The Call of the Abyss - Nguyễn Đình Phùng

 
Uyên’s new job had transformed her, and Vấn was surprised to find that she no longer displayed any signs of annoyance or weariness when being intimate with him. She seemed to be in a constant state of arousal. She appeared far more responsive to him than before, and she treated him with greater patience. At times, Vấn imagined he might actually be able to fully satisfy Uyên—at least on occasion—though he wasn't entirely sure. Uyên’s transformation delighted him at first, but as time went on, Vấn began to grow suspicious and found himself raising many questions.

Uyên’s peculiarities, though subtle, were impossible for Vấn to overlook. Certain positions or techniques she employed were entirely novel to him. Her gestures and actions seemed to have been imported from some outside source—caresses and acts of affection accompanied by strange, unfamiliar forms of stimulation. Even her laughter and the sounds she made while in his arms had undergone a change. Vấn had a distinct intuition that her newfound uninhibitedness during intimacy must have a root cause. And so he concluded—or rather, he *knew*—that Uyên was having an affair; that there was another man in her life.

No sensation is more agonizing for a man than the feeling of being cuckolded. A friend of Vấn’s had once told him exactly that while recounting the story of his own marriage’s collapse. Vấn had merely offered a smile of pity back then, never imagining that such a thing could ever happen to him. Accidents, misfortunes, and horrors of all kinds always seem like things that happen to *other* people—never to oneself—until the moment they actually strike. Vấn was perceptive enough to realize that Uyên was being unfaithful—that he had indeed been cuckolded—yet he could not bring himself to accept it fully; a part of him still clung to the hope that it wasn't true, desperately attempting to delude himself.

Perhaps he was simply being overly suspicious and jealous, seeing as Uyên had begun leaving early in the morning and returning late at night? Could Uyên’s changes be merely a matter of social obligation—that she still loved him, and everything remained just as it was? Vấn had sat for hours, trying to convince himself, searching for every possible excuse to vindicate Uyên. Yet, from the deepest recesses of Vấn’s soul—that place where his calculating, strictly rational nature held sway—he weighed the conflicting facts and conclusions. Vấn could do nothing other than accept the truth: he had, indeed, been cuckolded!

The only remaining issue was concrete proof—for Vấn, a man of exemplary propriety and meticulous method in all his dealings, felt compelled to see it with his own eyes, to witness it clearly so that not a shred of doubt could possibly linger. Vấn had hired a private investigator to tail Uyên for several consecutive days, and he awaited the man’s report like a condemned prisoner awaiting a death sentence. One afternoon, amidst a torrential downpour, he was at work when his secretary informed him that a Frank Rutter was insisting on speaking with him immediately. It was a matter of the utmost urgency—a private affair!

Vấn picked up the receiver. His heart pounded as if he had just run a grueling cross-country mile. His spirits sank instantly. Rutter spoke in a flat, detached tone—the voice of a man who performed this task every day, sounding utterly bored, as if this were nothing more than a mundane way to earn a living:

"I’m parked right outside the Holiday Inn. Your wife just went inside with another man. I followed them and saw them rent a room. Would you like to come over right now?"

Vấn asked in return, his voice cracking and barely audible, as if he had been winded:

"Are you absolutely sure? Is it definitely my wife?"

Rutter replied curtly:

"I cross-referenced her with the photo you gave me. There’s no mistake!"

"I’m on my way!"
 
He dropped the receiver and, as if fleeing from a ghost, bolted from his office, calling out over his shoulder as he rushed past his secretary’s desk in the outer room:

"I have to leave early!" Family matters!

The secretary watched in astonishment; for nearly eight years, Van had never left the office even half a minute early!

Van drove to the Holiday Inn, where he found Rutter waiting for him right at the entrance. Rutter said:

"They’ve rented Room 305. What do you want to do?"

Van had regained his composure during the drive from the bank to the hotel. He asked Frank Rutter in return:
 
"What do you think I should do?"

Rutter shrugged:

"That depends entirely on what you want. Do you simply want to know for certain, or do you want concrete evidence—photographic proof? The matter rests entirely on your decision!"

Van nodded and said to Rutter:

"I just want to know for certain. That’s all. However, I do want you to take a few photos when they leave the premises—close-ups, as well as shots that clearly show the Holiday Inn signage in the background."

Van sat inside Rutter’s car—parked on the opposite side of the street, directly across from the hotel’s main entrance—waiting for Uyen and for a glimpse of the man who had cuckolded him. In the back seat, Rutter had his camera—equipped with a state-of-the-art telephoto lens—ready to shoot. Van tried to clear his mind, yet the image of Uyen inside that hotel room, making love to a man who was not him, flashed vividly before his eyes.
 
