Ngọn Lửa Hồng Hoang -  Nguyễn Đình Phùng  
 
 
 
The Primordial Flame
 
Nguyễn Đình Phùng
 
 
Chapter 1
 
Lệ pulled up in front of the Excelsior Hotel and circled around the side to the parking lot at the rear. She glanced in the rearview mirror. No cars were following, and there wasn't a single Asian face in sight. She sat for a moment, adjusting her hair and touching up her lipstick. Making Hoán wait a little longer would only heighten his anticipation—and his desire for her.

She could clearly picture Hoán’s face and his long strides as he paced the small hotel room, anxiously checking his watch. He would be wondering why she was late—or if something had prevented her from coming at all. Yet, he would still hope she was on her way, since she hadn't called him on her cell phone. She had told him she would call from the car if she couldn't make it.
 
She smiled to herself. Her lover—fourteen years her junior—had no idea that if she were truly detained and unable to come, she simply wouldn't call. Leaving him frustrated and miserable—yet too afraid to reproach her—would only make him more obsessed with her. Lệ shook her head; men were truly dense. Thinking this, she dabbed a bit of *Obsession* perfume behind her neck, opened the car door, and entered the hotel through the back entrance.

Hoán worked at an insurance office just around the corner from her workplace. She had first noticed him at a *bánh cuốn* shop on Bolsa Avenue. His fair, elongated face—still retaining a boyish quality—combined with his tall, well-built frame, had immediately caught her eye when he and a group of male friends sat at the table right next to hers. She had listened to their conversation; Hoán’s strong voice and cheerful laughter held her captivated. She guessed he was about twenty-four or twenty-five—an age where a man is just beginning to mature but hasn't yet experienced much of the world.

She smiled. A man of this age is like an apple at the peak of ripeness. Lệ made an instant decision. She wanted to bite into the succulent fruit before her, to devour the crispness of life and the cool refreshment of youth, savoring every moment of vitality without letting a single drop go to waste—leaving no room for future regrets.
 
Why should she hesitate or hold back? The desire for a young lover—to replace a husband whose body had long since grown frail and past its prime—suddenly surged within her, engulfing her like a crashing tsunami. A lump formed in her throat, making her feel as though she were choking on a sip of water; she stood up and walked past Hoán’s table toward the counter to pay.

The purse she was holding suddenly slipped from her hand and landed right at Hoán’s feet. She stood still, smiling expectantly. Hoán bent down, picked up the purse, and rose to hand it back to her. Lệ looked straight into his eyes, relishing the sight of his confusion and astonishment. He had surely never stood so close to a woman with a body as hot and alluring as hers.
 
Lệ smiled and gave a playful wink of thanks. That smile and gaze were reserved for the most special, crucial moments—and they had never failed to captivate any man she had set her sights on. Hoán stammered a few incoherent words, staring after her in a daze. His male friends fell silent, too. Lệ left the restaurant without looking back, yet she knew everything would unfold exactly as she wished.

Three days later, Lệ stopped by Hoán’s insurance office. She had waited in her car after seeing Hoán and his friends leave the restaurant, noting the insurance company’s name and phone number displayed on his vehicle. Hoán worked near her investment office—how convenient! Lệ had come to renew her car insurance, and Hoán was overjoyed, acting as if he’d struck gold. She sat quietly, letting him talk while offering encouraging smiles. Everything unfolded exactly as she had foreseen: eventually, Hoán mustered the courage to ask her out to lunch.

° ° °

Lệ stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the eighth floor—Room 826. Hoán had already called to give her the room number he’d booked. During the lunch he’d treated her to, Lệ hadn't needed to say much. Hoán’s gaze was fixed intently on the revealing neckline of her blouse, rendering any idle chatter about the weather utterly meaningless. His undisguised desire and the way his legs brushed against hers under the table made her flush with heat.
 
Yet, Lệ didn't want to rush things. She wanted Hoán to be a lover—not necessarily a long-term partner, but someone to be with for a while, not just a one-night stand. So, she arranged to meet him another day. The young man—fourteen years her junior—was completely captivated, like a young colt led by the nose; yet, he needed soothing, guidance, and a lesson on the ropes.

She instructed him on the hotel arrangements for their lunch date the following week: where to park; the need to avoid other Asians—treating every person of Asian descent in Orange County as a potential gossiping Vietnamese busybody who might take notice; and the requirement to request a room at the far end of the hallway, away from the elevators and on at least the fifth floor or higher.
 
She told him to have room service deliver food and drinks beforehand, so they wouldn't be interrupted by a waiter knocking at a critical moment. Small yet essential details were needed to make that lunch perfect. Nothing could be left to chance...

 
Everything had to be carefully planned and timed to ensure a smooth flow of events—avoiding any surprises that, even if not disastrous, might diminish the pleasure she so eagerly anticipated.

Lệ felt an extraordinary thrill and intense curiosity—the excitement of a new discovery, an unexpected delight in life. It was vibrant, fresh, and playful, like an intriguing new game; it brought the sheer joy of finally receiving a doll she had long coveted—one she had gazed at through the shop window day after day, walking past countless times without the means to buy it.
 
She had had many lovers before, but never a young man fourteen years her junior—someone barely out of adolescence, perhaps not yet fully mature, like a novice taking his first steps into the world, in need of the guiding hand of an older sister or a mother figure. Lệ laughed aloud. *Like a mother!* she chided herself silently.
 
Yet, the comparison only heightened her excitement; the sensation was so novel that she wanted to savor it slowly, letting the realization of this new romance seep into her very skin and flesh, enveloping her completely as she strode down the corridor, counting off the numbers until she finally stopped before the door to Room 826.
 

Lệ gave the door three light knocks—the signal she had agreed upon with Hoán. The door swung wide, and Hoán appeared before her, his eyes wide and his breathing rapid and shallow. Lệ smiled. She turned to hang the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the outside of the door and locked it securely.
 
Hoán remained standing there, rooted to the spot and looking dazed, as if unsure of what to say or do. Lệ narrowed her eyes at Hoán and remained silent; she wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a searing kiss on him, feeling his body go limp. Yet, Hoán’s reaction shifted instantly—just as she had foreseen and desired.

