Dead Money

by Srinath Adiga

  “Unfortunately, antibiotics are ineffective against this virus.”

  “So you’re saying there’s no cure.”

  Dr. Tan shook his head. “Not at the moment, although scientists are working on a vaccine.”

  “Dr. Tan, thank you for joining us on the show.” The anchor turned to face the camera. “More on this after the commercial break.”

  The mention of the break made Raymond uncross his legs and sit up. The screen went to black for a second, and then their commercial came on. It opened on a pristine white room. A man in a red suit slept on a bed of yellow chrysanthemums. The camera moved to a soft close-up of his face: Franky Soo, smiling as if in the midst of a blissful dream.

  The music kicked in, a string of gentle piano keys drifting into the room, causing Franky’s eyelids to flutter twice and open. He smiled at the camera—that soulful look teenage girls swooned over—and then he was on his feet, crooning.

  “I know we’re not going to live forever,

  But our love’s like an endless river.

  My love for you is true

  ’cause I want to die with you …”

  As he sang the words, his lean, compact body moved with the effortless grace of a ballerina, twirling, shuffling, pirouetting out of the room and into a shopping mall. The lights of the high ceiling were mirrored in the pale marble floor. On either side were high-end designer stores with enticingly lit window displays: watches, shoes, jewelry, gadgets, clothes, all styled and presented against plush velvet backdrops. Sales assistants in yellow suits lined the corridor like a guard of honor, each slipping a shopping bag on Franky’s wrist as he skipped past.

  A few moments later, he slid to a halt near the bottom of an escalator. He placed his collection of shopping bags down and extended his arm toward the sky. The camera, which now represented his point of view, showed an endless stack of floors, rising in the atrium. A bubble lift with blinking fairy lights shrank as it ascended swiftly toward a white infinity. The shop assistants cartwheeled toward Franky and finished in a circle around him.

  “Death won’t tear us apart,

  ’cause I’ve given you my heart.

  You and me forever …

  I’m gonna be happy forever …

  With youuuuuuuuuuu.”

  As the music charged toward a crescendo, Franky and his entourage dropped to their knees. The tall, imposing figure of the Jade Emperor emerged from a puff of smoke, golden robe and gem-studded crown sparkling in the bright light.

  The camera switched to a swooping aerial view, the kind of shot Hollywood movies finished on before the end credits rolled. Franky, Jade Emperor and the shop assistants were now like tiny action figures frozen in time.

  “Death can come anytime. But if you’ve got Afterlife Dollars, you can enjoy happiness in the next life, too,” a voice reassured over the helicopter view of heaven. “Call 1 800 IMMORTAL or visit our website.”

  After the commercial finished, Raymond turned off the TV. It would take a few milliseconds for electromagnetic waves traveling at the speed of light to distribute his message to living rooms in shoebox apartments all over the city. A few seconds for brains to process it. Would minds gripped by fear of an invisible courier of death react as he hoped, or would they see it for what it was, an opportunistic exploitation of a national tragedy? Panic and cynicism locked in a duel. Who would triumph? Unlike face-to-face consultations, he couldn’t do anything to swing it his way. All he could do was wait.

  He sat still, hands steepled under his chin. A string of sounds poured through his open door: the gentle hum of the air-conditioning, tapping of keyboards, a cough. Then somewhere in the distance, a faint jingle: two rings and a voice muttering something indistinct. Another ring, this time closer, voice clearer: “Thank you for calling Bank of Eternity. My name is Shen …”

  Then another and another and another. Soon, a medley of voices, a collage of pitches and timbres crashing into each other over a bed of ringing phones.

  Raymond stood in the corridor, savoring this sweet symphony. Then he returned to his desk to plot his next move, because he knew this was just the beginning.

  19.

