° ° °

Miriam sensed that something was amiss early that morning. Nothing felt right! Lữ had been out all night and still hadn't returned. For quite some time now, Lữ’s nights of wandering had become increasingly frequent. The first time Lữ skipped sleeping at home—staying out until dawn before returning—Miriam raised a furious scene. Lữ remained silent, saying nothing, completely indifferent to Miriam’s scathing reproaches. He offered neither apology nor excuse; instead, he calmly washed up, sat down at the table to eat breakfast, and read the newspaper.
 
Miriam grew even more incensed when she saw that Lữ paid absolutely no heed to her anger. To make matters worse, while Miriam glared furiously—grilling her husband and cataloging his offenses—Lữ calmly flipped through the *Wall Street Journal* to check the stock market fluctuations!

Miriam snatched the newspaper and tore it into shreds to vent her rage, but Lữ merely shrugged, changed his clothes, and left for the office. On subsequent occasions when Lữ chose not to sleep at home, Miriam said nothing more. She contemplated filing for divorce but could not bring herself to make the decision. Miriam felt that she still loved Lữ. She wasn't ready to let everything fall apart completely.
 
And so, Miriam tried to rationalize Lữ’s neglect by attributing it to the cultural divide between Asians and Americans! Was this how Asian men were? Incapable of remaining faithful to their wives, even while still loving them? Miriam couldn't help but laugh at the circular nature of her own thoughts. She could scarcely believe that the untamed spirit she had been less than three years ago had now transformed into a submissive, weak-willed woman like the one she saw in herself today!

Miriam confided in Sơn. She felt she had no one else but Sơn to turn to—to ask about Lữ, to gain insight into her own feelings, and to seek guidance regarding her and her husband's future:

"Is it true that Asian men tend to take adultery very lightly, Sơn?"

Miriam asked Sơn one evening when Lữ was away and she had invited Sơn over to talk.
Sơn didn't know how to answer. He knew about the affair between Lữ and Uyên, yet he still felt compelled to defend Lữ. Sơn smiled:

"It’s not just Asians! I think men are pretty much the same, no matter what culture they come from!"

"I’ve heard that Vietnamese men have a penchant for polygamy—that they’re never content with just one wife! Since polygamy isn't allowed here in the States, they resort to having affairs instead. Is that really true, Sơn?"

"Not at all! Over here, everyone is too busy trying to make money and get rich; who has the energy left to even think about having an affair? Of course, there are always exceptions—you get all types—but I honestly don't think the infidelity rate among people living here is as high as the media and books make it out to be. Just earning a living is stressful enough as it is; very few people would dare invite even *more* stress into their lives by having an affair!"
 
Miriam shook her head:

"You’re wrong! The *more* stressed people get, the *more* they crave an affair! It’s a way to escape the monotony—to find some fantasy that helps them forget all their troubles and anxieties!"

She looked at Sơn intently:

"Do you think Lữ is that kind of man, Sơn?"

Sơn felt flustered. He lied to cover for his friend and offer a defense:
 
"Lữ isn't like that, Miriam. Lữ is the type of person who actually becomes *more* energized and stimulated the *more* stress he’s under. He’s not the kind of guy who runs away just to find an escape or chase after fantasies!"

Miriam nodded:

"You’re right! And that’s exactly *why* I’m so worried, Sơn! If Lữ is having an affair, it implies that he must be driven by some incredibly intense passion. I could probably accept it if his affair were purely a physical matter—just about sex. But Lữ is in love with someone else! I can’t even bear to think about it!"

Sơn looked at Miriam with deep sympathy. He couldn't find the right words to comfort her—to ease her anxiety and help her regain her zest for life. For the first time in his life, Sơn felt a sense of unease toward his friend. Or perhaps it was something more than just unease? Could it be—jealousy? A flicker of anger because Lữ had caused Miriam such suffering? Sơn wasn't sure. He felt unsettled by these strange, new sensations.

Sơn felt uneasy sitting there, talking to and comforting Miriam on a night when Lữ had gone astray and failed to come home. It felt just like a scene from one of those melodramatic *cải lương* plays—the kind of sentimental social dramas he used to mock whenever he happened to catch one back in Vietnam.
 
Sơn smiled. Real life, it turned out, was often far more sensational—and far more melodramatic—than anything one could possibly imagine! Nor did he try to deceive himself: he was undeniably captivated by Miriam. Captivated by her beauty—the beauty of a white woman, yet one who still bore the distinct Middle Eastern features of a Jewish people who had wandered in exile for two thousand years.
 
Captivated by her sharp intellect. And by her artistic soul. By the deep sense of empathy that flowed between them whenever they visited art exhibitions together. By their shared tastes in color, form, and music. Even in food and fashion. Miriam resonated with him on every level—like a true kindred spirit, a soulmate.

But could a genuine friendship truly exist between a man and a woman? Sơn didn't believe so. The sexual tension between a man and a woman, he felt, would always be too potent to allow for a purely platonic friendship. And the emotional stirrings born of such deep resonance would—sooner or later—inevitably lead to love. Sơn realized he had fallen in love with Miriam.
 
It was a love that had arrived gently, tentatively, yet grew more palpable with every passing moment. Sơn’s nature was not one to embrace a tempestuous, frenzied love—nor did he desire such a thing. Passion and fervor, he believed, were merely like a fire of burning straw: brilliant for a moment, but quick to burn out. Or like a violent storm that sweeps through, leaving behind only the silence of wreckage and ruin.

Just like the love between Miriam and Lữ! Sơn harbored no ill will toward his friend, yet he was acutely aware of the true nature of the romance between Lữ and Miriam. 
 
Sơn was not surprised by the cracks—now widening into a full-blown collapse—in his friend’s marriage. He felt only a deep unease for having allowed his love for Miriam to blossom—a transgression, both improper and disloyal, against a close friend. Yet, what else could Sơn have done? He could not stem the tide of love rising within his own heart. As for Miriam—he had no desire to seize this opportunity to win her affection in return. Instead, events would simply flow like the currents of destiny.
 
He would do nothing that he might later come to regret vis-à-vis his friend, yet neither would he shy away. Everything has its own time and place. And so, Sơn would simply respond to whatever unfolded—without calculation, without expectation, and without acting in any way contrary to the natural course of the events to come.

 
Chapter 28
 
Miriam threw on a robe and stepped out into the front yard to retrieve the mail. The elderly mail carrier, leaning out of his small delivery vehicle, waved to her in greeting. She nodded and smiled in return. The old man called out:

"I have a registered letter for you."

Miriam was surprised. She rarely received registered mail; stranger still, the letter bore no return address. She hesitated, wondering whether she should accept it. Her intuition warned her that something was amiss. An anonymous letter—yet sent via registered mail and addressed specifically to her. It could only mean trouble.

Miriam went inside and tore open the envelope. Photographs spilled out, scattering across the floor. She picked one up to examine it and felt a sudden wave of dizziness, staggering slightly. The suspicions she had harbored—though never fully certain of—had now become undeniable reality. The anonymous sender had sent her photographs proving Lữ’s infidelity.

There was a picture of Lữ with the Vietnamese woman Miriam had encountered a few times at receptions hosted by VietCal Investments—the woman who had recently become Lữ’s business partner in his latest investment ventures. Miriam recalled her name: Uyên. Yes—that alluring woman, the wife of the loan officer at the bank where Miriam had gone to sign the paperwork for the business loan Lữ needed.
 
Miriam went through the rest of the photographs. There were shots of Lữ embracing and kissing Uyên in front of a hotel entrance. She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing the small lettering on the hotel sign in the background: Holiday Inn. They had been dating and meeting at this very hotel. On those nights when Lữ had stayed out all night, failing to return home, they had been sleeping together—making love—right there.
 
Miriam stared at the smiling, radiant faces of Lữ and Uyên in the photographs, and she was seized by a blinding rage. The faces of two people utterly satisfied and blissful after a night of intimacy. And still, as if reluctant to part, they clung tightly to one another at the hotel entrance before finally bidding farewell and going their separate ways.

Miriam suddenly felt a wave of nausea, a sickening lurch in her stomach. She recalled the times Lữ had come home late—times when, to soothe her anger, he would make amends and make love to her as a form of compensation. Miriam bit her lip so hard she nearly drew blood. He had done that immediately after sleeping with Uyên! She suddenly felt defiled, violated—as if she herself had been assaulted. Lữ had no right to do that!