He suddenly transformed into a fierce tiger—growling, clawing, and acting with the aggression of someone starved for days. He swept her up in his arms and tossed her onto the thick mattress nearby. Lệ opened her eyes in anticipation and smiled as Hoán’s entire body descended upon hers like a violent storm crashing onto the shore during a tempest—sweeping away all other emotions, leaving no room for regret or pity, and surrendering entirely to raw, primal instinct. It was like tilting one’s head back to drink life to the dregs—without calculation, without a shred of remorse.

° ° °

Tuyến walked into his wife’s office and, with a nod of his chin, asked the secretary sitting outside:

"Where’s my wife?"

"She’s out for lunch."

Tuyến shook his head in frustration. He had driven all the way from Los Angeles to Westminster for a task. He had hoped to drop by Lệ’s office and invite her to lunch, but he had missed her—all because he had forgotten to charge his cell phone. Tuyến glanced at the secretary. She had a charmingly crooked tooth. Should he ask her out to lunch instead?

He smoothed back the few strands of hair remaining on his head, which was balding halfway to the crown. Lệ probably wouldn't be back for another hour. He tossed a file folder onto the desk:

"Give this to her when she gets back. I want her to review it and call me immediately."

 
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.

 
Chapter 3
 
Quang said nothing. Tuyến looked at his friend. He understood that Quang didn't believe a group of Vietnamese people could possess such a massive sum—hundreds of millions of US dollars—for investment. And if it wasn't something shady, why go to such lengths to conceal it by setting up a pyramid-like corporate structure, with the ultimate parent company based on a Caribbean island?
 
Tuyến addressed Quang’s unspoken doubts:

"I don't know who these people are myself. But they want to invest in legitimate, legal business ventures. The only issue is not knowing who the real principals are. I have a list of six people listed as the company owners. They’re scattered across the States—California, Texas, New York, Florida—just ordinary Vietnamese people running harmless businesses, with no ties to anyone else. I’m certain they’re just figureheads! I haven't been told anything more, and I don't want to know. As long as they want to invest legally and stay clear of drugs or crime, that’s enough for me. You agree?"

Quang pondered this for a moment. He sensed something amiss. But the fee the law firm was paying was huge. And he needed the money to buy a Lamborghini. No Vietnamese person in all of California drove a Lamborghini yet! Quang nodded:

"Fair enough! We’re just hired hands, after all. I only need to know the names of the people on the paperwork. If, as you say, they’re nobodies with no connections to anyone or any organization, that’s all I need to know!"

Tuyến stood up and shook his friend's hand:

"Good! I’ll get all the paperwork to you later. If any issues come up, call me right away. You’ll get your first check in three days!"

Quang left first. Tuyến placed the money on the table and walked out of the Tây Sơn phở shop. The armchair pundits outside the door were still eagerly debating current affairs. Tuyến shook his head. To him, time was money; take this business venture with Quang, for instance—each of them stood to make millions if things went smoothly. How could so many people afford to be idle, to squander their time like that? Meanwhile, he didn't have a single minute to rest—let alone take the summer vacation he had promised Lệ three years ago!

° ° °

Hoán returned to his office, feeling as drained as someone just recovering from an illness. Lệ had been far more passionate and demanding than he had anticipated; he had been forced to use the excuse of a heavy workload to break free from her embrace and hurriedly get dressed to leave.
 
He had read somewhere that a woman of Lệ’s age was at the peak of her sexual vitality, and that afternoon at the Excelsior Hotel had proven it beyond a doubt. He had discovered things he had never known before; Lệ had guided him, showing him every step of the way toward ceaseless pleasure, making the experience exquisite and perfect—he had never imagined that physical sensations could be so powerful, so utterly consuming.

Yet, at the same time, fear gripped him. It was the feeling of someone who had committed a terrible transgression, plunging his soul into the depths of a horrifying abyss; there, flickering memories of his late mother suddenly mingled with arms that felt slick and constricting—like a python squeezing the breath out of him—amidst raging flames and the shrieks and moans of demons. The hallucinations that flashed before him at the moment of climax left him limp, thrusting him into a state of unexpected, profound despair. He was in a panic, as if unaware of what had just befallen him; ignoring Lệ’s pleas, Hoán told her he had to leave immediately.

Hoán found himself unable to work. Stacks of clients' insurance files sat high before him, yet he had no desire to touch them. Overwhelming emotions still clung to his mind, refusing to let go. Hoán had known many women, but none had left as profound an impression on him as Lệ. The fair-skinned girls he had known in high school and later in college had given him some experience, yet perhaps he had never truly encountered a *woman*—a woman in the fullest sense.
 
He was stunned, as if suddenly discovering a vast realm of things he did not know and had never even imagined. Until now, sex had been merely a physical need—an urge he kept strictly separate from the love he felt for Vân. He had wanted to preserve that love, keeping it untainted by what he viewed as base desires that might muddy his thoughts and feelings when he was with her.
 
She, too, trusted him implicitly, waiting for the day she finished pharmacy school so they could marry. Their love was like golden sunlight—clear and pure. That was how Hoán saw it. To him, sex was something entirely different, utterly unconnected to his love; he felt no guilt when satisfying his physiological urges with the Latina or white women he met in bars.
 
Until today. Hoán sat dazed, recalling that afternoon in the hotel with Lệ. What had happened? Could sex, in its rawest form, exist on a different plane—a different level—than what he had previously defined? And what of his love for Vân? He sensed a subtle shift, a transformation that filled him with unease. What had befallen him? Does life always hold such turning points—and are the majority, if not nearly all, of them harbingers of misery, suffering, and disappointment rather than anything good?

 
° ° °

Bách poked his head into Hoán’s office:

"Vân stopped by earlier asking for you. I told her you’d gone to lunch. She asked you to call her back when you got in."

Hoán thanked him and dialed Vân’s number. Bách studied Hoán more closely. What was going on with the kid? He looked so haggard. Bách told himself he needed to keep a closer eye on this employee. Among the nearly thirty agents selling insurance for him in Orange County, Hoán was one of the most capable, yet Bách still wasn't satisfied. The problem was that Hoán was too honest and straightforward with clients!