Suddenly, Van felt a wave of nausea; he felt as though he were about to vomit. He could even perceive the pathetic nature of his own presence there—sitting with a private investigator poised to take photographs, waiting for Uyen and her lover to emerge from their hotel bedroom. Why didn't he simply fly into a rage—roaring like any other ordinary man—and storm in to catch the adulterous pair red-handed, letting the chips fall where they may? He even found himself wondering: why hadn't he simply done the tailing himself and then shot them both? Questions arose, and various courses of action were hypothesized...

 
Questions were raised, and various solutions hypothesized, yet Vấn knew he could not act rashly or thoughtlessly—actions that would ultimately prove self-destructive. He was neither hot-headed nor foolish enough to let everything come crashing down. He had already been wounded by Uyên’s infidelity; he could not allow that pain to deepen any further.

Rutter called out loudly:

"There they are!"

He snapped photos furiously. Vấn watched as Uyên wrapped her arms around the man’s waist; his heart skipped a beat, and his stomach clenched tight. The man who had cuckolded him was none other than Lữ—Uyên’s client, the very man preparing to go into business with him and his wife!

Uyên stood on her tiptoes to embrace Lữ around the neck, sharing a passionate, fervent kiss before each headed toward their respective cars. Vấn watched with bitter resentment. Had Uyên ever kissed him like that? The truth struck him suddenly, like the lash of a whip across his face. Uyên had never loved him; she had shared his bed, yet he had never possessed her heart.
 
His body went cold. Had Uyên once loved him only to grow tired of him now—seeking a new romance—perhaps Vấn would not be suffering so acutely in this moment. Instead, he was forced to confront the utter emptiness of his marriage: a union defined solely by his own unrequited love for Uyên.

Vấn watched Lữ’s retreating figure as he headed toward a white convertible Mercedes parked near the entrance. His enemy! Vấn made a swift decision. He would proceed with the business venture with Lữ, just as Uyên had discussed with him; the potential profits were simply too vast, too lucrative—he would be a fool to let such an opportunity slip away. Doing business with one’s enemy for the sake of profit was, after all, the mark of a shrewd man. Yet, Lữ would be made to pay a steep price for this grave insult.
 
Vấn watched Frank Rutter continue snapping photographs, and a sneer curled across his lips. Uyên and Lữ would remain oblivious to the fact that Vấn had uncovered their affair. Everything would proceed as usual, as if nothing untoward had ever occurred. Yet, step by step, he would ensnare Lữ in his trap—Lữ and Miriam, along with their colossal fortune and vast business empire. They would become prey choking within the tightening noose Vấn had fashioned. He would draw it taut ever so slowly, savoring the death throes of his enemies—a death a thousand times more agonizing than the swift release a bullet would have offered.

Vấn would never forgive; yet, in the execution of his vengeance, he intended to reap the maximum possible benefit. Only a fool acts in the heat of the moment merely to vent momentary rage, thereby inflicting further damage upon himself. Vấn sought to exact the most brutal retribution upon the man who had cuckolded him, but simultaneously, he demanded that this act of vengeance serve as a conduit for immense profit and personal advancement. Only then—as he watched his enemies writhe in their death throes—could he truly feel vindicated and take pride in his own cunning!

 
Chapter 19
 
Vấn did not know how he was supposed to treat Uyên. He was acutely aware of his own misfortune—whether he wanted to be or not. Vấn had become a cuckolded husband, and he knew it with absolute certainty. He now had to assume a new role in the drama that he and Uyên had scripted for their marriage. Vấn thought to himself with bitter irony: Is not every life merely a stage play? The only difference, perhaps, lies in whether the actor is conscious of the fact—whether they deceive themselves, in addition to putting on an act for those around them and for the outside world.

Vấn wondered: Now that he had seen with his own eyes Uyên and Lữ emerging from the hotel, to what extent would he be able to maintain his composure when he next encountered Uyên? How would he speak? How would he behave? A sudden surge of curiosity rose within Vấn. For a brief, fleeting moment, he felt a sense of detachment—as if he were a dispassionate bystander, calmly observing himself from a distance, coldly analyzing the couple that was "Vấn and Uyên," and scrutinizing the reactions of the cuckolded husband and the unfaithful wife.

Vấn smiled. Was there any husband quite like him? Why was he still capable of such detached analysis and self-examination? Why couldn't he simply be like other ordinary men, reacting in the standard way when faced with such circumstances? But then again—why *should* he be like anyone else? While having an unfaithful wife might be a common occurrence in life, for him, it was by no means a simple matter that could be reduced to a generic formula. This was a monumental tragedy in his life; how he chose to react to it was his own private affair—why should he question it or feel the need to justify himself?