Miriam had known that Lữ was unfaithful to her on those nights he failed to come home. Yet she had continued to deceive herself, lacking any concrete proof. Just as she had lacked a face—or even a name—to serve as tangible evidence of Lữ’s infidelity. Perhaps, she had told herself, Lữ was merely sowing his wild oats with prostitutes or casual one-night stands, and that he still loved only her. Miriam had clung to that hope; she could have accepted Lữ’s philandering if that were the extent of it.

But with these photographs—sent by an anonymous hand—the truth now stood revealed, stark and undeniable. The love between her and Lữ was truly dead; nothing remained of it. Lữ had a mistress—another passion entirely. A woman of his own kind had supplanted Miriam in Lữ’s heart. And suddenly, Miriam was seized by doubt: Had Lữ ever truly loved her at all? Or had she merely been a novel attraction—an exotic curiosity—when he first arrived in this land, still wet behind the ears? And now, had she simply become too familiar—a territory fully explored, with nothing left to discover?

Then there was Lữ’s insatiable desire for wealth. And her own assets. Miriam thought with bitter cynicism that, perhaps, Lữ had never loved her in the slightest. Like a blindfolded person suddenly having the cloth removed from their eyes, Miriam now saw the brutal, unvarnished truth of the affair between herself and Lữ. She had never wanted to dwell on matters of money, nor would she entertain the fleeting thoughts that occasionally crossed her mind—that Lữ had sought her out solely for the sake of Don Lavitz’s fortune.
 
Miriam was a proud woman. Given her beauty—and the allure she had proven time and again through her many past romances with other men—Miriam believed that Lữ loved her for herself alone; his interest in her wealth was, she assumed, merely a secondary consideration.

But now, confronted with irrefutable evidence of Lữ’s infidelity, Miriam felt profoundly wounded; her broken pride flared up like a raging storm. To Lữ, she meant nothing at all. It had all been about money. Lữ had pursued her—and married her—solely to satisfy his own ambition for wealth. And once he had come into his own—once he had established a solid business foundation and amassed enough personal assets that he no longer needed to rely on her—Lữ had begun to commit adultery openly, making no effort whatsoever to conceal it.

Miriam flew into a violent rage, thrashing about like a wounded wild beast. She smashed every glass and cup in the house, overturned tables and chairs, and hurled whatever she could lay her hands on. She imagined that, had Lữ been present in that moment, she might well have killed him—and let the consequences be damned. Don Lavitz had never wanted her to fall in love with Lữ; he had never wanted her to marry him. Yet she had defied her father, placing her faith in herself—and in the love she believed existed between herself and Lữ.
 
Now, with bitter irony, Miriam realized that her father had been right all along. The chasm separating the two of them was simply too vast, and their differences too profound, for their love to ever have endured. Worst of all was the dawning realization that, perhaps, Lữ had never truly loved her at all. Or perhaps Lữ simply lacked the capacity for love—at least not the kind of love she had envisioned, the kind she had defined for herself—a love she had believed to be real, only to discover, in the end, that it was nothing more than an illusion.
 
Miriam’s frenzied rage began to subside. She slumped onto the sofa, cradled her head in her hands, and sank into thought. Weariness and despair began to take hold, gradually displacing her fury. She felt like someone who had lost everything, left with nothing but a terrible emptiness. Miriam turned her mind to what needed to be done.
 
She envisioned Don Lavitz’s face—and her father’s comforting smile—just as she remembered it from her childhood, whenever she fell while learning to ride a bicycle or a horse. Miriam wanted to prove to her father that she was still Don Lavitz’s daughter: she would never allow anyone to pity her, nor would she ever let anyone inflict harm upon her without exacting retribution.

Miriam picked up the phone and dialed a number. A voice answered from the other end of the line:

“This is the Law Offices of Leibovitz. How may we be of assistance?”

 
° ° °

Vấn pulled into the parking lot at Denny’s. He clicked his tongue in annoyance; the lot was packed to the brim, and it took him quite a struggle to find a parking spot. He hoped Joe Battaglio had arrived ahead of him and was waiting inside. The busier the place, the better; few people would notice him—or this lowlife—talking to one another.
 
Vấn stepped inside the diner and scanned the room. In the far corner, a man wearing a black leather jacket sat with his back to the entrance. It was a biker-style jacket—the kind favored by Harley-Davidson riders—emblazoned with an image of an eagle with razor-sharp talons extended. Vấn breathed a sigh of relief. He approached the man:

"Joe Battaglio? My name is Vấn. We spoke on the phone this morning."

Battaglio looked him up and down, his bloodshot eyes—veined and red—betraying the life of crime he led. Coldly, he jerked his chin, signaling for Vấn to sit down:

"What do you want to see me about? I don't have much time!"

Vấn smiled:

"Easy now! Let me order some food first. We can talk while we eat. There’s no need to rush!"

Vấn picked up the menu and placed his order. Joe Battaglio ordered himself a bottle of Budweiser and a steak. He grumbled:

"Just spit it the hell out already! Why go through all this fussy eating and drinking? It’s a waste of time!"

Vấn ignored him, acting as if he hadn't heard a thing. When the food arrived, he ate in silence for a while. Finally, Vấn spoke, keeping his voice low—just loud enough for Battaglio to hear:

"I want you to do a job for me. Once it’s done, you’ll get eight thousand dollars."

Battaglio narrowed his eyes:

"What kind of job? Every job has its price! You have to tell me exactly what it is so I can size it up!"

Vấn reached into his pocket and pulled out a small map and a photograph:

"This is an apartment complex in Garden Grove. I want it burned to the ground—reduced to ashes!"
 
Joe Battaglio looked at the photograph of the apartment complex. He smirked:

"This place looks pretty new! Is it heavily insured?"

Vấn shook his head:

"It’s not my apartment complex. I want it burned down, but you have to leave behind evidence that it was arson—a couple of smashed kerosene bottles or something like that would do. And this, too!"

Vấn pulled a crumpled, charred T-shirt from his briefcase. It had been reduced to a small, singed scrap, yet the lettering "Don’s Hamburger" printed on it was still clearly legible.

Battaglio furrowed his brow:

"You want to burn down this apartment complex and pin the blame on someone else? Just using this T-shirt?"

Vấn nodded:

"That’s all I need! That’s all it takes. The important thing is the 'Don’s Hamburger' lettering. Just make sure the fire doesn't burn that part away—that’s all I ask."

Battaglio asked:

"When do you want to get started?"

"As soon as possible!"

"If you want the job done right—and done fast—you’re going to have to pay more. Eight thousand isn't going to cut it."

"How much do you want?"

"Thirty thousand, minimum! Ten thousand up front, and the rest once the job is finished."

Vấn scowled as he looked at Battaglio. The bastard was trying to shake him down. Frank Rutter had already warned him about Joe Battaglio: don't let him realize you're a rookie. He’ll find every way possible to squeeze you for every penny he can get; however, Rutter had assured him that the guy was highly effective. Any job that landed in his hands went off without a hitch, and he had never once failed a client. You just had to make sure you didn't let him get the upper hand, and—above all—never try to cheat him out of the full amount you’d agreed upon.

Vấn did some quick mental math. According to his inquiries, the going rate for a contract killing in the Los Angeles area wasn't much more than twenty thousand dollars. Arson certainly shouldn't cost more than that! Vấn smiled, looking Battaglio straight in the eye:

"You're asking too much, Joe! I know this business inside out. Frank actually gave me another name, too. I assume you know Carlos Rodriguez?"

Battaglio’s eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets. He gritted his teeth:

"Don't you ever mention that son of a bitch's name to me!"

Vấn nodded. His hunch had been right. Rodriguez was Battaglio’s sworn enemy, and Frank Rutter had advised him to simply use Rodriguez’s name as leverage during negotiations with Battaglio; everything would fall into place.
Vấn pulled an envelope from his pocket. He placed it on the table between himself and Battaglio, then jerked his chin toward him:

"I don't want to waste any more time. My final offer to you is fifteen thousand. This envelope contains five thousand. The remaining ten thousand will be handed over once the job is done. Are you taking the job, or aren't you?"