Bách Việt Insurance Agency was the largest provider of insurance services to the Vietnamese community in Orange County—and had the biggest staff—but Bách still needed more people because he wanted to expand aggressively into other cities with large Vietnamese populations. He wanted to train Hoán to go up to San José and open a branch there. But first, he had to teach Hoán to be a bit more of a hustler! Bách smiled to himself. The kid needed to pick up at least a third of his own cunning before being sent off on his own. How could someone as gentle as Hoán possibly survive in this world?

Bách reflected on the past and felt a sense of smug satisfaction. You couldn't succeed in California—in Orange County—without being shrewd! And what was the difference between shrewdness and being a hustler? Better to just admit to being a hustler than to waste time with silly questions or delude oneself. Only then could you fool others! And only then could you survive in Orange County!
 
The first thing Bách had realized was that the influx of Vietnamese people settling here had raised the bar: to succeed, one needed a level of shrewdness—or "hustler" mentality, by Bách’s definition—far beyond the norm. It seemed as though the most unscrupulous of the Vietnamese refugees had converged here—flocking from every U.S. state, from Paris, Montreal, Brussels, Germany, Australia, and corners across the globe. These were rogues who cloaked themselves in the guise of being "savvy operators," drawn to Orange County as if by a powerful magnet to live, to swindle one another, to amass wealth, and to enjoy the good life.

Bách was one of them. He had begun his life as a refugee in sweltering Houston but had grown weary of the heat and humidity of cowboy country. He wanted to move to California, but first, he needed sufficient capital to launch a business. The hardest part was the beginning; without the seed money to establish a viable venture, how could one strike it rich or build a glorious career? Bach spent two or three years floundering, unable to find an opportunity.
 
Then, a stroke of luck arrived when he traveled to France to visit a friend. He was introduced to Huyền, a capable woman skilled in the restaurant trade. Huyền had recently divorced and longed to move to the United States. She wanted to leave Paris to forget—and escape—her wretched ex-husband, who spent his days strolling the Champs-Élysées with young French women, squandering her money.
 
Her friend had described Bách as the first Vietnamese man to become an "oil king" in the Houston area. She had heard much about the region as the U.S. oil capital; during those years, oil prices were skyrocketing and shortages were widespread—with cars queuing for hours just to fill up—so how could she not take notice of Bách, the Vietnamese oil tycoon visiting Paris from Houston?

Bách visited her restaurant in Saint-Germain-des-Prés every day. He told her about America—specifically the warm, sunny Houston area. Naturally, he described the climate as mild and pleasant—affectionately dubbed the "Sun Belt"—dismissing the claims of detractors who spoke of sweltering 105-degree days and humidity that clung to one's skin like a sticky film.
 
He lavished praise on Houston, a city drawing people from all over, where housing prices had doubled or tripled in just a year or two, driven by the anticipation of oil prices hitting $100 a barrel. He spoke proudly of his timely investments in the oil industry: he owned five gas stations and an oil drilling company in Beaumont, a city just a few dozen miles from Houston. He showed her photos of his gas stations—located at busy city intersections and selling both fuel and convenience goods—featuring long lines of cars waiting to fill up, with him, dressed in a suit, gesturing instructions to his staff.
 
There were also photos of his oil well in Beaumont, showing a tall derrick resembling a miniature Eiffel Tower and a pump jack bobbing up and down like the giant beak of a bird, drawing oil from the depths of the earth. In these shots, Bách stood at the base of the rig wearing a hard hat and casual jeans, yet still exuding the dashing air of a boss directing a crew of American workers.

Huyền gazed at the photos Bách proudly displayed with fascination and admiration. She marveled at his achievements; in just over five years since leaving Vietnam, he had built such a magnificent career, becoming a Vietnamese "oil king" right in the heart of the U.S.—and global—oil capital. There was no telling how far a talented man like him might go. She also felt a secret sense of pride that Bách had taken an interest in her—and was clearly captivated by her—given that he visited the restaurant every day and had even postponed his flight to stay in Paris for an extra week, despite the mountain of work awaiting him back in Houston.
 
Huyền did not hesitate to accept Bách's invitations: seeing *Moulin Rouge* one evening and the *Lido de Paris* the next; the following day, she handed the restaurant over to her younger sister so she could head out to the countryside with Bách, staying at a charming little auberge and that night spent with Bách—a move designed to bind him to her.
 
The opportunity had arrived for Huyền. She wanted to leave behind this land of stingy, prejudiced Westerners; the land of Vị—her wretched ex-husband who had chosen Paris as his home—a place as despicable as the man himself. And Bách had appeared at just the right moment in her life, ready to whisk her away to the oil capital, where he had built a brilliant career that promised to shine even brighter.
 
She married Bách the very next week. He postponed his flight a second time to stay an extra two weeks. He boldly declared that no matter how busy work was, or how many millions of dollars might be lost because he wasn't in Houston to handle business, it didn't matter. He had found the ideal woman for his life. An opportunity to meet a lover like Huyền came only once in a lifetime; he couldn't let it slip away, no matter the cost!
 
Yet Huyền understood him; every day he stayed could cost him hundreds of thousands of dollars in deals with major oil companies like Mobil and Pennzoil—without his presence, they might turn to others, and he would lose the business. As a businessperson herself, she understood this perfectly. That was why, when Bách proposed and wanted to marry immediately, she quickly agreed. What more could she ask for? There was no need for hesitation or further calculation!
 
With a solid pillar of support like Bách—and the prospect of becoming the mistress of an oil company—she was ready to sell her restaurant and take her capital to the United States to build even greater wealth alongside him. Life was like a dream, and everything seemed preordained by fate. Hadn't the blind Vietnamese fortune-teller in Montmartre predicted she would soon meet a benefactor and experience a glorious union of dragon and cloud?
 
Huyền sold the restaurant to an acquaintance for over a million francs and gathered all her diamonds and more than fifty taels of gold to join Bách in Houston, where they would build a new life alongside her brilliant husband—the first "oil king" among Vietnamese refugees in the United States.

