Chapter 12
 
Bách looked back at the stack of papers before him. He was dazzled by the potential profit if the deal went through. It would only take a bit of finesse on his part. Best of all, Bách saw an opportunity to do business with Lệ—the woman he had been fantasizing about and longing to possess, a desire that had been driving him relentlessly for the past month.
 
This stroke of luck had arrived two days earlier when Tuyến called to arrange a business meeting. Bách didn't know Tuyến—Lệ’s husband—personally, having only heard his name, but the moment his secretary mentioned Tuyến was on the line, he cut short a long-distance dícussion with the MetLife office to take the call. Tuyến spoke about insurance for a corporate consortium he was representing in an investment venture, noting that there were several issues requiring a private discussion.

Bách accepted immediately and suggested meeting the following day at the bar in the Hyatt Hotel. He wanted a discreet location, one not frequented by many Vietnamese people. Although it was a bar, Bách had instructed the staff to reserve a table in a small, private room designed for businesspeople—an elegant, refined space where patrons could enjoy privacy without prying eyes. Tuyến arrived on time; Bách shook his hand and invited him to sit.

The two men studied each other, weighing up the strengths and weaknesses. Bách observed Tuyến’s nearly bald head and his impassive, emotionless face; his upper lip seemed perpetually curled in a sneer, giving him an air of haughtiness that was easily off-putting. Yet, Bách was wary of Tuyến’s gaze. A man with a look that seemed to probe deep into one’s soul was a formidable adversary. That was the conclusion Bách reached about the man with whom he was planning to do business.

Tuyến, for his part, also felt a sense of wariness toward the man sitting across from him. Bách was notorious as a crook within the Vietnamese business community in Orange County. Tuyến had heard about Bách’s shady tactics regarding insurance sales. Early on, some customers looking for auto insurance through Bách Việt were lured into buying policies from obscure, little-known carriers. Instead of writing checks directly to the insurance companies, they made their monthly payments to Bách Việt.

For the first few months, Bách would pocket the entire premium payment himself, gambling on the hope that the customers wouldn't get into any accidents; he would only finalize the official paperwork with the actual insurance company after six months or so. Fortunately for him, he was never exposed, simply because none of his clients happened to get into a crash! It was only after a similar scheme at another insurance agency collapsed—resulting in someone being charged and jailed—that Bách finally got scared and stopped his practice of embezzling premiums.

Yet, through these few underhanded schemes, Bách had already made a fortune, giving him the capital and means to launch aggressive advertising campaigns to attract more customers. Another of Bách’s business ventures—one that benefited both the seller and the buyer—involved life insurance. He would have his staff scout for Vietnamese patients who had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer and persuade their children to take out life insurance policies on them.
 
They didn't buy huge amounts—which might raise red flags—but rather policies worth a few tens of thousands of dollars. Bách would then falsify documents to show the policies had been purchased *before* the cancer diagnosis. When the patient passed away, the $50,000 payout would be split: Bách Việ\t took half, and the patient's children took the other half.

Since the payout amounts were relatively small, the insurance companies saw no reason to launch lengthy, complicated investigations and would quickly settle the claims. Bách was shrewd; he selected various insurance companies and handled only one or two claims with each over long intervals, avoiding undue scrutiny. He was careful not to overdo the scheme—perhaps repeating it with a different insurer only every two or three years. Pulling such stunts too frequently would inevitably lead to exposure sooner or later.

Yet, precisely because his schemes were clever and discreet—and yielded significant benefits for the complicit clients—Bách Việt’s business skyrocketed. He earned the trust of his fellow countrymen, and word-of-mouth referrals brought a steady stream of new clients to his door. As his clientele grew, Bách moved away from the risky, shifty tactics he had employed when first starting out; with such a large customer base, the monthly commissions paid by the insurance companies alone generated a handsome income.

He focused only on high-value deals that offered big payouts with minimal risk, having completely abandoned the brazen, petty scams of the past—schemes that yielded little profit but invited investigation and a quick trip to prison.

Although Tuyến hadn't said much about the business over the phone, Bách knew about the investment firm Tuyến and Lệ ran—which handled only major deals—and surmised that Tuyến’s proposal would be substantial enough to warrant his time. Tuyến got straight to the point:

"The matter I want to discuss with you is quite significant. I hope we understand each other: discretion is paramount. You agree, don't you?"

"Yes. You’ve likely heard about me. Whatever else may be said, I prioritize confidentiality above all else. You can rest assured."
 

 
Tuyến said nothing. He hesitated slightly. A simple nod of agreement from Bách would have sufficed. People who loudly proclaim their discretion and vow never to reveal secrets are rarely trustworthy—experience had taught him that. Yet, having come this far, he had no choice but to see it through. He couldn't let a trivial hunch ruin the whole deal.