Vấn feigned impatience, acting as if he were ready to stand up and go see Carlos Rodriguez instead. Battaglio hesitated for only a split second. He snatched the envelope from the table in front of him:

"Alright! I’ll take it! I need a week to scout the location and make all the necessary preparations. The operation will depend on the weather and the security patrol schedule. It should be completed within two weeks at the very latest. Exactly two weeks from today, I’ll meet you right here."

Battaglio glared into Vấn’s eyes, his gaze filled with menace:

"Make sure you bring the rest of the money here in two weeks. I don't like surprises. Nobody who’s ever tried to double-cross me has lived to tell the tale, my friend!"

Vấn felt a flicker of apprehension, yet he maintained a perfectly calm demeanor:

"Rest assured! All I ask is that you handle everything thoroughly. The full amount will be waiting for you in two weeks. Oh—and there’s one thing I want you to remember: As far as we’re concerned, this meeting never happened." "I don't know who you are, and conversely, you don't know who I am. Do you understand that?"

Battaglio gave an arrogant laugh:

"Do you think I'm fresh to the game? You don't need to lecture a seasoned professional like me on such elementary matters. You know exactly what I had to do to build the reputation that got Frank Rutter to recommend me."
 
Vấn remained silent. He extended his hand to shake Joe Battaglio’s, then picked up his briefcase and walked out. He felt a burning sensation on the back of his neck from the gaze of that scoundrel trailing him. Yet, Vấn strove to maintain a natural, unhurried gait—the demeanor of a man long accustomed to such shady, criminal dealings. He felt a sense of relief, having at least completed the first step of his vengeance; yet, something left Vấn feeling unsettled. Was it his conscience? Why should he feel any qualms about this?

Vấn was fully aware that his actions were wicked, illegal, and criminal. But what did that matter to him? His hatred for Lữ had reached its zenith; the desire for retribution had completely consumed his soul. His enemy *must* be punished. The single slap delivered to his own face would be avenged by a hundred slaps delivered to his adversary’s.
 
A vile wretch had brought misery upon his once-tranquil life. Why, then, should he still agonize or feel remorse over abstract notions of good and evil, or the dictates of conscience? The wicked must reap the consequences of their deeds—consequences delivered by yet another act of wickedness. And what revenge does not, at its outset, offer a sweet balm to a heart overflowing with bitterness and the boundless anguish born of the betrayal by a beloved wife and that lover who deserved nothing less than death?

At times, Vấn found himself surprised by his own nature. All his hatred was directed solely at Lữ; Lữ was the sole object of his vengeance. Vấn harbored absolutely no anger toward Uyên. Did he still love Uyên that deeply? Vấn no longer knew. Every ounce of his energy and every thought was devoted to plotting his revenge against Lữ. And what of Uyên? If Lữ were to vanish from both his life and hers, would their life together ever return to the way it once was? Vấn dared not dwell on the thought any further. He silently left the restaurant, got into his car, and headed back onto the 405 to leave Long Beach.

 
Chapter 29
 
Lữ read through the quarterly financial statement for the VietCal Partnership and smiled with satisfaction. All of the partnership’s operations—now belonging solely to him and Uyên—were generating maximum returns that far exceeded their expectations.
 
Lữ recalled the look of astonishment on the face of George Lufkin, the Bank of America Vice President in charge of corporate lending. Lữ now dealt directly with the bank’s highest-ranking officials, no longer having to go through the office of Vấn—Uyên’s husband. Upon reviewing the partnership’s asset statement—which was being used as collateral for an investment to acquire a 300-room hotel situated along the Santa Monica Freeway—Lufkin couldn't help but exclaim in sheer disbelief:

"Your partnership has grown so fast, Lữ! In just two years, your net assets have increased more than fivefold! How on earth did you manage to achieve such rapid success?"

Lữ smiled and replied:

"I haven't done anything different from the other businessmen you meet every day, George! Just hard work and a little bit of luck. That’s all!"

Lufkin shook his head:

"If that were all it took, everyone would be rich! It couldn't possibly be just 'a little bit of luck'! You must possess the golden touch of Midas—where everything you touch turns into solid gold—to have achieved such phenomenal success!"

Lữ simply smiled and offered no further comment. Lufkin had become one of Lữ’s greatest admirers in the business world; and after Lữ had treated him to numerous outings at the city’s most luxurious and exclusive venues, Lufkin had come to consider himself a personal friend. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.
 
For Lữ, securing loans from the bank became increasingly effortless, thanks to his string of consecutive successes. Conversely, Lufkin earned significant points with his superiors, as Lữ’s partnership continued to borrow substantial sums for expansion, thereby generating substantial profits for the bank. Based on the existing assets of the partnership between Lữ and Uyên—which served as collateral for their debts—the bank lent money to Lữ without the slightest hesitation. It was a win-win situation for both parties. And surely, nothing is more precious than a friendship that blossoms when neither side has to bear any financial loss!

Especially when Lữ was willing to foot the bill for Lufkin to enjoy a summer vacation in the Caribbean—accompanied by some of the most beautiful and seductive escorts in Latin America, whom Lữ had hired through a high-end agency in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Lữ mused to himself that perhaps Lufkin was right: there is simply no substitute for possessing the "Midas touch" when doing business in this country.
 
By putting up just 20% of the capital, Lữ found that once a bank had placed its trust in his company, it was more than willing to provide the funds necessary for him to expand. More recently, Lữ needed to contribute only 10% of the capital for Bank of America to finance the remaining 90% of his investments.

Lữ had become the bank’s most valued—and most privileged—client; a status he owed, in part, to Lufkin’s gratitude for having been introduced to such stunning women—women with voluptuous figures, exquisite curves, and sun-kissed skin acquired on the beaches of Rio. Lữ smiled inwardly; what could be more noble in a friendship than sharing and enjoying the company of the world’s most beautiful women together?

Lữ reviewed the list of partnership properties that he and Uyên were currently managing. The shopping center on Bolsa Avenue continued to generate a robust cash flow. Given the current pace of business among the Vietnamese community in the area, he projected that he could raise rental rates by 30% come the beginning of the new year. According to the latest valuation, the shopping center’s market value had already reached two and a half times the amount he had originally paid to acquire it.
 
Meanwhile, the apartment complex in Garden Grove maintained a consistent occupancy rate of at least 95%, generating a cash flow that was double the combined total of its operating expenses and mortgage payments. If he and Uyên wished to sell right now, his partnership would realize a profit of at least 50% on their initial investment. However, Uyên advised him not to be hasty. She calculated that within another year, their profits would double. Furthermore, the California real estate market showed no signs of an imminent downturn.
 
Lữ agreed, though he reminded Uyên of his initial assessment regarding real estate in the region: the market for homes and land in California was nearing its absolute peak. Should any warning signs emerge, he would liquidate all their real estate holdings.
 
"Don't get greedy aiming for 100%, Uyên! 90% is more than enough! If we pull out early, we lock in our profits; if we wait too long, we risk losing everything."

Despite his intuition regarding the instability of the California real estate market, Lữ continued to expand his portfolio by investing in two additional properties. He acquired another shopping mall in Anaheim at a highly favorable price—an opportunity that once again allowed Lữ to demonstrate his "Midas touch." Prior to its sale to Lữ, the shopping mall had a tenant occupancy rate of less than 50%.
 
After Lữ purchased the property and undertook some minor renovations, he successfully secured a lease agreement with Robertson’s Market. With a major supermarket serving as a key "anchor tenant" to drive foot traffic, other businesses flocked to lease space; consequently, Lữ began generating immediate profits through surplus cash flow, while the market value of the shopping mall surged by over 40%.

The hotel situated along the Santa Monica Freeway presented a similar scenario. With 300 rooms, the Ramada-branded hotel had been operating at a loss due to an occupancy rate of less than 60%. After Lữ purchased the property—putting down 10% of the cost and financing the remaining 90% through a bank loan—he tasked Sơn with devising a strategy to attract guests. Sơn reached out to various travel agencies in Taiwan, Hong Kong, Singapore, South Korea, and other rapidly developing Asian nations such as Thailand and Malaysia. 
 
For tourists and trade delegations visiting Los Angeles from these nations, Lu’s hotel became a familiar place to stay—and one that was constantly fully booked, requiring reservations to be made six months to a year in advance. Even Lữ and Sơn themselves were astonished by the success of the Pacific Basin Hotel, and Lữ now plans to acquire a second property to cater to the growing market of Asian travelers visiting Los Angeles.