 
Chapter 4
 
Huyền felt a twinge of apprehension when the plane landed at Houston Intercontinental Airport and Bách took her to a hotel instead of his home. However, her joy was overwhelming; the prospect of an exciting new life with her brilliant, newlywed husband dispelled any doubts when Bách explained that his house was undergoing renovations and would take a few more days to complete before she could move into their nest. While they waited, he took her to the bank to open a joint account, into which she deposited all the money she had brought from France.

Three days later, Bách brought her to a luxurious home in Memorial, an affluent neighborhood in Houston. Yet, the house showed no signs of recent renovations. Huyền also stumbled upon a framed photograph of a couple tucked away in the drawer of the bedroom vanity. When she asked about it, Bách casually replied that it was a picture of friends who had stayed with him a few months prior.

Two weeks after arriving in Houston, Huyền discovered the truth—because Bách suddenly vanished. Without warning or explanation, Bách left for work one morning and simply never returned. As the days passed, Huyền waited in vain for a call from him. She visited the gas station Bách had claimed to own—one of five he supposedly operated in the city—but no one there knew who he was. She went to the other locations, yet no one understood who she was asking about. Finally, at the last station, an employee recognized Bách’s photo, revealing that he had previously worked there as a manager but had quit three months earlier.

Huyền returned home, and the truth became painfully clear. She encountered the couple—whose photograph she had seen in the vanity drawer—inside the house she had believed belonged to Bách. They revealed that they were the actual homeowners; they had just returned from a two-week summer vacation and had entrusted the house to Bách—an acquaintance—to look after while they were away. Huyền was stunned; she rushed to the bank, only to discover that Bách had withdrawn every cent from her accounts—over one hundred thousand US dollars in capital she had brought with her from France.

The couple who owned the house in Memorial could offer little help to Huyền. Bách was merely a casual acquaintance, and they had no idea where he had gone. They sympathized with her plight but were powerless to assist, having also been deceived by him. Huyền declined their offer to stay for a few days and packed her bags to return to France immediately. She vowed never to set foot in America again. It was a costly lesson; Huyền blamed only her own naivety and resigned herself to her fate. Perhaps she was simply destined to encounter nothing but scoundrels. Or perhaps all men were just as vile and deceitful.

° ° °

Bách established a career in Orange County, California, using Huyền’s capital. He experimented with a few different ventures before finally settling on the insurance business. Gifted with a silver tongue and the patience to wear down any listener’s resistance, Bách found great success in the industry. He opened an office in the Bolsa district, and within just two years, his firm—Bách Việt Insurance Agency—had become the largest insurance provider for the Vietnamese community in Orange County.

Yet, Bách was not satisfied. He wanted to expand his company into other cities with large Vietnamese populations, such as San José, Houston, Washington, Chicago, and Atlanta. There were countless locations across the United States where Bách Việt could grow. He began recruiting and training staff to open new branch offices in these various regions. Hoán was one of his most capable employees, yet Bách held off on promoting him—he wanted Hoán to pick up a few more tricks of the trade first.

Suddenly remembering something, Bách headed back to Hoán’s office. He wanted to ask about the client who had come in a few days earlier to update her car insurance—the woman who had caught his eye the moment she walked in and asked him to point out Hoán’s desk. He had heard about her ever since Lệ opened her investment firm three blocks away from his insurance agency years ago, but this was the first time he had actually met her.

And what he had heard about her intrigued him. That woman—with her alluring figure, lips that looked ripe for devouring, and a faint yet arousingly seductive perfume—had stood close to him while asking for Hoán. Bách had heard Tài go on and on about Lệ—how he had slept with her just once, yet no other woman could ever compare. Tài would lick his lips and swallow hard whenever he spoke of it.

Bách was genuinely surprised, given that Tài was a notorious playboy in the area. The fact that Tài craved her so intensely—like someone who had tasted a unique, exquisite delicacy they would never experience again—only made Bách more interested in Lệ. He had heard rumors about her impotent husband and her choice of lovers. Besides Tài, he had heard others boast smugly about being Lệ’s one-night stand—treating it like a badge of honor or the ultimate accolade for an Orange County player. It was as if, without being chosen by Lệ, they wouldn't be able to die in peace.

Bách knew how to enjoy the good life, fueled by the wealth generated from his insurance startup using Huyền’s capital. He spent money lavishly to indulge in the most beautiful white women of Southern California, hot and passionate Latina girls, and Chinese beauties brought over from the mainland. Yet, Bách was not satisfied with the carnal pleasures of mere transactional sex.
 
He wanted a lover—alluring, elegant, and ideally of high class—to take out to dinner, to social events, and to show off to the world. He wanted the bastards crowding together in Orange County to flare their nostrils and gawk with wide, bulging eyes, to drool with envy and gulp hard—just like that vulgar fellow Tài!
 
Bách resolved to win Lệ over at all costs. He knew exactly why she had come to see Hoán. But Hoán was too young, too inexperienced. How could he possibly satisfy a woman as demanding as Lệ? The affair between Lệ and his young employee wouldn't last long. At most, it would amount to little more than a single night—like the encounters with the other men who had passed through her life. Hoán wouldn't escape her clutches, but the time would come when she grew bored of him, just as she had with so many others. And Bách would be ready to step in—like a hero arriving at the last minute to rescue her—and quench the blazing, unquenchable fires of her desire.

He was confident in his own abilities. Wealth had come his way, and he continued to amass even more, yet he wanted to prove his success in a different arena. After all, wasn't Lệ the ultimate trophy for any man who placed sexual obsession on the same level as life’s other pursuits—like money and fame?

° ° °

On Saturday night, the Thiên Thanh nightclub was packed; there wasn't a single empty seat. The spacious dance floor accommodated hundreds of couples, yet it was packed for every song; most dancers stayed put between tracks rather than returning to their tables and fighting the crowd to get back out for the next number.
 