"The investment portfolio I represent amounts to 100 million US dollars. We need insurance coverage for over a dozen buildings across several states, as well as policies for a workforce of more than a hundred employees—all in compliance with government and Department of Labor regulations. I estimate the monthly insurance premiums will run around 60,000 US dollars. I intend to hand over all these insurance services to your company, Bách Việt, to manage. The condition, however, is that I receive a 20% cut each month."

Bách did a quick mental calculation. Tuyến wanted 12,000 US dollars a month! That was a massive sum to pocket just for insurance—and who knows how much more Tuyến was skimming from other aspects of the business? It was baffling to think of an investment group wealthy enough to let Tuyến represent them while allowing such blatant skimming! Bách resolved to investigate the investment group backing Tuyến further. Still, with 60,000 a month in premiums, he could easily secure a 10,000-dollar profit for himself. Not bad at all.

"Yes, that won't be a problem. I’ve already received some of the documents you sent. However, there are a few more papers I need; I wonder when you might be able to get them to me?"

Tuyến nodded. He was beginning to appreciate Bách’s efficient way of working—quick to grasp the situation without needing a lot of explanation. Despite still harboring no personal fondness for Bách, he appreciated the man's decisiveness—skipping the haggling and getting straight to the point. Tuyến spoke:

"I spend most of my time at the Los Angeles office and rarely come down to Orange County, so I’ll have my wife handle the paperwork and deliver it to you. I want the insurance matters finalized within three days. Can you manage that?"

Bách smiled:

"Rest assured! I’ll have everything wrapped up well before your deadline."

Bách chuckled inwardly, pleased with himself. Now he had a legitimate reason to see Lệ. What could be better than doing business with Tuyến—earning ten thousand dollars a month—while also having the chance to cuckold him? He looked at Tuyến’s bald head and couldn't help but think it was actually quite crowded up there! Countless playboys in Orange County had already planted a forest of horns on that shiny scalp. What did one more pair of razor-sharp horns—courtesy of his new business associate—matter?

Bách suddenly felt a twinge of pity for Tuyến. What was the point of amassing so much wealth when his wife casually cheated on him with one man after another? People might bow and scrape before him out of respect for his fortune, but behind his back, they covered their mouths to stifle their mockery.

Tuyến stood up and shook Bách’s hand, preparing to leave. He didn't want to linger, fearing that a Vietnamese business acquaintance might walk into the hotel bar. The fewer people who knew about this kind of arrangement between him and Bách, the better. But Bách didn't let Tuyến leave just yet. He asked:

"Are you the president of the VIP group this year? I’ve been wanting to join, but I don't have an introduction yet. Could you sponsor my membership?"

Tuyến looked slightly taken aback and sized Bách up from head to toe. His VIP group was not widely known. Tuyến wasn't sure where the guy had heard about it, but he was asking to become a member. Tuyến hesitated; he didn't really want to, yet found it hard to refuse. Besides, their business dealings brought in over ten thousand a month—letting Bách in wouldn't hurt, and it might even foster greater loyalty. Tuyen replied:

"Alright! I’m willing. But you’re already familiar with the VIP group's standards and bylaws, right?"

Bách nodded. He had long coveted a spot in this—the most prestigious and affluent club in Orange County—but had never found the right opening or felt he quite met the qualifications. Now, however, with Tuyến sponsoring his entry—and just as Tuyến had been elected the year's chairman—it was an opportunity too good to pass up.

The two men stood up, shook hands, and prepared to leave. Tuyến was pleased; skimming money from the corporate consortium had been relatively easy, and while he still didn't care for Bách personally, he found the partnership workable. After all, they were both raking in tens of thousands of dollars a month—they had to look out for each other. Sponsoring Bách for the VIP group was a smart move, too. It wasn't easy to recruit a sharp, savvy subordinate like Bách. Sure, the guy was a crook—but then again, who in this business world wasn't? You couldn't get rich otherwise!

 
Chapter 13
 
Bách sensed that luck was finally smiling upon him. Money was pouring in, his obsession with possessing Lệ seemed within reach, and—to top it all off—the husband whom Bách was practically ready to hand him a pair of cuckold’s horns, will help Bách for entry into the VIP club. What could be more delightful? He had long yearned to join this VIP circle ever since he first heard of this elite society.

In the early years following the 1975 exodus, most Vietnamese refugees were struggling to make ends meet; few gave any thought to social clubs or lavish entertainment. Yet, within just a few years, those with stable careers or specialized professions—doctors, dentists, pharmacists, lawyers—found themselves with money to burn and began considering the formation of a club to socialize among the wealthy and prestigious.