 
Lữ’s string of successes—driven by his investments in real estate properties—did not make him forget his underlying apprehension regarding the future of that market in California. The bulk of the net assets held by the partnership he shared with Uyên consisted of the appreciated value of the real estate properties he had acquired. This fact left Lữ feeling uneasy. Sơn, too, had noticed Lữ’s anxiety. He remarked:

"If you’re worried that the California real estate market might crash, why don't you pivot in a different direction? There’s nothing better than diversifying—branching out and investing in other types of business ventures."

Lữ asked in return:

"What exactly do you suggest I invest in?"

Sơn replied:

"We’ve just gained some experience with that eggroll company venture. I actually think it would be a great idea for you to invest directly in newly established startups. Given its current financial standing, your partnership with Uyên is more than capable of entering the venture capital market right now!"

Lữ nodded in agreement. His investment in Dragon Eggrolls—the eggroll manufacturing firm—was a source of particular pride for him. He had first taken notice of the company back when he was working at Don Lavitz’s establishment, Don’s Hamburger; he used to drive down to purchase their eggrolls wholesale to resell to customers at the diner—an initiative that had earned him Lavitz’s attention and trust. Dragon Eggrolls was a small-scale operation that produced eggrolls for wholesale distribution to various restaurants and Vietnamese grocery stores throughout Orange County, run entirely by a husband-and-wife team and their children.

After establishing the VietCal partnership, Lữ—recalling the days when he used to visit the facility to pick up eggrolls for Don’s Hamburger—paid the owners a visit and proposed investing capital to expand the business, ultimately offering to acquire the company outright. While retaining the original owners and their family to continue managing operations, Lữ spearheaded an expansion effort: he hired additional staff and invested in automated machinery to significantly accelerate production output.
 
Concurrently, Lữ tasked Sơn with identifying and securing distribution channels within mainstream American grocery store chains across Orange County. Consequently, the company's sales figures skyrocketed. A major American food corporation, Sara Lee, took notice of Lu's eggroll business—Dragon Eggrolls—and proposed acquiring it to expand its operations nationwide.
 
As a result, just over a year later, Lu sold the eggroll company to Sara Lee for more than two million U.S. dollars, netting his partnership a profit of nearly one and a half million. This was a source of immense pride for Lu, validating his keen nose for business opportunities and providing his partnership with ample cash reserves to invest in other ventures.

Lu conceded that Son had a point. Venture capital involves investing in newly established private companies with promising futures—committing capital in exchange for a significant equity stake—with the hope that once the company succeeds and grows robustly, it will go public and trade its shares on Wall Street. The venture capitalists would then reap manifold returns as the company's shares were bought and sold on the stock market; ten-fold or even hundred-fold profits are not uncommon in such scenarios.
 
Lu asked Son in return:

"You suggest we dive into venture capital, but we have to be very selective about the type of company and the specific industry we choose. One slip-up—picking the wrong one—and our money goes right down the drain!"

"Right now, venture capital is primarily targeting two sectors: computing or biotech. You and I are far more knowledgeable about computers, so perhaps we should look into some of the software startups in San Jose. I plan to head up there sometime soon to do some research. I’ve heard that some of our fellow Vietnamese entrepreneurs up there have recently developed some truly impressive software applications for Internet systems. I want to see if there’s any potential to bring their products to market. If it looks promising, investing our venture capital there could turn out to be a massive windfall, Lu!"

"You’re the expert on computers, not me. Go ahead and check it out! We’re currently sitting on a cash surplus of over three million dollars. I don’t want to sink any more money into real estate right now. Pivoting to this new venture could turn out to be a brilliant move." "If we want to really hit the big time, we’ll have to head to Wall Street—that’s where the real opportunities are."

Sơn nodded. He had offered his friend plenty of suggestions in the past, but never before had he seen Lữ agree so quickly. Sơn still harbored a quiet admiration for Lữ’s knack for seizing opportunities—his uncanny ability to sniff out which ventures were profitable and which were not. Lữ had brushed aside several of Sơn’s proposals in the past, and in time, events had proven Lữ right.
 
There truly was a difference between a successful entrepreneur and someone like himself—a mere advisor and assistant. Yet, Sơn felt no envy toward his friend. Each person possessed their own unique talents, their own destiny, and their own life to lead. Lữ possessed a singular gift for business, and Sơn was genuinely happy for his friend—happy for his success.

Sơn spoke up:

"I’m heading down to San José next week. I might stay for about a week to do some research on a few of the startups that have recently sprung up down there. Things here have settled into a steady rhythm now, so I’ve got some time to spare."

Sơn hesitated for a moment, then added just before stepping out the door:

"Hey, Lữ... I don’t mean to pry into your private life, but Miriam called the other day. She had some pretty serious complaints about you. I honestly didn't know what to say."

Lữ grimaced. He felt annoyed, knowing that Miriam must have said something truly outrageous for Sơn to even bring the matter up with him.

"It’s just jealousy again, I bet. What a nuisance! And to think she’d go running to *you* about it, too!"

Sơn studied his friend intently, looking conflicted. He wasn't sure whether or not he should tell Lữ that Miriam was contemplating filing for divorce. But something in Lữ’s eyes made him stop. Everyone has their own life to live. And no matter how close friends might be, there are certain boundaries that should always be respected. He simply clapped Lữ on the shoulder without saying another word, then walked out the door.

 
Chapter 30
 
Lữ angrily snapped the pencil he held in his hand. For several days now, Miriam hadn't spoken a single word to him. She looked at him with the cold indifference of a stranger, ate her meals alone, and went to sleep in a different room. It was as if Lữ no longer existed in this world—and as if she did not wish to be disturbed by his presence. Lữ began to feel irritated by Miriam’s attitude, yet he tried to maintain an air of indifference. The small house had become stifling, filled with an atmosphere as heavy as lead.
 
Lữ knew this situation could not go on forever—and Miriam knew it, too. The previous night, Lữ had deliberately stayed away, only unlocking the door and stepping inside near dawn. Miriam was sitting in the living room, waiting for him. Her face looked as sorrowful as it had on the day of Don Lavitz’s funeral. Lữ looked at her with pity. Was the end of love truly this desolate?

Miriam gazed at him for a moment, then lowered her head and spoke in a voice as soft as a passing breeze:

"I want us to file for divorce."

Although he had anticipated this, Lữ was still slightly taken aback. He had expected Miriam to weep, to hurl insults, or to heap bitter reproaches upon him—not to react with such quiet yet resolute finality. Lữ nodded:

"Have you thought this through carefully?"

Miriam still did not look up. She answered, very quickly:

"Yes."

Lữ sat down in a chair, pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a drag. Since marrying Miriam, Lữ had never smoked inside the house, as she detested the smell of cigarette smoke. But today was different. Everything had begun to change. Miriam watched the smoke curling upward, and she understood the significance of that act. Her vision suddenly blurred. Was it the smoke, or was it Lữ’s actions? Perhaps it was both. Miriam spoke again, her voice beginning to catch in her throat:

"I’ve already spoken with Attorney Leibovitz. He will handle the paperwork. He said that if you have your own private attorney, he would speak with them."

Lữ remained silent, lost in thought. Miriam had been deliberating this for days; it was not merely a momentary outburst of anger over the fact that Lữ had stayed out all night. He had expected Miriam to demand a divorce, and—truth be told—he even hoped she would be the one to say it. But what specific catalyst had finally compelled Miriam to make the decision right now?
 
Lữ had stayed out all night on numerous occasions. Nor did he make any further effort to conceal the cloying, heavy scent of Uyên’s perfume that clung to his clothes. Miriam had known of his infidelity for quite some time, yet she had remained silent. What, then, was the final drop that caused the cup to overflow? Lữ was curious, and he was determined to find out exactly what it was.

"Why do you assume I would agree to a divorce?"

Miriam looked at him—her expression a blend of astonishment and the first stirrings of rage.

"How can you even say that? You’ve backed me into a corner, forcing me to act exactly as you wish—what more could you possibly want?"

Her voice turned sharp and biting. Lữ knew she was about to reveal the specific incident that had driven her to the decision to divorce. He feigned ignorance, deliberately stoking Miriam’s anger.

"Why are you saying such outrageous things? What exactly have I done to warrant such harsh words?"

Miriam could no longer maintain her composure. All the resolutions she had silently made to herself—regarding how she would handle things before Lữ returned—suddenly dissolved. She spoke, trembling with fury:

"Wasn't it *you* who sent these photographs?"