Standing on the stage, Vân looked down at the dancers. She could never picture herself among that crowd of ballroom enthusiasts. Hoán felt the same way; he didn't know how to dance and declared he never would! He came to the club solely to hear Vân sing and to escort her home. She didn't sing because she loved performing enough to seek out a venue like this; rather, she needed the money to complete her pharmacy studies and to save for her wedding to Hoán.

Vân possessed a natural gift for singing. Her voice could soar to great heights yet remained sweet and captivating. She was selective with her repertoire, performing only songs that suited her style and vocal range—pieces that celebrated love, rich and lyrical melodies, and elegant lyrics, avoiding the silly, colloquial tunes characterized by poor, banal, and uninspired rhythms and scales. Although she performed only a few songs before leaving, the audience adored her voice.
 
Many patrons visited the Thiên Thanh nightclub specifically to hear her, and the owner pleaded with her to perform on all three nights the club was open—Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. However, Vân agreed only to Saturday nights; she had classes on Friday evenings, and she reserved Sundays entirely for Hoán.
 

 
Chapter 5
 
Vân held the final note as the song ended. She bowed in acknowledgment of the applause and scanned the room for Hoán. He nodded to her, and Vân apologized to the audience for being unable to perform the requested encore, promising to sing them next week instead. She stepped off the stage and walked toward Hoán. He complimented her:

"That *Nocturne* was beautiful; it’s been ages since I last heard it. Are you hungry? Let’s go get something to eat."

Vân nodded. She was a bit tired and wanted to go straight home, but she always indulged Hoán. Her only desire was to please him—as long as he returned her love, that was more than enough for her.

Hoán took Vân to a restaurant. It was two in the morning, yet the Phổ Nghi eatery remained open for late-night diners—the revelers from nightclubs, karaoke bars, and high-stakes billiard halls. The place was famous for its chicken congee and its insolent Chinese waiters, but the customers didn't care; they simply needed a spot open in the dead of night to satisfy their cravings.

Hoán ordered for the two of them and glanced around. The place was crowded and noisy, filled with faces familiar to the nightlife scene—pale, haggard figures resembling night-foraging herons. His heart skipped a beat or two when he looked toward a corner of the room. Although the woman was bent over her meal, he recognized Lệ instantly from her hair and the profile of her face.
 
She was with a man Hoán assumed to be her husband—a balding fellow with a sharp, narrow face and the cunning air of a wheeler-dealer, the sort of man who preyed on others and would never let the tables be turned on him. He was successful in many respects, yet suffered a distinct disadvantage—a single weak point—in the form of his wife.

Hoán had heard a great deal about Tuyến but had never met him. He was curious to see what the
man he had cuckolded actually looked like. He felt no guilt or remorse toward the husband, knowing that if it hadn't been him, it would simply have been someone else. Yet, Hoán wanted to know more about Tuyến—a renowned figure in the Orange County business world, commanding a major investment firm with multiple branches and significant clout within the Vietnamese business community of Little Saigon.

Hoán hadn't seen Lệ since that afternoon at the Excelsior Hotel. She had called him repeatedly, but he had avoided returning her calls by claiming to be out of town. She had left voicemails urging him to call back, citing an urgent matter. But Hoán wasn't ready to return the call just yet. He desired her, certainly, but his sexual appetite wasn't strong enough to override his apprehension—a gut feeling that Lệ would bring disaster, that she would ensnare his life and bind him forever within her seductive, monstrous embrace.

Hoán started and quickly looked down at the bowl of chicken porridge the waiter had just brought over. Lệ had looked up and spotted him. He saw her stand up to pay the bill—her table was right next to his. There was no avoiding her now. And with Vân sitting right there beside him!

 
Chapter 6
 
After settling the bill at the counter, Lệ walked straight toward Hoán’s table. He stood up and made the introduction:

"Ms. Lệ, a client of mine from the insurance company."

Lệ didn't need Hoán to introduce Vân:

"Singer Hoàng Vân! I really love your voice. The Thien Thanh Nightclub is at its best when you’re performing. When are you releasing a CD?"

Vân offered a few polite words of thanks to brush the matter aside. She felt no affinity for the beautiful, sensuous woman standing before her. Moreover, the way Lệ looked at Hoán made her feel uneasy and suspicious. What was going on between Lệ and her fiancé?

Lệ asked Hoán:

"Hoán! I need to change my health insurance policy. Can I drop by your office tomorrow?"

The words grated on Vân’s ears. Why did this woman address Hoán by his first name, using such a honeyed, affectionate tone? Her intuition told her that the woman standing there would bring disaster—to her, and to Hoán. Vân suddenly turned to Hoán:

"Darling! We have plans to go to Yosemite Park tomorrow with Hà and Tường. Have you asked for the time off work yet?"

Hoán looked startled, but he understood immediately. Vân was fabricating an outing to prevent Lệ from coming to see him. Hoán nodded:

"I’ve already put in for the leave."

He turned to Lệ:

"Feel free to come by and handle the paperwork. I’ll have someone else assist you with it."

Lệ glanced at Vân. The girl was sharp, certainly. But how long could she hold onto Hoán? Not once Lệ decided she wanted him for herself. Lệ exchanged a few perfunctory words and returned to her own table. Tuyến stood up and walked her to the door. He asked about the young couple she had just spoken to, but she deflected the question. Anger had taken hold of her mind. Why did Hoán no longer pay her any heed? Never before had Lệ felt her pride so deeply wounded.

° ° °

Lệ was not a person prone to anger. Tuyến had once praised her for her composure and level-headedness, noting that she never lost her temper or acted rashly out of rage. He even thought she was cold-blooded, as he had never witnessed her giving in to impulsive passion—not even during their moments of intimacy.

Lệ would smile inwardly at his praise. For despite having lived together for over a dozen years, he had never seen her truly angry. Each person is an island, she believed—even husband and wife, even those destined to spend a lifetime side by side, sharing every passing second. Her innermost self would remain unknown to everyone, even those closest to her.

Lệ had first experienced real anger when she was just over ten years old. She no longer clearly recalled the cause of the argument with her younger brother; she only remembered the intensity of her fury.