Uyên walked through the door and began speaking in a rapid, ceaseless stream:

"It’s pouring outside! Did you get soaked coming home from work?" "I took this couple out to look at houses, but we got stuck in the rain and couldn't get back to the car; we had to wait forever before we could finally head home!"
 
Vấn simply stared at Uyên, saying nothing. What a truly deceitful woman! Had he not witnessed it with his own eyes—Uyên and Lữ walking out of the Holiday Inn with their arms around each other—he might have felt sympathy for his wife’s arduous work and loved her even more. Vấn took note, recalling the days when Uyên came home late—days when she was far more talkative and cheerful than usual. He had rejoiced in her happiness then, but now he knew the truth. Those flushed cheeks and that radiant smile were brought about by another man—not him.
 
And perhaps, at some point, they had laughed at him, turning him into a farce to mock and toy with, all to heighten their own thrill and gratification! Vấn suddenly flared with anger. His hands trembled slightly. He took a deep breath and composed himself. When Vấn finally spoke, he was surprised to find his voice remained outwardly calm—merely carrying a subtle, measured chill:

"Go change your clothes, then come eat. I’ve already prepared a few things. You just need to warm them up a little!"

Vấn poured himself a glass of wine. It had been a long time since he had touched a drop of alcohol. Vấn was not a heavy drinker; he only indulged on special occasions or when meeting with close friends. He gave a wry smile at himself. If today wasn't a "special occasion" for him, then what day could possibly be?

Uyên descended the stairs. Vấn looked at his wife and was stunned to realize he had never seen her look so beautiful. He had married Uyên because she was beautiful and alluring, yet after years of married life, Vấn had all but forgotten that fact. He remained conscious that he possessed a beautiful wife, but he had come to take it for granted—no longer a source of fresh excitement, nor something he felt the need to cherish and remind himself of every single moment of every day. Vấn was forced to confront a banal truth—one that felt almost like a cliché—namely, that his wife was truly stunningly beautiful, alluring, and seductive precisely when she was no longer his. She belonged to another man now. She had committed adultery and was no longer his possession.

It pained Vấn to realize that she had never looked as beautiful as she did today—at this very moment—fresh from an intimate encounter with a bastard who was, in every respect, even more despicable than he was, and who had ruthlessly cuckolded him. Vấn shook his head. He would deal with that adversary later. For now, the time had come to resolve matters between himself and Uyên first. Everything had its own time.

The meal was nearly over. Uyên chatted cheerfully about her day selling real estate—stories about the clients she had taken to view properties: people who appeared unremarkable on the surface yet were ready to pay cash for a massive house worth three or four hundred thousand; couples who insisted on touring luxury neighborhoods even though their combined income wouldn't be enough to buy a kitchen nook; and a few single men who had tried their hand at flirting with her. She chattered away incessantly, while Vấn sat in silence, eating and listening.
 
Several times, he had been on the verge of asking her about this afternoon—specifically about the Holiday Inn—intending to confront her directly and listen to her evasive denials, but each time, Vấn held back.

Vấn contemplated the consequences of letting Uyên know that he was fully aware of her infidelity. The inevitable outcome would be that Uyên would demand a divorce. Vấn did not want that to happen. He would suffer heavy losses; he would lose Uyên completely. And he would lose a portion of his assets—a substantial sum of money—something Vấn absolutely never wanted! He looked into Uyên’s eyes and said:

"I want to discuss something with you."

 
There was something unusual about Vấn’s tone, and Uyên sensed it immediately. Throughout the meal, she chattered incessantly, yet every now and then she would cast a furtive, probing glance at her husband. Something was weighing on Vấn’s mind, and his expression filled her with dread. Her intuition told her that it could only be about the affair between her and Lữ. Could it be that Vấn already knew everything? Was this the moment he was going to confront her?

"What did you want to talk about? Wait—hold on! Let me run out to the car and grab the flan for you. I got so caught up talking that I completely forgot about it. I stopped by the bakery specifically to get it for you, but how silly of me—I forgot to bring it inside!"

Without waiting for his reply, Uyên stood up and headed out. She simply could not let Vấn initiate the conversation—a conversation she was certain could only be about her and Lữ. Uyên returned with the flan—drizzled with a splash of rum, just the way Vấn liked his favorite dessert—and began chattering away once more:

"I bought this flan at 'La Petite Parisienne'! I really hit the jackpot today. Once this house sale closes, my commission alone should come to at least twenty thousand."

Vấn asked in surprise:

"That much?"

Uyên smiled. She knew Vấn’s weakness—she knew him inside out. There was only one thing that could make Vấn temporarily forget the difficult conversation he had intended to have: the subject of profit—the subject of money.