Miriam hurled a stack of photos directly at Lữ. They were snapshots of Lữ and Uyên embracing in front of the Holiday Inn. Miriam had spent days agonizing over who could have sent those pictures. And she had finally arrived at a conclusion: Lữ himself had hired someone to take the photos and send them to her!
 
It was a brazen, blatant way of making sure she knew the truth—all so that she would be the one forced to ask for the divorce! She surmised that Lữ did not want to be the one to broach the subject of divorce first. And what better way to handle it than to let Miriam in on the truth and let her take matters into her own hands?

Lữ picked up a few photographs to examine, and his blood suddenly boiled. Someone was trying to sabotage him. A divorce from Miriam was an inevitability—something bound to happen sooner or later. But for an outside hand to meddle in the affair and orchestrate events specifically to harm him—that was a different matter entirely.
 
Lữ vowed to unmask the culprit, come what may. The person seeking his ruin would pay a steep price for such audacity. He would hunt down this enemy lurking in the shadows and eliminate them immediately. Lữ sensed danger drawing near; he realized he needed to be more vigilant than ever.

Lữ looked at Miriam. Her face was flushed crimson with rage. Her thick, dark eyebrows were knitted together in a furious frown. Lữ had always been partial to women with thick, bold eyebrows—a sign, in his eyes, of a robust and passionate nature—and he was suddenly struck by a sense of miscalculation. Neglecting Miriam—pushing her to the point where she herself demanded a divorce—had perhaps not been the wisest course of action. Worse still was the fact that an outside party had intervened.
 
Lữ shook his head—partly to himself, and partly in response to Miriam:

"No! I have no idea who took these photos or who sent them!"

He continued speaking, as if afraid that either he or Miriam might suddenly have a change of heart:

"If you want a divorce, so be it. I’ll have someone speak with Leibovitz to handle the paperwork."

Miriam burst into loud, audible sobs. Lữ watched as she turned her head away, trying to hide the tears streaming down her cheeks, and he felt a flicker of bewilderment. Could the dissolution of love truly be such a sorrowful thing? Yet, what must happen will happen; everything, eventually, comes to an end. He clicked his tongue in mild exasperation, then turned and headed upstairs to change his clothes.

° ° °

Lữ felt a strange duality—at once burdened and relieved. It was as if he harbored two distinct personalities within himself. He pitied Miriam, who sat slumped in the living room below, weeping in solitude, and he felt like a truly despicable wretch. He had used Miriam as a stepping stone for his own advancement, a means to amass wealth. Although Miriam’s assets were strictly her own—funds he had neither touched nor depleted—it was precisely by leveraging her standing that he had secured the bank loans necessary to launch his business and climb the social ladder.

She loved him with genuine sincerity—and it was this very fact that burdened Lữ with a sense of guilt and vexation. Lữ harbored no feelings that he could honestly label as "love." Whether toward Miriam or even toward Uyên, he felt nothing more than physical arousal and carnal desire—nothing else. And once the novelty had faded, leaving behind only tedium, why linger any longer? Miriam had entered his life merely as a passing phase—like a piece of forbidden fruit: a white woman—beautiful, alluring—yet one he had consumed to satiety, leaving behind nothing but the mundane familiarity of habit.

She had paved the way for his initial strides within this new society—a world where material success reigned supreme. He had now moved past that chapter of his life; why, then, should he remain entangled in hesitation or harbor regrets over the dissolution of a woman’s love—a love that had been misplaced and bestowed upon the wrong man?

Lữ stepped into the bathroom, his mind feeling as heavy as lead. The hot water cascading over his head and shoulders offered him a fleeting moment of relief. Why must people suffer so profoundly over love—much like Miriam, sitting alone in the darkness downstairs? What true significance did love hold, beyond a fleeting spark of attraction between two individuals drawn to one another physically, or perhaps sharing a common interest?
 
That was the extent of Lữ’s understanding of love; and inwardly, he continued to scoff at those who wept, grieved, and agonized over the wreckage of a broken romance. Lữ never understood, nor did he have any desire to find out. They were the spiritually weak, Lữ concluded—and he believed he was right.
 
Life invariably divided humanity into two camps: the strong and the weak, the successful and the failures, the oppressors and the downtrodden. Love, perhaps, was a trait reserved exclusively for the latter—it had no place for men like him. Why, then, did he continue to trouble himself over Miriam’s suffering?

 
Chapter 31
 
Lữ continued to snap a few more pencils on his desk before picking up the phone to call the Barnes law firm regarding the divorce papers between himself and Miriam. Leibovitz—Miriam’s lawyer—was a wily old fox; Lữ could not afford to let his guard down for a single moment. A divorce was like a war, with each side striving to inflict as much damage as possible upon the adversary. Lữ currently possessed a substantial fortune, and he needed a top-notch lawyer to protect his interests.

What he had not anticipated was Leibovitz’s formal notification that the only assets subject to division in this divorce were those Lữ had earned over the past few years—not Miriam’s assets. Although the value of Miriam’s inheritance from Don Lavitz had appreciated to twenty million dollars since the day she received it, that fortune remained her separate property. Lữ had absolutely no claim to it, thanks to the prenuptial agreement signed before their wedding—a condition old Don had insisted upon before agreeing to give Miriam’s hand in marriage.

Conversely, the assets Lữ had earned since marrying Miriam were considered joint property—belonging to both of them—rather than solely to Lữ, as he had mistakenly assumed! This was despite the fact that every penny was the fruit of his own hard labor; Miriam had merely provided the credit standing he needed to secure bank loans.
 
Suddenly, a wave of rage washed over Lữ, making his blood boil. Leibovitz had informed him that he intended to demand—on Miriam’s behalf—a full half of Lữ’s equity in the VietCal Partnership. This meant Lữ would be forced to sell off nearly all of the company’s real estate holdings to raise the cash to pay Miriam, or else sign over ownership of a portion of those properties directly to her, until her share amounted to exactly half!

Lữ had made inquiries in many quarters regarding the search for a lawyer to handle his divorce, and every source had unanimously identified Barnes as the most renowned and capable attorney in Southern California. That, however, meant Lữ was about to spend a fortune on legal fees. Barnes promised him that he would exhaust every avenue to minimize the share allocated to Miriam—the less, the better. "As far as a lawyer's conscience allows!" he laughed, speaking with a tone of self-mockery and amusement at the ironic humor of the remark.

Lữ scrutinized James Barnes from head to toe, assessing the man’s character; he immediately recognized Barnes as a schemer—cunning, deceitful, and capable of turning ruthless at a moment's notice. Perhaps this was precisely the lawyer he needed to counter the attorneys from the Leibovitz firm—those bloodthirsty sharks who, having sniffed out Lữ’s vulnerability, were now swarming in to pick apart the assets he had spent years of arduous labor building. He turned to Barnes and asked:

"Do you think there’s any way to fold Miriam’s personal assets into the general division of property?"

Barnes shook his head:

"That’s extremely difficult. You signed a prenuptial agreement stating that any assets owned by either party prior to the marriage remain that individual’s separate property. There’s simply no getting around that."

Lữ pressed the point:

"But surely, the fact that I managed her restaurants—thereby significantly increasing the value of her assets—must count for something? That appreciation in value ought to be considered community property!"

Barnes nodded thoughtfully:

"Possibly. Miriam’s assets were valued at sixteen million before the marriage; now, according to my estimates, they exceed twenty million. We can certainly bring that four-million-dollar difference to the negotiating table. The challenge will be countering Leibovitz, who will undoubtedly argue that the assets haven't appreciated in value at all—but I’ll find a way."

Lữ continued:

"And what about my current business assets? Do you see any grounds to argue that Miriam has no claim to a share of those?"

Barnes replied:

"That’s a lost cause. Any income you’ve earned since the wedding is considered community property; there is absolutely no way to exempt it. The only option is to try and reduce the amount you have to pay out." "I heard you mention that after your business partner passed away, his share of the company was split equally between you and your other partner—is that correct?"

Lữ replied:

"You’re right. According to the original agreement we made when we first founded the company, the share belonging to Triệu Tôn—the deceased partner—was to be divided equally between Uyên and myself. However, the paperwork hasn't been fully finalized yet. May I ask why you’re inquiring about this?"