Yet Long knew nothing of it, and neither did anyone else in the family. Lệ did not cry; she simply sat motionless in her small room, nursing her blazing rage. She decided she had to do something to soothe her anger—and to let her brother know just how furious she was. She entered Long’s room and pulled out his cricket box, revealing two large "fire crickets" with aggressive, dark, menacing pincers.

Long had proudly named them "Tiger Crickets," and they were undefeated in matches against the neighborhood children. She took a long sewing needle and tormented her brother’s prized insects, jabbing the poor creatures repeatedly to vent her wrath. Finally, she tore the head off one cricket and used it—impaled on the needle—to goad the other into a fight. Her anger gradually subsided, and finally, she tore the head off the remaining cricket and stuck it onto Long’s sleeping pillow. Only then did her fury at her younger brother abate. From that moment on, Long never dared to provoke his sister again—not for the rest of his life, right up until the day he died during a military campaign in the Quang Tri region.

The second flare-up of anger came when she was fifteen. Le had gone to the movies with some female classmates and returned late. She had asked her father for permission to go, promising to be back early. But after the movie, the group wandered over to Bến Thành Market for *bún ốc* (snail noodle soup) at Mrs Ba Bủng’s stall, followed by beef jerky and sugarcane juice at Viễn Đông.

Then came the loitering along Lê Lợi Street, standing in front of shop windows to gaze at imported jewelry. There was no way Lệ could return exactly on time as she had promised her father. The result was a few slaps across the face and a torrent of vile abuse. Her father had called her a whore!

Lệ did not cry; her eyes remained dry, but a raging fire burned within her. She went straight to her room, lay down for a while, and decided she would live up to the name her father had called her. A whore! Lệ could not fathom that her father would use such a word to describe her.

Since her father viewed her as worthless—as someone fit only to be the lowest sort of social outcast—why shouldn't she fulfill his curse? She would make him the father of a whore! What punishment could be more fitting for his verbal abuse?

Lệ thought of Tuyết, a friend two years her senior—only seventeen, yet looking well over twenty. Tuyết was always heavily made up and dressed in the latest fashion, wearing the most luxurious clothes and spending money like water. Where did Tuyết get the money to live so lavishly, given that her family lived in a cramped, narrow alley? Lệ asked her friend directly, and after several failed attempts to dodge the question, Tuyết finally confided that she was "moonlighting" at an upscale establishment on Lê Quý Đôn Street.

Patrons visiting the luxurious villa on Lê Quý Đôn Street were willing to pay handsomely for young, fresh-faced, and beautiful girls like Tuyết. Serving a client just once a month earned her enough money to have a few *áo dài* tailored at the renowned Thiết Lập shop and to buy cosmetics like imported Max Factor powder, not to mention the lavish dining and spending without a second thought for the cost!

Lệ listened to Tuyết and couldn't help but feel curious. She questioned her friend in detail about this "parachuting" gig—what she had to do and the kind of men who frequented the place. Her blunt questions made Tuyết wonder about her friend's true intentions. Glancing at Lệ’s blossoming figure, Tuyết teased, "Do you want in? I could introduce you to Ms. Mười!"

Lệ shook her head and playfully punched her friend’s back, yet she was secretly tempted. She had never even managed to get the money for a trendy *áo dài*, let alone expensive cosmetics. On her father’s meager secretary’s salary, how could she ever hope to get the funds to keep up with her friends' lifestyle?

Lệ stayed in her room until her father left the house, then slipped out. She cycled over to Tuyết’s place. The vague imaginings she had formed while listening to Tuyết’s stories now crystallized in her mind. She would do exactly as her father had said. And let come what may!

 
Chapter 7
 
Tuyết opened the door to let Lệ in. She studied Lệ’s face—the furrowed brows and eyes blazing with anger—and instantly understood what Lệ wanted. Tuyết asked:

"You want to go see Sister Mười?"

Lệ nodded. Her lips were set in a firm line; her hatred for her father was intensifying by the moment. Tuyết looked Lệ up and down. She asked:

"Are you still a virgin?"

Lệ said nothing, but Tuyết took her silence as an affirmative answer. Tuyết told her:

"You’re going to make a lot of money! It’ll be fine."

She took Lệ to a two-story villa on Lê Quý Đôn Street. It was an old-fashioned house with two large trees in the yard, their dense foliage creating a thick canopy. From the outside, no one would suspect it was a high-class brothel. Gleaming cars were parked in the yard; some had chauffeurs waiting for their bosses, listening to the radio to pass the time. Tuyết introduced Lệ to Sister Mười—a stout woman who appeared benevolent at first glance, though her cold, beady eyes made Lệ’s skin crawl.

Tuyết whispered into Sister Mười’s ear, and the woman’s eyes lit up. Wealthy businessmen were willing to pay top money for virgins like Lệ, believing it brought them good luck. Even unsophisticated girls from the countryside fetched high prices, let alone someone as beautiful and shapely as Lệ. The prospect of profit transformed Sister Mười. She beamed, chatting eagerly with Lệ as if they were old friends; she fetched her a drink, opened a box of imported cookies for her to eat, and chattered away to put Lệ at ease—and, above all, to ensure she didn't change her mind and try to leave.

° ° °

Lệ never saw Tuyết again after that day. As for the money Sister Mười gave her, Lệ put it away and never touched it. She had lost her virginity in a fit of rage sparked by her father’s curse, plunging herself into the mire of the vilest of places. Lệ herself could not fathom how she had done such a thing; she buried the memory deep within her, hoping that no one—save for Tuyết, Sister Mười, and the middle-aged merchant who had paid a fortune for her maidenhood—would ever discover her secret.
 
The year 1975 brought her liberation through emigration to the United States; she wished for those three to remain trapped in Vietnam—or better yet, to perish amidst the chaos—so they would vanish from the earth and no longer serve as reminders of the gravest mistake of her life. A single, sudden burst of anger had transformed her from a girl with beautiful, youthful dreams into someone else entirely—someone who had squandered her innocence in the most wretched and senseless manner.