"I took a couple to look at a house in Palos Verdes. It’s listed for nearly nine hundred thousand. They absolutely loved it and are dead set on buying it. There are so many wealthy Vietnamese people these days! Once the sale goes through—and even after splitting the proceeds with the listing agents—I’ll still walk away with over twenty thousand. Do you have any idea how much I’ve made in just the last two months?"

Vấn shook his head. He thought of his own annual salary—a mere fifty thousand dollars a year. With just a single afternoon spent showing a house, followed by a few days of handling paperwork, Uyên could earn a sum equivalent to half of his entire annual income.
 
"Over the past two months, I’ve brought in over thirty thousand. At this rate, I’ll be opening another branch up in L.A. before long!"

Vấn did the mental math instantly. The money she earned—plus the commission from the house sale currently in the works—already amounted to far more than his annual salary. Then there was the matter of her business dealings with Lữ and Triệu Tôn. He now found himself in the disadvantaged position of a man who earned less than his wife. Their future wealth would be brought in by her, no longer resting solely within his own grasp. Vấn realized he couldn't possibly bring up the fact that he had caught Uyên red-handed—at least, not right now.

Observing Vấn’s demeanor, Uyên knew immediately that she had struck a psychological nerve. She asked gently:

"Oh! What was it you said earlier that you wanted to discuss with me?"

"Nothing, really! I just wanted to remind you to come home a little earlier tonight. There’s been a lot of muggings and petty crime lately—it’s really getting out of hand! It’s just not safe for a woman to be out too late at night."

Uyên wrapped her arms around her husband. She knew she had successfully subdued Vấn. He might harbor suspicions about her, but he dared not voice them—and that was all Uyên needed. Once words are spoken, they can never be taken back, and everything would come crashing down. A silent, mutual understanding was enough; it allowed everything to remain outwardly beautiful and made life easier to navigate. Everything was currently going Uyên’s way; she simply needed to play her cards right, and her husband—along with Lữ and all the other men—would be forced to follow the path she dictated.

Vấn wanted to push his wife’s arms away, but he found he couldn't. Uyên clung to him like a serpent, her body beginning to radiate an intense, burning heat. A flicker of anger flared within Vấn. Uyên had just finished being intimate with her lover; was she demanding sex from him now merely to cover her tracks, to make amends, or simply because she remained unsatisfied?
 
For the first time, Vấn felt only contempt for the woman writhing there, attempting to arouse him; and suddenly, he was astonished to find that his rage had transformed him into a new man. He made love to Uyên with a savage intensity—with a vigor he had never before felt he possessed—and for the very first time in his life, he was able to carry Uyên to the absolute pinnacle of sexual fulfillment.

 
Chapter 20
 
The bank’s waiting room was vast and cavernous, with towering columns supporting a soaring ceiling. The marble floor was cool to the touch—as if meant to soothe the anxiety of the borrowers who sat restlessly in massive armchairs, waiting for their turn to try and persuade the bank to invest capital in their business ventures.
 
Lữ and Miriam sat amidst this crowd. Observing Miriam’s demeanor, Lữ could tell she was uncomfortable—indeed, "miserable" would be a more accurate description. Lữ had spent half the day trying to convince her to accompany him to the bank to sign the paperwork for a loan to purchase a shopping complex on Bolsa Avenue. She had said to him:

"You know I don’t like concerning myself with financial matters. Why do I have to go to the bank and deal with all that hassle? You could just bring the documents home for me to sign; that would work just fine!"

Lữ explained to his wife:

"The company purchasing this shopping complex is a joint venture—shared between me and two other partners—but the bank will only approve the loan if you agree to co-sign with me. They want to meet you in person before giving their final approval."

Miriam offered no further comment; she simply nodded. Lữ watched her intently. There was something about her—a certain air—that made him feel uneasy; it seemed to carry a hint of detachment, of indifference. It was as if money had become a dark cloud, casting a shadow over both his and Miriam’s lives. Lữ was becoming increasingly consumed by his business ambitions, and Miriam had begun to sense his growing neglect of her—particularly after she had inherited her late father’s entire estate, with all his assets and properties placed solely in her name.
 
The acute awareness of this fact had created a sense of emotional distance between Lữ and his wife. Miriam understood the dynamic, yet she felt powerless to change it. She still loved Lữ, but his wounded pride had become a source of vexation for her—for it only drove him to pursue wealth with even greater determination. It was as if he felt compelled to prove to Miriam that he, too, could earn a fortune—and that he was, indeed, a worthy man.
 