Barnes laughed heartily:

"Can't you figure it out? If you want to avoid paying a large settlement to Miriam, simply don't accept the share Triệu Tôn left to you! Find a way to reach a private, informal agreement with your business partner—that woman, Uyên—so that she takes full possession of Triệu Tôn's share for the time being. Then, once your divorce is finalized, you and she can settle accounts between yourselves!"

Lữ was momentarily taken aback, but he immediately realized that Barnes was right. The man was certainly worth every penny. There really is a difference when you hire a top-notch lawyer; he had instantly devised a solution Lữ hadn't even considered. At the very least, this strategy could save him from having to split another two or three million dollars with Miriam! But that still wasn't enough. Lữ pressed on:

"Are there any other ways to reduce the amount of assets I have to hand over to Miriam?"

Barnes looked Lữ directly in the eye:

"There are plenty of other ways! The only catch is that they aren't exactly—shall we say—legal. I am not at liberty to instruct you to engage in criminal activity."

He narrowed his eyes and gave a sly, knowing smile:

"My conscience simply wouldn't allow it! I’m afraid I must beg your indulgence on this matter, Mr. Lữ."

Lữ smiled back:

"Just tell me anyway! Let's simply pretend you're telling me a story about someone else entirely—not about my divorce case at all!"

Barnes pondered for a moment, then finally spoke:

"I had a client a few years back who found himself in a situation very similar to yours. The old man didn't want to hand over any money to the young wife who had been cuckolding him. So, he went to Las Vegas to gamble—and proceeded to blow through several million dollars, forcing him to sell off his entire estate. Naturally, when the divorce case went to court, he didn't have a penny to his name.
 
His wife, expecting to receive a share of the assets, ended up not getting a single cent. Once the divorce was finalized, the old guy was flush with cash again—just like before. I heard he was involved with the Mafia in Las Vegas, and they had orchestrated a gambling scheme to help him hide his assets. Of course, I’m not suggesting that you do the same!"
 

 
Lữ nodded:

"You’re right! That would be illegal. I have no intention of doing anything of the sort!"

Lữ realized that the glowing recommendations he had heard about this lawyer, James Barnes, were by no means exaggerated. And Barnes was well worth his hourly fee of over nine hundred dollars. You get what you pay for! Barnes had opened Lữ’s eyes to a host of strategies for safeguarding his assets. With just a few pointers from him, Lữ had already saved several million dollars in his divorce proceedings against Miriam!

However, saving a few million dollars—money he wouldn't have to split with Miriam—still meant he would lose a portion of his wealth in this divorce settlement. And that was something Lữ simply could not accept. Lữ knew that Miriam didn't need the money; she had never cared about material wealth. Her demand for a division of assets—made at the behest of Leibovitz, that cunning old lawyer who happened to be a friend of her father’s—was nothing more than an act of vengeance against him.
 
She had pinpointed Lữ’s greatest vulnerability as a means to torment him—to make him realize that the price for abandoning her and causing her such pain was the loss of a vast fortune: fully half of the wealth he had toiled so hard to build. And in this calculation, Miriam had been absolutely spot-on. What could possibly drive Lữ to greater fury and frenzy than watching that old lawyer smirk as he handed him the asset valuation report—along with the demand, signed by Miriam, for half of his fortune?

Lữ finally recognized the error he had made in pushing Miriam to the point where she demanded a divorce. He had been far too complacent and had grossly underestimated Miriam’s capacity to strike back. Lữ had craved his freedom because, truth be told, he had grown utterly weary of Miriam. His empire had been built; his fortune secured. Lữ no longer needed Miriam—or her capital—to fuel his business ventures.
 
His sexual desire for Miriam had grown as insipid as a forgotten glass of cold water—as worn-out as a threadbare shirt, or a pair of shoes with soles worn thin. Uyên offered him a far greater thrill—the intoxicating allure of a clandestine affair—and he felt an urgent need to reclaim his freedom from Miriam. Lữ knew full well that what he shared with Uyên was nothing that could be called "love"—not the flowery, sentimental love endlessly droned about in books and melodramatic literature—but rather, pure, unadulterated sex.

Yet, Uyên was vastly superior to Miriam! Perhaps Asian women in general—and Vietnamese women in particular—may not possess the same sexual openness or overt allure as their white counterparts; yet, by some law of compensation, when an Asian woman *is* passionate—when she is ardent in her sexuality—that passion and ardor leave white women far behind. After returning from nights of intimacy with Uyên, Lữ found he had absolutely no desire left to sleep with Miriam; he realized he could not drag this charade out any longer. He wanted his freedom back—for himself!

And then, Lữ realized just how profoundly mistaken he had been. Divorcing Miriam inflicted far more damage upon him than he had ever anticipated. Causing Miriam such anguish that she sought to exact revenge upon him was an act of sheer folly—a gross miscalculation. Lữ realized with bitter irony that he possessed the talent and acumen to handle any challenge in business, to navigate the cutthroat struggles of the male-dominated world; yet, his dealings with women were riddled with glaring flaws! Lữ had failed to foresee Miriam’s reaction, and he reproached himself for having acted with such haste.

Nothing, in truth, stood in the way of his continuing his affair with Uyên—or with any other woman of loose morals. All he needed to have done was handle Miriam with a little more finesse—to lie to her with greater nonchalance, without getting bogged down in foolish questions about the necessity of maintaining the deception.
 
For what did Miriam truly desire, other than for him to simply keep lying to her—to allow her to continue their life as husband and wife, even if that life was nothing more than a cold, hollow shell? He had failed to grasp that reality, and Lữ found himself growing increasingly resentful as he realized he was paying a steep price for his own lack of foresight.

Lữ’s fury mounted with every passing moment. He felt an urgent need to take action—to vent his rage and alleviate the seething resentment he harbored toward both himself and Miriam. His thoughts turned to the candid photographs taken of him and Uyên outside the Holiday Inn—the very images that had prompted Miriam to demand an immediate divorce. Acting like a man devoid of reason, he had hastily agreed to her terms, and now the full extent of the damage was beginning to manifest. Lữ’s anger intensified further as he realized he had walked blindly—eyes wide shut—straight into a trap laid by his adversary.

The person seeking his ruin had merely accelerated a process that, sooner or later, he would have undertaken anyway; yet, the thought that his enemy was now gloating over the success of his scheme drove Lữ to the brink of madness. He had to identify the mastermind behind this plot immediately so he could exact his retribution. Lữ felt a momentary sense of relief as his self-directed anger shifted its focus onto an external enemy. But he would find him—and that man would be made to pay a price a hundred, a thousand times over for his malicious machinations!

 
Chapter 32
 
Battaglio gazed up at the pitch-black, starless, and moonless sky, smiling with satisfaction. He had chosen the absolute best spot within the apartment complex to carry out his work. This particular corner abutted a vacant warehouse—empty for months and currently under foreclosure—which meant it was completely dark. The apartments in this section were unrented and deserted, ensuring there was no foot traffic—an ideal setting for Battaglio’s operation.
 
He began dousing the walls on both sides with gasoline, splashing it liberally over the wooden doorframe above as well. A long, gasoline-soaked cloth fuse was unspooled outward toward the grassy lawn; from his jacket pocket, Battaglio pulled out a T-shirt and tossed it a considerable distance away from the end of the soaked fuse—far enough that the flames wouldn't reach it. The shirt—only two-thirds intact and already singed from a previous fire—bore a printed inscription across the chest: "Don’s Hamburger."

Battaglio muttered a curse under his breath. He had a bad feeling about this. The Asian man who had hired him for the job had insisted—as a condition for paying the remainder of their agreed-upon fee—that Battaglio leave both the T-shirt and a gas can behind at the scene. Battaglio needed the money, so he had taken the job, but something about it felt off.
 
He had torched buildings a few times before—usually for stingy Jewish landlords in Watts looking to collect insurance payouts—but he had always staged the fires to look like electrical faults or accidents caused by mischievous black kids playing with cigarettes. Never before had he set a fire and deliberately left behind incriminating evidence the way he was doing now. Battaglio could smell danger in the air, but he was in a desperate financial bind. He owed a crack dealer two thousand dollars, and the dealer had threatened to kill him if the debt wasn't settled within the week.

