kate was surprised to discover she felt happy for Camilla. “If that’s as bad as it gets, I think it merits further exploration.”
“We’ll see.” Camilla dimpled, then frowned. “Did you ever see that guy from Vegas again?”
“Lars Sundstrom? No way.”
“That’s his name?” Camilla began to saw at her Croque Madame. “I should write it down. Did you take pictures of your arm? You should if you haven’t already. Continue to monitor what he’s up to, and if you hear he’s having any hint of success, figure out a way to take him down. Wait until he thinks he’s in the clear, that he’s gotten away with all the nasty things he’s done. Then, when the time is exactly right—boom!” She violently rang her knife against her fork. “Rise up and smash his world to a bloody pulp.”
Kate flinched. “Jesus, you’re vicious.”
Camilla wagged a finger. “Don’t pretend I don’t just say out loud what you secretly think.”
Deborah’s call meant that lunch ended abruptly, right before dessert. Since Camilla had driven, she dropped Kate off in front of Stanley’s, pulling up as Fred parked across the street. Her brother was in his work clothes, an ivory collared shirt and slim jeans, which was a relief. When Kate had called the Lion offices earlier, something in the receptionist’s careful phrasing made her suspicious he no longer worked there.
“Who’s the blonde?” Fred asked.
Camilla idled the car, daintily waving her fingers from the window. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in? Need anything? Just text.”
“Is that her car?” Fred asked. “She opted for the turbine wheel upgrade. Expensive.”
“Just a friend,” Kate said shortly. Then, back toward Camilla, “You can go now. We’ll talk later.”
“I’ve never seen her before. All your other friends are mousy. Are you a lesbian now?”
Inside, Kate was distressed by the change in Stanley. Since the last time she’d seen him, his face had begun to sink, collapsing in on itself. She had just been with him, less than twenty-four hours ago, when he’d been relatively alert, if unsettled, murmuring on and off about the foundation, calling for his wife. He seemed to have Linda and Mary confused on a nearly permanent basis now, asking for one when he meant the other, not caring who showed up. Most of the time it was neither.
Three days ago, after noticing some bedsores, Kate had hired a nursing service. That itself had been a battle, with Linda insistent that Stanley pay for the care himself, since it was his own fault he had selected a wife with such miserly fortitude. When they went to look for his checkbook, however, they discovered it had disappeared, along with his wallet. Mary had secreted them away, like an animal desperately hoarding for a hard winter. While Linda had been furious, Kate privately thought it was for the best; she didn’t want to quibble with Mary over what constituted an appropriate amount of hours or a decent under-the-table wage. She’d gone and hired the best she knew, round-the-clock coverage, and paid the bill quietly.
One of the Samoans was there now, bent over Stanley’s mouth, holding a foam block soaked with water. Neither of the twins ever showed any indication of recognizing her from their stint with Sonny, nor did they seem to mind working alone for the twelve-hour shifts they traded off. Kate had attempted conversation when they first started, asking if she could bring anything to make their visits more comfortable, but they’d pointed to the coolers they held. “We bring our own food. Every day,” they responded. And made it clear they preferred a quiet workspace.
When he saw Kate and Fred enter, the nurse gave a quick nod, handed Kate the water block, and left for the kitchen.
“Where’s your mother?” Deborah asked. “She coming today? I want to chat.”
“Yes, but I thought you didn’t like her.” After the divorce, Deborah had made ve
ry clear her stance toward Linda, who she considered a traitor. She couldn’t understand why Linda had all of a sudden decided she could no longer abide living with Stanley, when she had successfully tolerated him for decades.
“What do you mean, don’t like? Of course I like. She always has the best stock tips.”
“She’s on her way. I think she stopped by McDonald’s.” Linda refused to eat or drink anything from Stanley’s kitchen. “How is Dad?”
“The doctor says he can keep going for few more days, but I think he’s ready. He won’t eat. The last time I told him Mary wasn’t here, I think he almost wanted to cry. But he didn’t have tears.”
“Dad crying?” Kate had never seen Stanley cry, not even right after her parents’ divorce announcement, which was the closest instance she personally knew of. He had sat across from her at Shanghai Noodle, just the two of them, and forlornly asked if she would still see him once he lived alone. When she herself started to cry, he suddenly became cheered and asked if she had time for a movie that afternoon. “I didn’t think it was possible.”
“Oh yeah, he used to cry all the time, when we were kids in Taiwan. Whenever he wanted something and didn’t get it: Wah! Instant sprinkler! He was pretty sweet, too, always hugging, offering his snacks. His favorite was these pears, a certain kind in Taiwan that are much sweeter than in America, almost too sweet. A nearby farmer grew them, and your dad used to sneak away to pick them off his trees. A lot of people did that, especially during World War II, so the farmer had these big tall fences installed, all around his property. They looked to me at the time like they were a hundred feet, but of course I was just a kid, so maybe they were twenty. And Stanley was almost the same size as me, just a little bigger, but still he would go and climb for those pears. I’d stand there on the ground watching him, biting my nails. Until one day he fell! I was terrified; I thought he’d died and everyone would blame it on me. I wanted to run away but didn’t want to leave him alone.”