Miriam had often wanted to ask Lữ why he felt the need to prove his worth. Why couldn't he simply accept himself and live contentedly with the life he already had? Yet, she dared not. For Miriam knew that love could never be as powerful as pride. And whatever love remained between her and Lữ would crumble overnight if she were to voice any reproach regarding his determination to amass wealth. Was it not she herself who had once encouraged Lữ to pursue further studies to advance his standing in this society? Was it not she who had prevailed upon her late father to appoint Lữ as the administrator of their chain of restaurants, thereby giving him his chance? She could blame no one but herself.

Miriam had vaguely understood—having grown up amidst books and novels—that money does not bring happiness; yet, she had always scoffed at such a trite observation. But in truth, for those with a soul akin to hers, money truly was an impediment to happiness. Especially now, when all their assets were held in her name—just as Lavitz had made her promise to keep them—while Lữ, her husband, remained merely an employee earning a fixed monthly salary!
 
Vấn stepped all the way out to the waiting area to escort Lữ and Miriam inside. He had already apologized to the loan department manager for handling the paperwork regarding the acquisition of the Bolsa shopping complex himself explaining that, as this was a Vietnamese commercial district, he was uniquely qualified to accurately assess its true value compared to the other staff members.
 
Vấn cast a glance at Lữ and Miriam as he invited them to take their seats. A surge of rage threatened to erupt within him as he found himself face-to-face with his enemy—flesh and blood—sitting right before him. Vấn imagined the exquisite gratification he would derive from plunging a sharp blade deep into the heart of the rival who had cuckolded him. But there are many ways to exact revenge. And everything has its proper order.
 
Vấn needed to expedite the loan paperwork so that Uyên could finalize the acquisition of the commercial complex. Profit was the priority—something to be seized at the very first opportunity. Moreover, the deeper he could entangle Lữ and his wealthy American wife in his and Uyên’s business dealings, the easier—and more insidious—their opportunity for revenge would become.
 
Vấn turned to Miriam and said:

"We require collateral in the form of your two restaurants, as well as the title to the Santa Barbara estate, before the bank can approve the loan."
"What do you think, Mr. Lữ?"

Lữ replied:

"The loan amount isn't *that* substantial. I believe the value of the South Central restaurant alone—combined with the Santa Barbara estate—should suffice as collateral for this mortgage. I suggest you discuss this matter further with your superiors. While you're at it, you might want to contact the Leibovitz law firm; they can provide you with an appraisal of the assets currently registered in Miriam’s name. As I recall, Mr. Leibovitz happens to be acquainted with Mr. Schwartz—your department head, isn't he?"

Vấn stared at Lữ in stunned disbelief. A flicker of resentment flashed across his face, only to vanish instantly. This man possessed far greater mettle than Vấn had anticipated. Vấn forced a cordial smile:

"Yes, of course. I will certainly discuss this with Mr. Schwartz—though I suspect you are quite right! It is entirely possible that just one restaurant and the Santa Barbara estate will be sufficient. We will reach out to the Leibovitz firm. For now, if you would simply sign these loan documents, that will suffice. I am confident the application will be approved within a week."
 
Miriam glanced at Lữ, silently seeking his cue. Lữ nodded. He knew Miriam did not want to remain in this room for a single second longer—that she had signed the bank loan papers solely to indulge him. Lữ, too, wanted to expedite matters. He harbored little trust in Uyên’s husband regarding this bank loan arrangement, yet Lữ had no other recourse. The building’s owner had agreed to the sale on the condition that the closing take place immediately; consequently, they had been forced to rely on Vấn—an insider at the bank—to secure the mortgage approval with such speed.
 
Lữ reached for his wife’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Miriam looked up at her husband, slightly surprised, but she understood instantly. Lữ wanted to thank her. She had granted him the opportunity to pursue his dream of amassing wealth—a dream meant solely for himself. Her chest suddenly tightened with a pang of anguish. It was an opportunity that would take Lữ further away from her—an opportunity for him to no longer belong to her alone. And as this distance between them seemed to stretch on endlessly, had the fragile thread binding their two souls together grown so thin that, eventually, it would dissolve into nothing but mist and smoke?

 
Chapter 21
 
Sơn held his glass of wine and looked around. As the night wore on, the party grew increasingly lively and spirited, yet he recognized no one other than Lữ and Miriam. The faces around him were completely unfamiliar—as alien to him as if they belonged to an entirely different way of life. Every city abroad with a significant Vietnamese population seemed to have forged its own distinct world—a unique subculture specific to the community of Vietnamese refugees who had settled there.
 
