Chapter 2 Tuyến picked up the phone sitting on the secretary's desk and dialed. Quang’s office was nearby; it would be convenient to invite him to lunch and discuss business at the same time.
"Put me through to Lawyer Quang." On the other end, Quang’s receptionist answered in English, asking him to hold. Tuyến cursed under his breath. Doing business with Vietnamese people—yet putting on airs like this! Acting as if they were a high-end law firm in Beverly Hills! Quang’s voice sounded curt as he picked up the receiver:
"Who is this?" "Who else but yours truly? Come meet me at Tây Sơn Phở for lunch. I’ve got some big business to discuss with you." Tuyến left Lệ’s office and drove two blocks down to Tây Sơn Phở. He couldn't even count how many *phở* shops and Vietnamese restaurants had sprung up along Bolsa Avenue. But this particular *phở* shop was a favorite for both him and Quang. It evoked memories of the old street-vendor *phở* stalls in Hanoi—back when they were just little kids, craving every single strand of noodles and every spoonful of rich, savory broth.
The shop was packed at lunchtime, even on a weekday. Outside, a dozen "armchair pundits"—the *thầy bàn*—sat on long benches, noisily debating current events. Two old men, their hair almost entirely gray, stood up with beet-red faces, gesticulating wildly and arguing at the top of their lungs. Tuyến smiled. He steered clear of the heated debaters and opened the door to the shop to wait for Quang.
He had grown accustomed to the sight of idlers gathering outside the *phở* shop to argue about everything under the sun; it no longer bothered him the way it once had. Yet, the amusing nature of the term *thầy bàn*—"armchair pundits"—always caught his attention, and he found a certain joy in it whenever he visited.
Sometimes, Tuyến would even run into acquaintances he hadn't seen since his days in Saigon thirty years ago. These older men—who once commanded great authority or held high-ranking positions in the South—now lived here dependent on their children or government welfare. Their sole pastime was gathering outside busy *phở* shops or inside shopping malls along Bolsa Avenue to discuss current affairs. They were known as "armchair pundits," each clutching a Vietnamese or American newspaper every morning, unfolding it to read and then launching into debates.
Arguments broke out frequently; sometimes, tempers flared into physical brawls—resulting in bloody heads and the need for ambulances to rush them to the hospital. Tuyến found the sight of these men gathering seven days a week both comical and pitiful, yet he understood their state of mind. What else was there to life? He shook his head, thinking to himself:
*If I were in their shoes, I’d probably be exactly the same.* But deep down, Tuyến knew for certain he would never end up like that. There were still so many pleasures in life left to enjoy, and countless opportunities to amass more wealth. Had he earned enough to be considered truly wealthy? In American society, just how much of a fortune did one need to be called rich?
He thought of Quang, a friend who viewed living for pleasure as the ultimate purpose of existence. Quang had once defined the term "millionaire" for him: A millionaire isn't someone who earns a million, nor someone who saves a million. A millionaire is someone who *spends* a million! Quang would laugh heartily when saying this.
"Take me, for instance! I’ve never earned a million, let alone saved that kind of money. But I’ve spent millions—and I keep right on spending them!" "Of course!" Tuyến would reply.
"Because you’re spending other people's money!" Perhaps no one else enjoyed life with such ease, joy, and utter lack of concern as Quang. Tuyến had admired—and envied—Quang’s lifestyle ever since their days back in Vietnam. As the son of a bank manager in Saigon, Quang—even while still a law student—exploited his father’s position to engage in shady deals and rake in money hand over fist.
Tuyến suspected that father and son were colluding to amass wealth through these illicit schemes. One of Quang’s easiest money-making ventures involved extracting payments from construction companies bidding for U.S. military contracts; in exchange, he provided them with letters of credit—certified by his father—attesting that they possessed the capital required to bid on the massive U.S. projects flooding South Vietnam with funds during the 1960s.
Quang would contact the bidding firms and collect fees, while his father—leveraging his role as bank manager—signed off on fraudulent paperwork granting these companies enormous loans for their operations. Additionally, Quang acted as the importer of record for motorcycles entering Vietnam. Thanks to his father’s extensive connections within the South Vietnamese government—and the strategic use of bribes—Quang secured the necessary import licenses.
Possessing a license to import brands like Honda, Suzuki, and Yamaha was akin to owning a money-printing press; the public was clamoring for Japanese motorcycles, and demand far outstripped supply. Quang made a fortune; despite being merely a law student, he would turn heads by parking a gleaming Peugeot 404 or a convertible Mustang right on Duy Tân Street, outside the law school.