° ° °

Flares of anger were rare in Lệ’s life, yet each one was a catastrophe. She was powerless to restrain her fury. An irresistible impulse would drive her to act immediately to quell the burning rage, regardless of the consequences—even when she was fully aware that her actions were wrong and would lead to disastrous outcomes.

She had to act at once, and the object of her wrath would have to suffer her retaliation—swift and terrible. All calculations of gain and loss vanished; her anger had become instinctive, demanding immediate satisfaction and dominating her mind and actions.

Lệ knew she was furious with Hoán and Vân—the beautiful young singer accompanying her young lover.
The flame of sexual desire for Hoán had only recently been ignited following a tryst at the Excelsior Hotel; she still needed him and wanted to turn him into a slave at her beck and call. She could not let Hoán slip through her fingers to build a simple, ordinary life with that singer from the Thiên Thanh nightclub.
 
Lệ suddenly smiled. Why did she assume they wanted an ordinary life? And how could Vân—having chosen a career as a singer—ever hope for a peaceful existence? Could anyone truly captivated by the music and the colored lights of nightclubs ever lead a normal life?

Passion, desire, and lust were the very essence of those places filled with the sounds of horns, drums, scales, and rhythms. Amidst the hazy shadows, the dim red lights designed to arouse, and the intoxicating blend of cigarette smoke and perfume—how could such an environment foster peace of soul?
 
Lệ foresaw nothing but suffering in Vân’s destiny. As for Hoán—having once fallen into her embrace, he was now inextricably bound to her life; how could he ever enjoy the carefree existence he sought with the singer—the woman Lệ had spotted dining with him in the wee hours, and who had become the target of her destructive, fiery rage?

 
Chapter 8
 
Lệ stepped out of the restaurant. Her anger was still simmering, so she didn't notice the man and woman standing right in front of her, about to enter. The woman’s tight embrace startled Lệ, but she recognized her immediately. It had been a long time since she had seen Hoa—a friend she used to go out and dine with over six months ago. And the man accompanying her—who was now shaking hands with Tuyến—left Lệ even more stunned. Tài was one of her one-night stands from more than two years ago!

Lệ couldn't fathom how she had ever slept with Tài. Every time she saw him again, it made her uncomfortable; her skin would crawl with revulsion. It was especially unsettling when he stared brazenly at her body, his Adam’s apple bobbing rhythmically up and down his throat like a shuttlecock, finally settling in place after a loud, audible gulp.

Lệ had met Tài at a party hosted by a friend. She had gone alone because Tuyến was busy flying to New York, and Tài had latched onto her for the entire evening. Lệ had heard plenty about Tài—known by the nickname "Tài Bún" around the Bolsa area—but this was the first time she had actually seen his face.
 
Tài had arrived in California from Kansas City in 1978 to start a new life. Like so many others flocking here from across the U.S., he had tried his hand at various ventures before finally finding success by opening a restaurant. His establishment was famous for authentic Northern Vietnamese dishes like *bún ốc*, *bún thang*, and Hanoi-style *bún chả*. Customers often had to wait thirty minutes to an hour for a table, especially on weekends.

Within just two or three years, Tài had become a wealthy man, with money pouring in like water and virtually none flowing out. Moreover, the restaurant business ran almost entirely on cash; Tài paid the bare minimum in taxes—some years even declaring a loss—so the money just kept piling up.

Once he had amassed enough capital, Tài sold the shop to someone else and branched out into investing in shopping centers and rental apartments. With real estate prices in California skyrocketing, he flipped properties and quickly built a substantial fortune.

Although he had begun to gain recognition among the Vietnamese elite in Orange County, his reputation remained tethered to his original trade; everyone knew him by the nickname "Tài Noodle"—though no one dared call him that to his face.

Tài hovered constantly by Lệ’s side at the party, chattering incessantly about his investments, real estate, and the massive profits he’d made flipping shopping centers in Garden Grove and Westminster.

At first, Lệ listened with indifference, but eventually, his words commanded her attention. After all, Tài had achieved genuine success in the local business world. Besides, she was starting to feel tipsy; she had downed nearly three Martinis and a large Vodka, not to mention the two Bloody Marys she’d had earlier that afternoon.

There wasn't a single decent man at the party—just a bunch of frail, doddering old guys on the verge of a nursing home. Tài, for all his coarseness, at least wasn't that old. And the way he looked at her with undisguised desire gave her a secret sense of flattery.

That night, Lệ agreed to let Tài drive her home. She didn't remember the details clearly, having been dead drunk, but when she woke up the next morning to find Tài lying beside her, snoring with his mouth wide open, she rushed to the bathroom to vomit, then hurriedly dressed and left immediately. From then on, whenever they crossed paths, Lệ deliberately acted as if she didn't know him, even though Tài tried every trick to cling to her, hoping for a second chance at intimacy.

Lệ turned to look at Hoa, a friend she hadn't seen in months. Her surprise at seeing Hoa with Tài left her barely able to speak. It also made her respect Tài a little more. Someone as haughty as Hoa—who was always quick to disparage others for lacking sophistication or having humble origins—had ended up pairing up with a man who had only recently struck it rich: Tài "the Noodle Guy"!

Hoa was well-known in the Bolsa area for her legal offices—one large branch on Brookhurst Street in Orange County and another on Beverly Boulevard in Los Angeles. Hoa wasn't a lawyer herself, but she employed a handful of American attorneys—older men past their prime who struggled to earn a living or had disciplinary records with the American Bar Association that made it hard to find work at mainstream firms. She paid them monthly salaries to lend their names to her practice, allowing her to run a legal service catering to the Vietnamese community.

Hoa was raking in money hand over fist, thanks to the wave of staged car accidents in Orange County. She commanded a squad of Vietnamese and Hispanic operatives who specialized in scouting for luxury vehicles—Mercedes, Lexuses, and Porsches—driven by wealthy elderly American women in affluent neighborhoods like Beverly Hills, Bel Air, Santa Monica, and Newport Beach, looking for opportunities to stage a collision.