And the Vietnamese in Toronto—as Sơn had observed—were markedly different from their counterparts in California. Just as the Vietnamese in San José bore little resemblance to those in Houston. Sơn smiled. Yet, for all their differences, one common thread running through every Vietnamese community in every city was the ever-growing presence of the *nouveau riche*—those of humble origins striving to project an air of sophistication. This was especially evident at parties like the one tonight.

Sơn accepted—and indeed admired—the upward mobility achieved by his compatriots. People who had been utterly unremarkable in every respect back in Vietnam now enjoyed prosperous lives—many, in fact, were downright wealthy. Families that had once lived in abject poverty now boasted children with advanced degrees and high social standing. The wealthy and prominent figures gathered at tonight’s party were, for the most part, self-made individuals who had built their fortunes from scratch.
 
What Sơn could not stomach, however, was the way so many of them attempted to conceal their pasts and fabricate an air of elegance. Why not take pride in their humble origins—the very foundation from which they had risen to such extraordinary success? Why engage in such gauche, affected posturing—a charade that fooled absolutely no one? Sơn genuinely felt pity for such people. And he hoped that Lữ—his friend—would not fall prey to the lifestyle of the new acquaintances he had recently made in the Little Saigon district.

Lữ had called him down from Toronto to help oversee a new shopping complex on Bolsa Avenue. Sơn had just completed his university studies in accounting and management; having yet to secure a suitable job, he had happily accepted the offer without hesitation. Lữ said:

"What are you doing up there? There are far more opportunities down here. Help me oversee the renovation of this building—let's turn it into a Vietnamese commercial hub. Once that’s finished, we can add all sorts of other things."
 
Sơn asked in return:

"I heard you have a few partners, though! Will they be on board with this?"

Lữ laughed:

"Of course they will! They listen to whatever I say! Besides, I still have to look after Miriam’s restaurants; I can’t possibly handle everything by myself. I need someone I can trust—and down here, the streets are crawling with crooks. If you don't come down to help me, who else am I supposed to find?"

Sơn laughed back:

"I’m coming down, alright! I haven't landed a job yet, and here you are offering me a great gig—why on earth would I pass that up? I’d snatch that up in a heartbeat!"

Lữ said:

"I’ve already spoken to my partners about it! Your salary will be $55,000 a year. Full benefits included! How does that sound?"

"That sounds absolutely fantastic! I’m practically broke right now, so a salary like that is a real godsend! I bet I’ll even be able to save up enough to get married!"

Lữ laughed heartily:

"Then get down here, and fast! Beautiful women are everywhere down here. You won't be left lying in bed all alone! Instead of enjoying life while you’re young, you just kept your nose to the grindstone, obsessing over finishing your studies. You really are a fool, Sơn!"

Sơn bade farewell to his aunt—with whom he had been boarding for the past few years—and flew down to California. He had grown accustomed to the cold climate of the North and wasn't particularly thrilled about having to relocate, but Lữ was right: opportunities were far more plentiful in this region than anywhere else. He also needed to step out into the real world and earn his own keep; he couldn't keep living off his aunt forever.
 
Sơn didn't feel the need to become filthy rich or to achieve success in every conceivable aspect of life, but he did desire a comfortable, modest existence—one that was simply "enough." He didn't want to have to chase after massive wealth or sacrifice everything for the sake of making money, yet neither did he want to spend his days constantly worrying about his livelihood or where his next meal would come from. Say what you will—no matter how romantic or artistic one might be—poverty remains a sin. Poverty so extreme that it breeds destitution and desperation can never be a beautiful sight!

Lữ effectively handed over the entire renovation of the newly acquired building to Sơn. Sơn supervised the contractors as they partitioned the space into various storefronts, even pitching in with the manual labor whenever necessary. He soon realized that no lesson learned in school could ever be as comprehensive as the practical application found in the real world of business. He also took charge of negotiations with prospective tenants looking to open shops and service businesses. Just as Uyên had predicted, the moment the renovations were complete, people flocked to the building in droves, eager to lease space for their ventures.

Sơn had never imagined that commercial activity among the Vietnamese community in Little Saigon could burgeon so rapidly. He found himself harboring a quiet admiration for the shrewdness of Lữ, Uyên, and even that detestable half-Chinese fellow, Triệu Tôn. Investing in real estate along Bolsa Avenue—at a time when Vietnamese immigrants were once again streaming in from all corners to resettle in California—had proven to be a stroke of perfect timing.
 
Thanks to its prime location right on Bolsa Avenue, Lữ’s commercial complex was fully occupied the moment it was finished; not a single unit remained vacant. Sơn also handled the bookkeeping and could immediately see the substantial profits being generated. Although it was a relatively small commercial complex, the high rental rates ensured a monthly cash flow totaling a staggering sixty thousand dollars. After deducting mortgage payments, salaries for himself and other staff members, and various miscellaneous expenses, the partnership—comprising Lữ, Uyên, and Triệu Tôn—still netted a profit of thirty thousand dollars per month.
 