Battaglio clicked his tongue in annoyance. He would deal with whatever trouble might arise later; right now, he just needed to finish this job so he could collect the rest of his money from that tight-fisted, rat-faced Asian guy. Once he had settled up with the black dealer, he would take whatever cash was left over, pack his bags, and skip town for Miami. Life in Los Angeles had become too difficult; he needed to find a new place to try his luck. Besides, setting a house on fire and leaving behind incriminating evidence like this—the best thing to do is to skip town, and fast!

° ° °

The ringing of the phone startled Lữ awake. He was drenched in sweat. He had just emerged from a terrifying nightmare, and his heart was still pounding uncontrollably. Lữ raised a hand to rub his eyes and glanced at the clock. Three in the morning. Who on earth would be calling him at this hour? Sơn’s voice on the other end of the line was laced with urgency.

"Lữ? Is that you? I’ve been calling for ages—you’re finally up. The Garden Grove apartment complex is on fire. Get over here, now!"

Lữ snapped fully awake:

"What? How could it catch fire? Have the firefighters arrived yet?"

Sơn replied:

"They have! They’re the ones who called me to let me know! I’m already on my way there! You need to leave right now!"

Lữ hurriedly threw on his clothes and rushed out to his car. Disaster had begun to strike. He could sense it, and his body felt as if it were burning up. His heart was racing, and Lữ had to whisper to himself to regain his composure. He had enjoyed a streak of good luck for the past several years. Now, the time had come to face misfortune—for no one stays lucky forever. Lữ took a deep breath, and he felt his old arrogance—his self-assurance—return. He trusted in his own ability to handle whatever came his way.

Lữ pulled his car to a halt right up against the police barricade and gazed at his apartment complex. Flames were soaring sky-high. Four fire trucks were clustered together, their hoses blasting water onto the blaze. Firefighters scrambled frantically, raising a ladder against an apartment unit that the flames were rapidly closing in on.
 
Lữ looked up. A woman, cradling a small child, was leaning out of a window—waving her arms wildly and screaming at the top of her lungs. Two firefighters were already scaling the ladder to bring the woman and the child down to safety. Lữ stepped closer and saw Sơn running toward him. His friend’s hair was disheveled—he hadn't even had time to comb it—and his face was etched with panic. Lữ tried to calm his friend down:

"Slow down, Sơn! How many units have burned down so far?"

Sơn threw up his hands in exasperation:

"More than twenty! The fire department says they have four trucks on the scene, but that’s not enough; they’ve had to call in two more, which are on their way. They say it was definitely arson—there’s a strong smell of gasoline everywhere, and they can’t seem to fully extinguish the flames!"

Lữ frowned:

"Arson? Have the investigators arrived yet?"

Sơn nodded:

"They’re here! I just finished speaking with them. They said the fire is still too intense for them to conduct an immediate inspection, but they’re certain someone set it deliberately. We’re in deep trouble, Lữ."

Lữ remained silent. Arson investigators typically show up for any major fire, but arriving this early—and being so categorical that it was a deliberate act—made him uneasy. Was there something shady going on here?
 
Lữ asked Sơn:

"Where are they standing, Sơn? I want to speak with them."

Sơn raised his hand to point:

"Over in that corner!"

Lữ walked toward a small group of people hunched over the grass near the first apartment unit that had caught fire. A uniformed police officer stepped forward to stop him. Lữ spoke:

"I am the owner of this apartment complex. Please let me speak with the officer in charge here."

A man in plain clothes approached them. He looked Lữ up and down, from head to toe, and said:

"You’re the owner? I have a few questions for you."

Lữ said nothing. The investigator’s insolent tone annoyed him, but he forced himself to keep his composure. His instincts told him he needed to be extremely cautious. This fire was no ordinary incident. His complex had likely been set ablaze by an enemy seeking to harm him. Anything was possible. And he certainly couldn't afford to lose his temper over the rude attitude of the investigator standing right in front of him.

Lữ nodded. He asked:

"Excuse me—who exactly am I speaking with?"

The investigator straightened his posture:

"Steve Wesley." Special Police Investigation: Arson!

Wesley extended his hand to shake Lữ's. He spoke in a more conciliatory tone:

"We just discovered this gas can, so we can state with certainty that this was a premeditated act of arson—not an accidental fire. Furthermore, we found this T-shirt nearby. Do you know who this shirt belongs to?"

He held up the T-shirt for Lữ to see. Lữ glanced at it, and his heart skipped several beats. The lettering—"Don’s Hamburger"—seemed to leap right out at him. Lữ froze, but he immediately strove to regain his composure. Hundreds of questions and complications flashed before his eyes. His mind raced. Which enemy was trying to frame him? How would he deal with a piece of evidence that pointed the finger directly at him? Lữ made an instant decision and looked Steve Wesley straight in the eye:

"No! I have no idea who that shirt belongs to!"

Wesley opened his mouth to ask another question, but Lữ cut him off immediately:

"Are you absolutely certain this was a case of premeditated arson? I apologize, but I need to have my lawyer present before I can answer any further questions."

Wesley paused. He studied Lữ with a probing, appraising gaze. After a moment, he finally spoke:

"Very well. That is your right."

He handed Lu a business card:

"I’ll need to ask you a few more questions tomorrow morning at 9:00 AM. With your lawyer present, of course—if that is what you wish."

Lữ took the card Wesley offered and slipped it into his shirt pocket. He would indeed need a lawyer to represent him in connection with the fire at the apartment complex. His enemy had deliberately left behind the gas can and the T-shirt bearing the "Don’s Hamburger" name in an attempt to pin the arson charge—specifically, the role of the mastermind—on Lữ himself.
 
California was currently in the grip of an arson epidemic, with property owners frequently setting fire to their own buildings to collect insurance payouts. Lieutenant Steve Wesley—the first investigator on the scene—would undoubtedly assume that Lữ was the culprit. And Lữ needed a criminal defense attorney to handle this case.
 
Lữ glanced toward the apartment complex. The flames had begun to subside as fire trucks poured water onto the blaze in torrents. Two more trucks had just arrived, and the fire now appeared to be under control. He estimated that more than thirty units had been gutted. He wondered—had anyone perished? Lữ shuddered! He would be in far deeper trouble if anyone had lost their life in this fire.
 
His enemies would rub their hands together in glee if, by some misfortune, an elderly person or a child had been trapped within those flames. The crime of arson was grave enough as it was; but causing the death of others by fire—how infinitely heavier would that charge be? If he wasn't careful, he could easily be convicted and left to rot in prison over this matter!

Lữ turned his gaze back to the police lieutenant, Steve Wesley. The officer was staring intently at him, his look probing and inquisitive—sniffing around like a hound catching the scent of prey, taking obvious pleasure in detecting the confusion and fear on the face of the hunted. Wesley curled his lip into a sneer; the corners of his mouth lifted slowly, deliberately—as if hoisted by a fishhook—revealing a distinct cruelty.

"If I were in your shoes, I’d hire a damn good lawyer."

Lữ frowned. He did not take kindly to being threatened by anyone—not even by government officials. He spoke, his voice cold as ice; whatever trace of confusion had flickered across his face moments earlier vanished in an instant:

"Naturally. You hardly need to tell me that."

He turned his back and walked away, offering Wesley no handshake. The officer was already prejudiced against him and rife with suspicion; there was no point in Lữ trying to curry favor with such a detestable cop. His primary objective now was to find a skilled attorney to handle the police investigation—one clearly bent on framing him.
 
Furthermore, he had to immediately unmask the shadowy enemy who had masterminded this plot; there was no time to lose. Lữ nodded to himself. In truth, finding the person who set the fire to frame him would resolve everything. It shouldn't be too difficult! Lữ thought to himself.

He approached Sơn, who was standing nearby talking to a group of police officers and firefighters:

"Sơn! Could you handle things here for me? I'm heading out."

Sơn nodded, looking at his friend. Lữ’s face was taut—stretched tight like a drawn bowstring poised to release its arrow. His gaze was cold, dangerous, and fierce—just as it had been the day Sơn spoke to him about Triệu Tôn. Sơn knew Lữ had reached a decision of some kind, and he had no desire to know anything more. There were certain things his friend did that Sơn preferred not to get involved in; the greater the distance he could keep, the better.

"Go on ahead—don't give it another thought," Sơn said. "I can handle everything here just fine."

 
Chapter 33
 
Lữ had considered using Barnes—the lawyer who handled his divorce—but he immediately dismissed the idea. These lawyers specializing in divorce typically lacked expertise in criminal law, and he needed a different attorney—one skilled in criminal defense. That morning, Lữ spent over two hours making calls to various places to gather information; ultimately, he learned that the firm of Holmes, Vickens & Berry was the premier criminal defense team in Southern California.
 