At the time, Tuyến was merely an impoverished law student, but as Quang’s childhood friend, he often tagged along to share in the high life. Quang’s lifestyle left Tuyến both envious and utterly awestruck. Quang kept a bachelor pad—a *garconnière*—on Lê Lợi Street. The room was air-conditioned, humming softly day and night, and lavishly decorated; its centerpiece was a massive, ultra-modern bed inlaid with gleaming brass fittings imported from Hong Kong.
It was an electric bed that adjusted at the touch of a button, featuring a plush, deep-sinking mattress and surrounded by mirrors—including a ceiling mirror that was Quang’s pride and joy. Tuyến often got a taste of the good life accompanying Quang to nightclubs, bringing hostesses back to the bachelor pad, driving to Vũng Tàu the next day for a swim at Pineapple Beach, and partying for days on end at Quang’s father’s mountainside weekend villa overlooking the sea.
Yet, this hedonism never hindered Quang’s studies; he passed his law exams every year and began his apprenticeship at the firm of a prominent lawyer—a friend of his father. Having secured a permanent military exemption, Quang lived without the fear of conscription, continuing his lavish lifestyle right up until the fall of South Vietnam. After arriving in the United States in April 1975, Quang retrained in law and became one of the first Vietnamese lawyers to practice in California.
Tuyến looked toward the door. Quang walked in, carrying a leather briefcase. He gazed at his friend with admiration. Quang looked a full ten years younger than him, despite them being the same age. His face was wrinkle-free, thanks to two facelifts. His hair, dyed a reddish-brown, showed not a single strand of gray. And for the first time, Tuyến noticed Quang’s right earlobe.
Tuyến burst out laughing.
"You rascal!" A small diamond stud was pierced into Quang’s earlobe—just like the trendy jewelry worn by American men these days.
"When in Rome, do as the Romans do; adapt to the times," Quang had once declared to his friend.
"The way I live now has to match the style of American millionaires—I can't just keep acting like a typical Vietnamese guy forever!" Quang shook his friend's hand and ordered food. He asked immediately:
"Got a big business deal in the works?" "Eat first! We'll talk later." "Where's Lệ? I haven't seen her around for weeks." Tuyến glossed over it:
"Oh! Lệ's been really busy lately. My wife and I sometimes don't even see each other until late at night. Both offices—the one in LA and the one down here—have a huge workload." Quang looked at his friend hesitantly:
"You'd better watch out! Working too hard isn't good for you. Take a page out of my book—I never get stressed!" Tuyến remained silent. He bent his head and finished his bowl of phở. Quang was nearly done with his meal as well. Tuyến glanced around; the neighboring tables had cleared out, and the shop was growing quiet. He lowered his voice:
"I've got a massive investment opportunity. I need a lawyer to handle the paperwork. Naturally, it has to be kept confidential, and you're the only lawyer around here I trust."
Quang looked up at his friend. He simply asked:
"What is it?" Tuyến hesitated:
"I can't tell you everything right now. Just the main points. If you're on board, I'll share more. Of course, whether we go through with it or not, this stays strictly between us." Quang nodded. Tuyến continued:
"These people need to invest between 100 and 120 million US dollars. They want to set up a corporate structure in the US—companies nested under other companies—with the ultimate parent company based overseas, somewhere in the Caribbean like the Cayman Islands or the Bahamas." "So no one knows who they are?" "Exactly. The front company is this investment firm in Westminster, which is a subsidiary of another company in San José. The San José firm is a subsidiary of a New York company. And at the very top of the chain is a company in the Cayman Islands! Naturally, the paperwork is a hassle—which is why I need you to handle it. Quang thought for a moment. He asked:
- How much? - Your retainer is a hundred thousand a year. Hourly billing is separate. Tuyến looked at his friend. How could Quang possibly turn down such a lucrative deal? Quang simply asked:
- I’ll take it, on the condition that there’s no involvement with drugs. Tuyến replied:
- Rest assured! There’s absolutely no connection to drugs. It’s all legitimate business. The whole point is just to set up a pyramid-style corporate structure so that no one knows who the investors actually are. Quang looked at his friend:
- I want to know one more thing—though you can refuse to answer if the time isn't right. What nationality are these investors? Tuyến smiled:
-
They’re Vietnamese! Just like you and me.