The organization was known as the VSC, short for Vietnamese Social Club, and its membership comprised the movers and shakers of Orange County; admission required sponsorship by two existing members. Over the years, the membership swelled to four or five hundred, with the club’s main activity being two glamorous annual galas held at a luxury American hotel.

The highlight was the New Year’s Eve gala on December 31st. Attendees dressed in formal evening wear—men in tuxedos and women in long gowns—using the occasion to display their diamonds and engage in a mix of showing off and mutual envy. American waiters in crisp white uniforms served a formal, sumptuous five-course meal with solemn courtesy. No one opted for Chinese cuisine on New Year’s Eve; it lacked the air of upscale sophistication and the deferential service provided by American waitstaff.
 
The banquet was followed by a dance that lasted past midnight, allowing everyone to exchange New Year’s greetings. The VSC Association has upheld this tradition of lavish socializing for some twenty years; later, a second gala was added to coincide with the U.S. Independence Day on July 4th. Both events serve as prime opportunities for Orange County’s affluent elite to dress up, show off their finery, and display their wealth in a spirited atmosphere. Attendance at these VSC galas is considered the ultimate badge of success for Vietnamese residents in Orange County. Consequently, the number of applicants has surged as entrepreneurs achieved prosperity—often surpassing established professionals such as doctors, dentists, and lawyers.

Membership criteria became more stringent over time, eventually requiring a minimum annual income exceeding $200,000. However, fueled by business successes—particularly during the late 1990s stock market boom—the ranks of millionaires in Orange County swelled. In response, the VSC board held secret meetings to establish an exclusive subgroup, aiming to distinguish the association's absolute elite from its merely wealthy members.

This group was named "Vietnamese Investment Professionals" or VIP—a moniker implying they were "Very Important People." Qualification for VIP status required a minimum net worth of $5 million (defined as the total value of all assets minus liabilities, such as mortgages and business loans). Membership in the VIP group was capped at 50 individuals, effectively representing the 50 wealthiest people in Orange County.
 
Over the years, California real estate values ​​skyrocketed; homes purchased a decade ago for a few hundred thousand dollars were now worth millions. Consequently, the number of individuals with assets exceeding $5 million grew, and many sought entry into the VSC’s exclusive VIP circle—a group that had raised its membership threshold to a minimum of $10 million in assets for consideration.

Bách mentally tallied his own net worth. His home in Newport Beach was now worth around $2 million—he had bought it for just $400,000 back in the day. If only he had bought a few more back then, he’d be far better off now! He had about a million in his Charles Schwab stock account and another million in his retirement fund. His business was valued at roughly $3 million. That brought his net worth to $7 million—still short of the VIP requirement. But so what? Bach never let a shortfall of a few million stand in the way of what he wanted to do.

He could simply pay a CPA a small fee to inflate the valuation of his home and business to hit that $10 million mark—problem solved! He wondered how many of the current fifty VIP members actually possessed $10 million in assets. If he was willing to falsify documents to gain entry and show off his status as one of Orange County’s elite, surely others had done the same. After all, to get rich enough to qualify for the VIP group, one had to be unscrupulous enough to fake the paperwork—just like him! Bach chuckled to himself. Unscrupulous? So what? That’s how you get rich!

° ° °

This year, the VSC’s July 4th Independence Day gala was held at the Four Seasons Hotel. He decked himself out in the latest trendy tuxedo and even rented a limousine to make a grand entrance. After all, a few hundred bucks was nothing! Now that he had made it into the VIP circle, he certainly couldn't show up looking shabby like the ordinary VSC members.
 
He went alone. Experience had taught him that going solo was far more advantageous. Among the seven or eight hundred guests, there were countless beautiful women attending alone: ​​successful women in the prime of life—neither old nor young—wealthy and bored with their stuffy, old-fashioned husbands; young beauties who had divorced after only a few years of marriage and were now part of the singles crowd. These unaccompanied beauties came to the VSC gala to meet other single men. Then there were the women who arrived with their husbands but were perfectly willing to dance—and flirt—with other men; they were free-spirited and uninhibited. Swapping partners during the gala was a common occurrence!

Bách had prudently booked a hotel room in advance. He figured he would surely hook up with some fragrant, alluring woman to spend the night with after the gala ended at 2:00 AM. Many other members did the same, booking rooms for the exciting encounters that followed the dance. Of course, there were also respectable couples who stayed over just to enjoy a change of scenery—a break from the monotony of daily life.
 