The firm’s offices were situated in one of Los Angeles’s most upscale districts: Century City. Lữ called to schedule an appointment, and by noon that day, he was seated in the reception area of ​​Holmes, Vickens & Berry, located on the 25th floor of Century City Plaza.

Lữ was taken aback when the firm’s attorney opened the door to usher him into the conference room. He had expected to meet an elderly lawyer—or at the very least, someone with salt-and-pepper hair—but that was not the case. The person inviting him in was a young female attorney, appearing to be around thirty years old. Moreover, she was a woman of Asian descent, with long, jet-black hair flowing down her back. Lữ was even more surprised when she spoke:

"Hello, Mr. Lữ! Mr. Trần Lữ! I am Kim—an attorney with this firm. Please, have a seat."

She turned to address the secretary standing nearby:

"Would you please ask Attorney Charles Berry to come over here to meet with Mr. Trần Lữ?"

Noticing the look of surprise—and evident displeasure—on Lữ’s face, she immediately spoke up before he could voice a question:

"I apologize for not informing you of this beforehand. I work alongside Charles Berry, the head of our criminal defense team here."

Lữ had never expected to encounter a Vietnamese attorney within a top-tier California law firm such as this. Even more surprising was the fact that she was a woman—and a beautiful, captivating woman at that! His look of displeasure vanished in an instant; Lữ suddenly felt a surge of interest and curiosity toward the beautiful young female lawyer standing before him:

"Not at all! The pleasure is entirely mine! To be represented by a lawyer who is as talented as she is beautiful—that is a stroke of great fortune!"

She smiled—a cheerful, quick, and self-assured smile—the smile of a woman who knew she was beautiful, alluring, and possessed the talent to command admiration.

"You certainly know how to flatter! I hope I won't disappoint you. Charles Berry and I will be representing you jointly, though I will be the one interacting with you most frequently."

Attorney Charles Berry—whose name appeared on the gold plaque outside the firm’s entrance—opened the door and stepped inside. Berry fit the archetype of a renowned and successful lawyer exactly as Lữ had imagined him: a man of commanding presence and composed demeanor, with a head of nearly pure white hair and a face etched with wrinkles, yet still radiating the keen intellect and sharp acuity of a seasoned veteran of the legal profession.
 
Berry shook Lữ’s hand and smiled as he spoke:

"So, you’ve met our Attorney Kim? She is the youngest—and indeed the most beautiful—partner in our entire firm!"

Lữ could not conceal his admiration. To attain the rank of partner in a firm boasting hundreds of lawyers—such as Holmes, Vickens & Berry—at an age barely approaching thirty, as she had, was no ordinary feat. And to be beautiful, too! Lữ had nearly forgotten the very reason he had come to see a lawyer in the first place. He silently cursed himself inwardly. How could a man as seasoned in the ways of women as he was allow himself to be so easily captivated?

But then again, Kim was no ordinary beauty. Her beauty lacked the mature ripeness of Uyên, and the classical Western allure of Miriam; instead, it was a blend of natural erotic appeal and a distinctly Asian reserve—a quality in which sexual provocation was artfully masked by an outward demeanor of elegance, sophistication, talent, intellect, and professionalism.

Lữ smirked. He envisioned Kim as forbidden fruit, wondering just how sweet she would taste if he were to sink his teeth into that seductive, forbidden prize.

Charles Berry smiled as well. The elderly lawyer, possessing a keen and discerning eye, could sense the palpable, electric tension crackling between the two young Asians present in the room. To him, Kim embodied the very essence of youth—a breath of fresh air that revitalized this aging law firm, a place where money and the lust for power had transformed every office into a gladiatorial arena of life and death, leaving only glorious victors and vanquished losers stripped of everything but their shame.

Kim had defused countless disputes within the firm, thanks to both her diplomatic finesse and her captivating beauty. The collective talents of the firm’s lawyers—both young and old—were frequently channeled into courting and catering to her, causing them to temporarily set aside their petty grudges and animosities.
 
She also brought in a wealth of major clients—corporations and enterprises with deals worth hundreds of millions of dollars or more—securing them for the firm through her diplomatic prowess in dealing with owners and executives. Berry sometimes found himself wondering which factor—her talent or her beauty—was the more critical element behind Kim’s success in the Los Angeles legal world. Perhaps making such a distinction was unnecessary. What truly mattered was that Kim generated substantial profits for the law firm that bore his name. And that, in itself, was more than enough.
 
Charles Berry invited Lữ to sit down and got straight to the point:

"I understand that you have come to our office regarding the police investigation into the apartment fire in Garden Grove. What can we do for you?"
 
Lữ looked at Kim. She smiled at him. And once again, Lữ suddenly completely forgot the reason he had come there. Life’s troubles suddenly seemed meaningless. Kim was so beautiful! Her smile was radiant, and her eyes sparkled like stars. Lữ stood entranced, failing to answer Berry’s question. The old lawyer cleared his throat. Lữ snapped back to reality and replied:

"I believe the police suspect me of masterminding the arson at the apartment complex in order to claim insurance money. They want to take my statement tomorrow morning. I need legal counsel to assist me with this matter."

Kim asked in return:

"Do they have any evidence to warrant such suspicion?"

Lữ shook his head:

"I’m not entirely sure. They did show me a charred T-shirt found near the gasoline can used to start the fire. The shirt bore the name of the hamburger shop I used to manage."

Berry mused:

"That isn't necessarily too alarming. This case sounds as though someone is trying to frame you—setting fire to the building specifically to pin the crime on you. The police investigators aren't so foolish that they wouldn't recognize that possibility. The trouble is, there are currently so many cases of arson committed for insurance fraud where the police lack the evidence to charge anyone. They might act recklessly—turning a blind eye to the nuances—and use this case to demonstrate their own effectiveness. And you could very well end up becoming a scapegoat!"

Lữ asked:

"So, what should I do now?"

Berry replied:

"We need to learn more about you. The people you interact with or are acquainted with. Anyone who might have suffered losses as a result of business dealings with you. Any enemies you might have in your private life. In short, anything that might help prove that an adversary is attempting to frame you. Kim will give you the contact information for a private detective agency we frequently work with. She will accompany you to the police station tomorrow to assist you during the questioning."
 
Lữ smiled. That was exactly what he had been waiting for. Every cloud has a silver lining. Had it not been for that troublesome and messy arson incident, how else would he have met—and gotten to know—Kim: this young, beautiful, passionate, and utterly captivating lawyer? Life, it seemed, was still full of beauty after all!
 
Berry asked him a few more questions, then excused himself, leaving Lữ and Kim alone in the conference room. Lữ gazed at Kim in silence, and she returned his look. A flicker of unease crossed her face. Why did she feel so flustered? A lawyer as bold and dynamic as she—one who navigated the upper echelons of American society with such confidence—should not be losing her composure before a client as ordinary as any of the hundreds of others she had represented.
 
And a fellow countryman, at that! Kim was surprised at her own reaction. She gave a slight shake of her head and regained her composure. She spoke, her voice instantly reverting to a tone of professional detachment, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred:

"I need to gather a few more details to help you prepare for when the police take your statement tomorrow."

Lữ seized the opportunity immediately:

"I imagine that’s going to take quite a bit of time. Would you allow me to treat you to a meal, Ms. Kim? We could discuss this matter over dinner. Besides, it would give me a chance to get to know you better! Perhaps I ought to be thanking that arsonist, after all!"

Kim smiled. It had been a long time since she had heard a compliment as smooth and charming as the one offered by this man, Lữ. The brash, boorish lawyers she encountered at work or in the courtroom—as well as the corporate executives she knew—would typically turn to crude, grating lewdness after uttering barely half a sentence.
 
Kim suddenly felt a pleasant flutter of delight. This man certainly knew how to turn a phrase. She smiled:

"Yes! Thank you very much. But let me remind you: this remains strictly a professional engagement!"

Lữ nodded. Whether it was "professional" or not was of no concern to him. Lữ felt a thrill of excitement, much like a young teenager on his very first date. But no—that wasn't quite right! Lữ had never dated or had a romantic partner during his teenage years. Had he ever actually loved anyone at all? Lữ fell silent for a moment. What had happened to him?