When distributed according to their respective equity stakes, Lữ—holding a 40% share—earned twelve thousand dollars a month. Uyên and Triệu Tôn, each holding a 30% share, took home nine thousand dollars apiece. Uyên, her face beaming like a blossoming flower, was absolutely radiant with delight every time she met with Sơn to review the financial ledgers. Her first major investment had succeeded beyond her wildest dreams. The most remarkable part was that she hadn't had to put up a single penny of her own capital!

Sơn knew that the success of this Bolsa commercial complex lay not merely in the monthly profits generated for each partner. The key factor was that—with the shopping center fully occupied by tenants and the level of commercial activity showing no signs of slowing down—the property's value would instantly double were they to put it on the market right then. Lữ had discussed with him their plan to sell the complex after two years.
 
He estimated that, given the current growth trajectory, the prosperity of the entire Little Saigon region would peak within the next three or four years. However, Lữ intended to exit the commercial real estate sector before that point. For a peak, by definition, implies that a downturn is soon to follow. The essence of the game lay in precise timing: knowing exactly when to enter—and, more importantly, knowing exactly when to get out.

 
Chapter 22
 
Sơn glanced toward the corner of the room. He had just spotted Uyên and her husband. Nearby stood Triệu Tôn and a woman wearing a *sườn xám*—a traditional high-slit dress. As was his habit whenever he encountered Uyên, the Triệu Tôn stared at her with a ravenous gaze, oblivious to everyone around them. Sơn smiled. His friend’s partnership was built upon the sexual currency of a single woman, and he couldn't fathom how long it could possibly last.
 
All he knew was that, for the moment, everyone seemed content—especially given the extraordinary success of their investment venture. Yet Uyên was a ticking time bomb, liable to explode at any moment; Sơn had little faith in the stability of a business enterprise fraught with such intense sexual tension. Although Lữ hadn't confided in him directly, Sơn was astute enough to realize that the connection between Lữ and Uyên ran far deeper than mere business investments. Sơn mused to himself that he ought to advise Lữ to sell off this Bolsa commercial complex sooner rather than later—before something disastrous occurred.

A soft voice drifted into his ear:

"She’s quite beautiful, isn't she? Don't you think so, Sơn?"

Sơn turned around; Miriam was standing right behind him. He smiled:

"She’s alright. But she’s not really my type."

"I always assumed that you men—all of you—were drawn to that particular type of woman."

There was a subtle, unusual note in Miriam’s voice. Sơn studied her intently. Had Miriam grown suspicious about the nature of Lữ and Uyên’s relationship? Sơn deftly steered the conversation in a different direction:

"This party is quite lively, isn't it? Have you ever attended a gathering with this many Vietnamese people before, Miriam?"

"No, never! This is actually my first time. Lữ insisted I attend so I could meet some new people. But I feel a bit out of place. Thank goodness you’re here to talk to."

Sơn asked, sounding slightly surprised:

"Where is Lữ, anyway? I’ve only caught a fleeting glimpse of him once since I got here. Where did he go?"
 
"He’s inside, discussing some business deal with a few other people. I got bored, so I came out here. Why does it always have to be about chasing after money like that?"

Miriam frowned, a flicker of anger beginning to rise within her. Son felt a pang of awkwardness:

"Why don't you just tell Lữ exactly how you feel?"

"I have! But Lữ is completely obsessed with making money now! No matter what I say, it’s useless! He doesn't care about anything else anymore—nothing but business. It’s *always* just business!"

Son tried to defend his friend:

"Maybe it’s just a phase! I don't think he’s *that* consumed by it."

Miriam shook her head and remained silent. Son steered the conversation in a different direction:

"Are you still studying Psychology at UCLA?"

"No! I dropped it. Now I’m studying the Arts—painting and sculpture."

Sơn was delighted. He shifted the topic of conversation to help Miriam forget her frustration with Lữ. Sơn, too, had a passion for drawing and painting; back when he was studying in Toronto, he had even enrolled in painting classes himself.
 
He chatted with Miriam about famous paintings, various art schools, and modern artists. He was pleased to discover just how many things they had in common. But more importantly, Miriam had begun to cheer up; she was no longer preoccupied with the fact that Lữ had left her alone at the party to attend to business matters. Nor did she pay any further attention to Uyên or the men standing around in the corner of the room.