Bách smiled to himself, admiring these genuine couples. How could people sleep with the same person night after night—for thirty or forty years, fifty or sixty years, an entire lifetime—with just that one person? It was truly remarkable!

° ° °

Bách looked around. The lavish banquet was drawing to a close, and the band was preparing for the dance portion of the evening. He was seated near the table shared by Tuyến and Lệ—one of the five most luxurious tables, positioned right next to the dance floor. Only VIP guests were permitted to sit at these five tables of honor, basking in the envious, resentful, and frustrated gazes of the ordinary VSC members.
 
There is nothing quite like sitting regally at a coveted table—the envy of all—attended by more servers than any other table, all eager to cater to one's every whim, while knowing that onlookers gaze with admiration at the success of one of Orange County’s wealthiest men.

The band struck up a Paso Doble. VIP guests from the five tables of honor took to the dance floor. Tuyến and Lệ, Tài and Hoa, and Quang—accompanied by a stunning South American beauty with a fiery figure—stepped out simultaneously to open the dance. Bách remained seated. He wanted to wait for a few more songs before finding a pretext to approach Tuyến’s table and ask Lệ to dance. Suddenly, Bách had no eyes for any other woman; his attention was fixed entirely on Lệ, and a strange, growing compulsion to possess her began to consume him.

Bách had never experienced a feeling like this before. Until now, women had merely been objects of sexual gratification—to be used, then promptly forgotten, cast aside, and abandoned without a shred of regret or a second thought. What had come over him since he first saw Lệ in his office when she came looking for Hoán? An obsession was taking hold of him, growing stronger by the moment, making it impossible to tear his eyes away from Lệ as she danced.

The dance floor grew increasingly crowded, especially during popular numbers like the Rumba, Cha-Cha, and Tango. Whether in Orange County or anywhere else in the U.S., Vietnamese refugees preferred dancing to the familiar tunes of Vietnamese bands and singers, just as they had back in Vietnam before 1975. Even at a lavish gala held in a top-tier American hotel—like this VSC event—the dancing had to feature those same Vietnamese melodies and the traditional dance styles of decades past; nothing had changed.
 
Bách spotted all the familiar faces of Orange County—couples he had seen together just last month were now split up, each dancing with someone else. There were even pairs who had divorced a decade ago—having since remarried two or three other people—who had now unexpectedly reunited, dancing together with the same tender intimacy as newlyweds! Bách also saw Liên and her three husbands taking turns on the floor; the eldest danced to slow numbers like the Boston, the middle one to Bolero and Tango, and the youngest to upbeat tracks like Be-Bop and Twist!

Liên danced joyfully with her three husbands—openly and brazenly, as if challenging everyone—heedless of the other women’s prying eyes and judgmental whispers. *I’ve got the talent to bring three husbands to the dance tonight. What are you staring at? Go ahead and sue me!* Liên held her head high as she danced, glancing around to provoke the other couples—who dared only to steal furtive looks and whisper quietly to one another.

 
° ° °

The emcee signaled the band to pause, announcing a special performance by the singer Hoàng Vân. Vân was set to take the stage and perform three pre-requested songs. Bách watched Lệ closely; she seemed struck by a sudden jolt. Her eyes were fixed intently on Vân—gleaming and fierce, like a lioness poised to pounce on her prey. Bách had never seen such a ferocious look.

Lệ seemed to have turned into a stone statue; motionless, her breath seemingly suspended, she stared unblinkingly, her gaze projecting a fiery intensity that appeared to scorch the singer performing on stage. Bách had no idea Lệ harbored such bitter resentment toward Hoán! She resembled a woman consumed by a jealous rage—a mistress furious with the lawful wife—capable of stooping to any cruel tactic or act to torment her rival.

Hoán sat at a table far in the back, gazing at Vân with rapt attention, as if devouring every note she sang. He was completely unaware of Lệ approaching until she was right beside him. Smiling, Lệ sat down in the empty chair next to Hoán—the one Vân had just vacated. She reached out and lightly tapped Hoán’s cheek, much like a mother playfully teasing a young child:

"It’s been ages! How have you been, Hoán?"

Hoán looked around awkwardly. Many eyes were fixed on him and Lệ. He stammered:

"Just the usual. You’re well, too, I hope?"

Lệ’s expression hardened for a fleeting moment. Hoán had addressed her as "Chị"—a formal, respectful term for an older woman—instead of using her name! Yet, she kept smiling. The couples at their table, and many others nearby, were whispering. Hoán had every reason to be nervous!

"How could I be well? I’ve called so many times, but no one ever answers!"
 