These operatives worked in pairs, driving beat-up old Fords; one car would pull up alongside the target to box them in, while the other would surge ahead and slam on the brakes, catching the elderly driver off guard and causing her to rear-end the car in front. Even though the impact was minor, Hoa’s men would feign unconsciousness and sprawl on the ground, ensuring they were taken to the hospital by ambulance. Afterward, there were X-rays, head scans, massages, and electrical stimulation treatments to compile the medical records for the lawsuit handled by Hoa’s law firm.
 
Insurance companies rarely let lawsuits drag on; instead, they tend to negotiate settlements. Hoa paid the lawyers and doctors on her payroll, as well as the henchmen who acted as plaintiffs in the lawsuits; each case netted her around five or six thousand dollars. On average, her two offices processed paperwork for three new lawsuits daily, bringing in a monthly income of two hundred thousand dollars.

She kept each office open for only about six months. Hoa was shrewd; she knew the FBI was investigating car accident lawsuits in Southern California and that several Hispanic-run law firms had already been busted. Vietnamese-run accident law offices in Orange County were small fry compared to the Hispanic operations, so the FBI hadn't bothered with them yet—but Hoa didn't let that make her complacent.

She operated at each location for just six months. Even if there were no signs of trouble, she would close up shop, find a nearby office on a different street, give the firm a new name, hire different struggling American lawyers and new henchmen, and put her parents or siblings down as the owners to ensure no trace of the old firm remained. Hoa also knew her business couldn't last forever. Sooner or later, after finishing with the Hispanic lawyers, the FBI would turn its attention to the Vietnamese groups in Orange County; despite all her precautions, she knew her operation wasn't sustainable.

Moreover, the trend of staged car accidents among the Vietnamese community in Southern California had surged; insurance companies were paying out huge sums and, feeling the financial sting, were becoming more vigilant than before. Latecomers trying to cash in on the last train—who lacked Hoa’s caution—would likely fall into the nets of the FBI and insurance company investigators.

As the business began to yield less profit, Hoa fell deep into a gambling habit in Las Vegas. She flew there every week, becoming a VIP guest at Caesar's Palace. The casino extended her a gambling credit line of up to one million dollars. Hoa flew first-class to Las Vegas, stayed in a hotel suite, and enjoyed complimentary meals—all courtesy of the casino. She earned this "high roller" status and lavish treatment because she wagered between two and five thousand dollars per hand at the blackjack tables.

She would win or lose one to two hundred thousand dollars a week; gambling had become an irresistible passion for her. When she first started, she experienced an uncanny winning streak—proving the old adage that "luck favors the beginner." For months, she won consistently; flying in on Saturday afternoons and returning Sunday nights, she would walk away with a hundred thousand dollars each trip, leading her to believe that gambling might become a lucrative new career.

Of course, the casino had its reasons for pampering high rollers like her. The gambling industry is a massive enterprise worth hundreds of billions of dollars annually; the entire city of Las Vegas—and the livelihoods of hundreds of thousands of people—relies on gambling revenue. And naturally, that revenue comes from the losers! The casino provided free airfare, lodging, meals, and show tickets to big spenders like Hoa because they were confident that, sooner or later, the gambler would lose enough to cover those costs—and then lose even more, generating huge profits for the house.

No one who wins early on simply quits cold turkey and never plays again. Having tasted victory, any player will return for more, hoping to win again. Even if luck holds steady for weeks or months, continued play inevitably leads to losses—wiping out previous winnings and draining even more funds. Hoa had won while her luck was hot—a time when money was pouring into her business and good fortune seemed to follow her everywhere.
 
However, after changing law offices three times and facing fierce competition from newly opened firms in Bolsa, her luck took a turn for the worse. Just as she learned the FBI was monitoring and investigating her, Hoa began suffering heavy losses at the gambling tables.

Over two months of playing blackjack in Las Vegas, Hoa lost the entire $600,000 she had won over the previous six months. In the following month, she lost another $400,000—her long-saved capital. The more she lost, the higher the stakes she played. She wagered $10,000 per hand; while she managed to recoup a little during some weeks, the majority of her losses occurred that June. During her final session, she played for 48 consecutive hours, eventually losing the full $1 million in credit the casino had extended to her via signed markers.

Hoa realized she was wiped out and saddled with a $1 million debt to the casino. She was well aware of the fate awaiting those who defaulted on gambling debts in Las Vegas. Out in the desert, just miles from the Las Vegas Strip, lay the bones of countless gamblers who had reneged on their debts—victims "disposed of" there by mob enforcers acting on behalf of the casinos.

Hoa spent a full day and night in her room, devising a plan to handle the casino debt. Finally, she hit upon a bold idea. She went straight to the FBI office in Las Vegas and reported that the casino had threatened to kill her if she did not pay the full amount. Naturally, the FBI was obliged to investigate any allegation, however vague. Hoa also contacted American newspapers in Las Vegas, making a public scene about the death threats and stating that she was seeking FBI protection.
 
Caesar's Palace was a major casino operation owned by ITT, a Fortune 500 giant. Consequently, the casino's management wanted to avoid trouble with the authorities or any investigation sparked by the allegations of a single woman. ITT ordered the management to defuse the situation after Hoa reported to the FBI and the press that Caesar's Palace was conspiring with a criminal organization to have her eliminated.

Hoa was summoned to the administrative offices to negotiate with the casino director. Ultimately, they reached an agreement: Hoa would withdraw her complaint to the FBI, and Caesar's Palace would reduce her one-million-dollar debt to one-tenth of that amount—$100,000—payable over five years.

In reality, management had been ordered to forgive the entire debt; however, for the sake of protocol and official records, the obligation remained—albeit at just ten percent of the original sum. The director also hinted that if Hoa filed for bankruptcy upon returning to California, the Las Vegas casino would write off the remaining balance, effectively severing all ties between the two parties.

Although she had escaped the casino debt, Hoa was left penniless. Her law firm was forced to close after the American attorneys she had hired—fearing an investigation—withdrew from the case one by one. She needed to find a new line of work, and that was when she met Tài. She had heard vaguely about "Tài Bún" from Lệ, but among the Vietnamese business community in Orange County—particularly those with offices in the Bolsa area—Tài was a well-known figure.