  “YOU’RE LISTENING TO RFHK, HONG KONG’S favorite radio station. Time now for a virus update, brought to you by Bank of Eternity. Ten days after the outbreak, the death toll is nearly five hundred, most of them in East Kowloon. But worryingly, cases are also being reported in the west, as well as Mong Kok, Yau Ma Tei, and Tuen Mun. It seems no part of the city is safe. The government’s advising us to stay at home. But tell me, if you don’t go to work, how are you expected to feed your family? With one in three cases proving fatal and no cure in sight, survival is purely a lottery. So what are you supposed to do? The only thing you can do is hope for the best and prepare for the worst. Should the unthinkable happen, you’ll be glad to know that you can enjoy the same lifestyle in the next life that you do in this one. For just three thousand dollars! It’s like you’ve never died at all. How, you ask? Call 1 800 IMMORTAL now or visit BankofEternity.co.hk. Eternal happiness for just three thousand dollars. That number again, 1 800 IMMORTAL.”

  “HI THERE. IN today’s Bank of Eternity virus update, the Department of Health has announced they’ve identified the index patient: a farmer from Guangzhou who came to the city on business and stayed in a hotel in Central. He died a few days later, but not before infecting other hotel guests. That, my dear friends, is how this whole damn thing started. Now, if this piece of information is supposed to make us feel better, I’m afraid it isn’t working. In just three weeks, since the arrival of the farmer, the virus has claimed over a thousand lives. If this continues, ten percent of the population will be wiped out by the end of the year. We can only hope that’s not going to happen. But with the virus spreading at an alarming rate, the smart thing to do is protect yourself for any eventuality. With an Afterlife Dollar account, should the unthinkable occur, you’ll be able to enjoy the same lifestyle in the next life that you do in this one. And for a limited time, we’re giving ten percent off on purchases over three thousand dollars, plus a free H5N1 coronavirus survival pack, designed by renowned healthcare experts. Call 1 800 IMMORTAL now or visit BankofEternity.co.hk. Eternal happiness for just three thousand dollars. That number again, 1 800 IMMORTAL.”

  “GOOD MORNING, HONG KONG. Hope you’re staying safe wherever you are. Today, we’re not going to talk about the virus death toll because now, it’s just become a meaningless statistic. Instead, we’re going to discuss real people who’ve been affected by the pandemic. Particularly one group of people: healthcare workers. Nearly ten percent of all casualties so far are either doctors or nurses who’ve caught the disease while treating patients. Brave souls who are putting their lives on the line to save others. We’d like to honor their sacrifice with a generous fifty-percent discount to all medical professionals who are at the forefront of this fight against the deadly virus. We hope their noble deeds in this life are rewarded in the next. Simply give us a call at 1 800 IMMORTAL or visit BankOfEternity.co.hk. If you’re not a healthcare professional, we can ensure eternal happiness for just three thousand dollars. That number again, 1 800 IMMORTAL.”

  “THE PANDEMIC HAS entered its second month. Apart from the thousands who’ve died, the virus has claimed another casualty: the economy. With airlines suspending flights and leisure activity coming to a standstill, hotels, bars and restaurants are empty, and thousands have been laid off. If you’re one of them, here’s some good news: we’re always looking for people who are talented, hardworking and keen to make a difference. Send your resume to Bank of Eternity Recruitment, PO Box 1723, Tsim Sha Tsui, Hong Kong. Of course, we can’t promise every one of you a job, but we’ll do our best to employ you. If you don’t need a job but would like to secure your future in the afterlife, do call us at 1 800 IMMORTAL or visit BankofEternity.co.hk. Eternal happiness for just three thousand dollars. That number again, 1 800 IMMORTAL.”

  20.

  A VIRUS. A STRAN
D OF PROTEIN AT THE FRINGES of life. Small enough to escape the eye of a microscope, yet incredible in its appetite for mayhem. You had to respect the damn thing. Unlike earthquakes, hurricanes and tsunamis, it eschewed showmanship in favor of efficiency, entering the body, multiplying, turning the body against itself, against others. Natural disasters operated within geographical confines, but a virus knew no boundaries. It went where people did.

  The H5N1 coronavirus went far, spreading in a matter of weeks to mainland China, Taiwan, Singapore, Vietnam, Canada, the US, Germany and the UK. And for Raymond, that meant one thing. Opportunity. Because wherever the virus went, it created a market for his product. So he decided to leave the day-to-day running of the Hong Kong operation to Lim Wei and focus on these new markets.