Hoán lowered his head. He hadn't expected Lệ to be so brazen—openly reproaching him like a lover, with no regard for anyone around them. Vân had finished her third song on stage and was about to return to their table. How could he possibly escape Lệ’s clutches now? She was making no secret of her intent to claim him—right in front of Vân’s friends and other acquaintances. Everyone in Orange County knew Lệ, and now, everyone knew that Hoán was her latest young lover.

Lệ grabbed Hoán’s hand and hauled him to his feet. She spoke with the tone of a command:

"Come dance this song, Hoán!"

Hoán had no choice but to reluctantly stand and follow her to the dance floor. Lệ kept a tight grip on his hand, but she stopped abruptly at the edge of the floor. Vân, having finished her final song, had stepped down and hurried across the dance floor to confront them. She grabbed Hoán’s other hand and pulled him toward her:

"Hello, Lệ! I’ve already claimed this tango with Hoán!"

Hoán stood frozen in place. A woman held each of his hands in a vice-like grip; neither would let go. Lệ and Vân locked eyes—polite smiles still fixed on their lips, yet sparks seemed to fly between them like electric arcs.
 
Bystanders stepped back, anticipating a juicy scandal about to unfold.

Hoán tried to wrench his hands free from both Lệ and Vân, but it was useless. Though their hands were small, they held him with the strength of iron clamps, their sharp fingernails digging into his wrists hard enough to draw blood. The smiles were gone now; their faces were dark with rage, as if they wanted to tear each other apart. Hoán didn't know what to do; he no longer dared to try and jerk his hands away. Hoán understood that if the two women let go of his hands, they would almost certainly grab each other and start brawling right there on the dance floor!

Bách approached the trio. He had been watching ever since Lệ first walked over to Hoán’s table. He had noticed that Tuyến had stepped out into the lobby a while ago—likely uninterested in dancing and preferring to chat with friends. The spectacle of two women fighting over Hoán had to be resolved immediately; otherwise, the dance would be ruined, and the VSC gala’s reputation tarnished. Although he had only recently been admitted to the VIP group—the elite circle that held the highest status in the association—Bách felt a duty to protect the organization in Tuyến’s absence. Furthermore, Hoán was his employee; a messy public altercation involving Lệ would cause him no end of trouble.

Bách stepped right up to Lệ and gently unclasped her hand from Hoán’s. He bowed slightly:

"May I have this dance?"

Without waiting for her reply, Bách led her onto the dance floor, placing his arm around her waist and guiding her away to a different spot, far from Hoán and Vân. Lệ was trembling violently with rage. She followed Bách, but her legs felt unsteady, as if they might buckle beneath her. Her breathing grew rapid and labored, making her feel as though she were suffocating.
 
Bách held her tighter. Her body felt like a burning coal, fueled by her fury. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself, but her vision began to swim. She knew she had to get outside immediately, or she would faint from hyperventilation. She had experienced these dizzying hyperventilation spells a few times years ago, and doctors had advised her to breathe into a paper bag for an extended period to stop them.

Bách guided her out of the dance hall. Lệ stood leaning against a marble pillar and pointed out the registration desk outside the doorway to Bách:

"Could you get me that paper bag on the table?"

Bách brought it over and was surprised to see Lệ pressing the bag tightly against her nose, breathing into it for a long time. Her breathing gradually slowed, and a few minutes later, she was breathing normally again.
 
Lệ knew she had regained her composure, yet the anger lingered. Never before had she felt so humiliated. She knew what she had to do to shake off her obsession with Hoán and partially mask the jealousy she felt toward Vân.
 
She turned to Bách:

"You’ve booked a hotel room for tonight, haven't you?"

Bách nodded. He knew exactly what she wanted. Possessing Lệ tonight—knowing it was merely a reaction to her jealousy of Vân and a way to forget the humiliation she’d just suffered on the dance floor—wasn't exactly a glorious conquest. But Bách was a realist. Lệ paid him no mind; she was currently infatuated with Hoán. Yet, Bách saw this as a golden opportunity to finally satisfy his long-held desire for her. Glory didn't matter to him. Who knew? After tonight, she might realize just how far superior he was to Hoán. That young kid couldn't possibly compare to a seasoned man like himself. Perhaps Lệ would become just as captivated by him as she was by Hoán. It didn't matter—what woman who had been with Bách didn't end up madly in love with him?

Convinced of this, he smiled and guided Lệ into the elevator, heading up to the sixteenth floor where he had rented a luxurious suite for the night. He had expected to pick up some young, beautiful woman who was out alone; instead, he had landed the very woman he’d been dreaming of—and gained the chance to plant a pair of massive horns on the Chairman’s head. It was perfect. How could life be anything but wonderful when it played out like a dream?