  He started in mainland China: Beijing, Shanghai, Chengdu and Hangzhou, before traveling further afield to Seoul, Taipei, Tokyo, Singapore, Kuala Lumpur, New Delhi and Djakarta. He hopped from city to city, meeting potential partners and franchisees in glittering hotel lobbies. Deals were made, in many instances on the spot. Not the way he’d have liked to do it, but with these things, it was important to ride the momentum. So he had to trust his gut instincts and get on with it.

  After Asia, he embarked on a whirlwind tour of Europe and North America. As he went from one country to another, he realized that operating in foreign markets meant more than opening an office. The mythology that underpinned Afterlife Dollars had to be tweaked too, to adapt to the local culture. So everywhere he went, he met with religious experts to flesh out the product story. When he did this over a period of time, it occurred to him that the basic underlying afterlife narratives were similar across cultures, across faiths. The rewards of heaven, punishments of hell, stories designed to encourage moral rectitude, presumably with a view to maintaining social order, not only made all conflicts over religion and ideology seem stupid, but also simplified his task considerably. It allowed him to create a template and change the details for each market. But those details were all-important. And he had to get them right.

  In June, he returned to Hong Kong after nearly three months on the road. The plane flew over the city on its descent into Chek Lap Kok airport. Raymond leaned toward the window from his first-class seat. Thousands of feet below, the buildings, reduced to the proportions of a scale model, looked familiar yet alien.

  This feeling persisted even after he landed and lined up at customs. The queues were long, as masked officials armed with ear thermometers checked temperatures of incoming passengers. It seemed the authorities were more concerned about screening for viruses than drugs. There were fears that rising temperatures and summer storms would provide renewed impetus to the pandemic.

  Finally, he left the airport in a taxi. As he crossed Stonecutters Bridge, he caught sight of the buildings of Central in the distance, rising above the red gantry cranes of the port. Ten minutes later, when he emerged from the mouth of the harbor tunnel, the buildings loomed over him, mirrored surfaces glittering in the noon sun. He no longer gazed at them with infatuated eyes. The city was like a woman he’d been chasing all his life, in whom he’d suddenly lost interest when he saw something better. A world bigger than Hong Kong.

  Soon, he arrived at the office. For a moment, he stood in the granite foyer and studied the directory on the wall. Bank of Eternity occupied the top ten floors of the fifty-two-story building. When he’d left three months earlier, they were still operating from the cramped back office in the Tsim Sha Tsui branch. It boggled his mind when he thought about it. But thinking about something required you to step outside the frame of reference. When you were in it, everything seemed normal.

  The lift opened on the top floor: fifty-two. The receptionist was about to stop him, but realizing who he was, she rose at once.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Li. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  She smiled obsequiously and led him to his office. A plain-looking woman rose from a desk outside his door. She was in her late forties, short hair, sharp fringe. As she reeled off his appointments for the day, Raymond felt flustered inside. It was as if his life had been taken over and he was being told what to do.

  He stopped her. “Did Finance send something over?”

  “Uh … yes. It’s on your desk.”

  He went inside without waiting for her to finish. The office looked bigger in real life than in the photos Lim Wei had sent him. Bigger than most of the hotel rooms he’d spent the last few months in. It occupied the northeast corner with views of Tsim Sha Tsui and Lai Chi Kok on one side, Central and Mid-Levels on the other.

  The desk was in the middle of the room, L-shaped, red mahogany with leather trimming. It even had a built-in safe. The chair had a high, curved back, taller than he was when he sat in it. Seized by some childish impulse, he swiveled back and forth a few times. Then he turned his attention to the orange envelope in the in-tray. In the last few months, he’d been too focused on expansion to look too deeply into the financials. He knew they’d been doing well. Just how well, he wasn’t sure.

  He took the envelope and held it in his hand, like a little boy trying to guess the present inside the wrapping. Then he sliced it open and removed a spreadsheet. His eyes widened when he saw the cash profit.

  It took a few moments for it to sink in and when it did, it was impossible for him to sit still. He rose and paced the room, his body consumed by a sense of supreme lightness. This was how it must feel to be released from prison, to be manumitted from slavery, he thought. The ball and chain of a fifty-three-million-dollar debt, gone.

  If he were prone to theatrics, he might’ve knelt and kissed the carpet. But instead, he stood with his hands behind his back, gazing out the window. The story of the last two years leading up to this moment was contained in the view before him. The binocular-shaped Hong Kong Stock Exchange to his right, where it had all started. His first branch, in a squat block across the harbor to the left. Then, back to the right, the recording studio in Causeway Bay where he’d secured the endorsement contract with Franky Soo. Further right and closer in the foreground, his apartment building halfway up Victoria Peak, where he’d nearly jumped when it had all gone wrong.

  He also recalled the adman, Pete Lawler. That meeting had taken place in a building on the waterfront that looked like a block of Swiss cheese.

  “A genius if you can pull this off,” he recalled Pete saying. Admittedly, the virus outbreak had been a generous serving of good fortune. But wasn’t that what business was all about—a bit of luck to supplement a leap of faith? He remembered another thing Pete had said, about the tipping point. The point where the irrationality of mob behavior set in and truth became a self-justifying prophecy.

  The tipping point had been reached. Of that, he was sure. He now had the numbers to entrench his myth in the collective consciousness, especially in the Far East. The other markets were going to be tougher to crack, but the pandemic had given him a foothold.

  One day, the world would be his.

  Maybe I am a genius after all.

  The phone rang behind his back. He ignored it.

  A few moments later, he heard someone enter the room. His assistant stood at the door.

  “The police are here for you,” she said.

  21.

  THE LIFT OPENED NOISELESSLY ONTO A SUNLIT foyer on the fifty-seventh floor. A large embossed chrome sign on the wall behind the reception desk triggered a cramp in Raymond’s stomach.

  “SECRETARY, DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE”

  A woman with blow-dried hair and bright red lipstick glanced up from her computer. The police officer accompanying Raymond leaned toward her and muttered something. Raymond stood back and looked at them with a mixture of anxiety and confusion.

  Officially, he wasn’t under arrest. The officer hadn’t come in waving a warrant. Neither had he read Raymond his rights, nor snapped a pair of handcuffs around his wrist. None of that cop-show stuff.

  “Sir, do you mind accompanying us?” The request had
been polite but firm. Raymond complied. Twenty minutes later, here they were, in the office of the highest law-enforcement official in the land.

  The woman ushered him through a frosted-glass door. He entered a large grey room with a metal filing cabinet against one wall; a large framed photograph of the chief executive on the other; sparse, tidy desk in the middle. The secretary was at the window: a beige-and-black hole in the floor-to-ceiling view of the Tsim Sha Tsui skyline.

  He turned around and looked Raymond up and down. He was a small man with sharp eyes and a hard, wrinkled face. The youthful shine on his precisely parted black hair suggested it was dyed.

  “Sit,” he ordered.

  Raymond lowered himself into a chair. The secretary sat down and opened an orange folder. He licked his fingertip and turned a page.

  “I’ve never seen anyone with so many speeding tickets. Must be some kind of a world record,” he mused.

  “Is that what I’ve been summoned for? Speeding fines? Must be a slow day around here.” Raymond snorted.

  The secretary looked up from the file. “Slow day? Do you have any idea what else is in here?”

  Raymond shrugged. “Lies, false accusations.”

  “Now why would anyone make false accusations against you?”

  “There’s an expression in English. Tall poppy. When you grow too quickly, people try to cut you down. Success breeds envy. As a successful man yourself, you should know that.”

  “Don’t you go comparing yourself to me,” the secretary fumed. “My idea of success is putting men like you away. You’ve done pretty well in this pandemic, haven’t you?”

  “So have companies selling face masks. How come they haven’t been summoned here? I won’t apologize for being a businessman. Not when my product is serving the country in its hour of need.”