Sơn continued discussing art with Miriam—partly as a way to distract and comfort his friend—yet, at the same time, he began to sense a vague feeling of unease. Was there something amiss in the way he was speaking so enthusiastically about painting and art with his friend’s wife? Was the sheer pleasure of discussing a favorite subject with a beautiful, captivating, and kindred spirit a completely normal, natural occurrence—or was there something else at play?
 
Sơn shook his head, feeling sheepish. Perhaps he was worrying too much about the future, and his moral and social reflexes were a bit excessive. Likewise, his instinct to protect his friendship was perhaps overly intense. What, after all, was wrong with engaging in a mutually enriching conversation about painting with Miriam—an American woman—and feeling drawn to her, captivated by her charm? Why did he have to question himself and blow the matter out of proportion like this?

Yet, Sơn still felt uneasy. Miriam, meanwhile, seemed to become even more immersed in their conversation. She began to transform. The scowling, irritable demeanor she had displayed earlier vanished completely. Her eyes sparkled, as if she were someone who had just rediscovered her true self. And Sơn began to feel a genuine sense of apprehension.
 
Sơn had never been in love before. He had never felt his heart flutter at the sight of a particular figure, a specific glance, or a smile. Although he held an absolute conviction that true love existed—that it resided somewhere out there, in a place he had yet to discover—he simply believed that, one day, he would find that love for himself.

Sơn used to have frequent debates with Lữ back in the days when they still lived in Vietnam. Lữ—driven by a powerful sexual instinct—never believed that anything could exist between a man and a woman other than mere physical attraction. Sơn—with his inherent romantic nature—was forever seeking the sublime beauty of emotional resonance with a member of the opposite sex—a connection he had never actually managed to achieve.
 
The two men were like polar opposites; yet, perhaps that very contrast was precisely why they were able to be such close friends. There was never any rivalry between Sơn and Lữ when it came to women, for the objects of their desires were entirely different.

Sơn vaguely sensed that something extraordinary was happening within him as he stood there at the party, discussing art with Miriam. He struggled to resist the powerful emotion slowly rising within him—a sensation he had never known before—welling up, intoxicating him, and utterly consuming his soul. Could it be? Could this truly be it? Sơn’s rational mind began to race...

 
Miriam was the wife of his friend—the closest friend he had ever known. The man who had faced life and death alongside him through the fiercest battles of the South. The man who had saved him from death countless times, just as he, in turn, had saved his friend on so many other occasions. Sơn and Lữ had never once had to concern themselves with the same girl or the same woman; they had never known rivalry or conflict of any kind. Yet now, Sơn found himself acutely aware of a strange, novel, and utterly irresistible sensation emanating from the wife of his closest friend.

His reason commanded him to stop—to halt the conversation and find a way to remove himself from the scene. A quagmire was spreading out before him, slowly rising to engulf him—creeping past his heels, up to his knees, and rising ever higher. Sơn knew he was sinking deeper and deeper, yet he could not step out—indeed, he did not *want* to step out.
 
For half his life, Sơn had been searching for these very sensations, these very tremors of the soul. This newfound discovery felt like an intoxicating elixir, a sublime stimulant that rooted him to the spot, compelling him to ignore the screaming protests of his reason, the logical arguments of his conscience, and the moral qualms within him.
The existence of love must be a tangible reality—like a natural law, or rather, an immutable principle.
 
Sơn perceived this with absolute clarity; it was as if a veil of mist obscuring the eyes of his soul had suddenly vanished, leaving behind a blinding flash of light. Love originated from deep within him, yet Sơn also distinctly perceived it as an external entity—something that surged in from the outside, crashing down upon him to envelop and utterly possess him. Was love, then, something mystical—flickering, elusive, and shifting—waiting for a specific time and place to suddenly reveal itself and make its grand entrance? There had been no warning, no sign to foretell precisely where or when love would suddenly descend upon him. Like a thief. Like a tsunami on a clear, cloudless day. Like a quagmire suddenly appearing upon a granite floor.

Sơn no longer understood. The Miriam of the past was, to him, merely a beautiful woman—attractive, certainly, but no different from the countless other beautiful women in this world. He had viewed Miriam simply as the beautiful, foreign wife of a friend. Nothing more. Sơn could never have imagined that love would come to him in the form of a woman like Miriam. He had always believed he could only ever love a Vietnamese woman—one who embodied, in both appearance and spirit, the very essence of his homeland.

Sơn was not a zealot, yet he could neither fully accept nor truly adapt to the lifestyle, customs, perspectives, and mindsets of the West. He knew, deep down, that he remained—purely and simply—a Vietnamese man living the life of a refugee in this foreign land. He sought only to integrate into the life of this country, never to assimilate completely. And so, Sơn was truly astonished when love came to him in such a strange manner—running completely counter to his expectations, at odds with his innermost feelings, and betraying everything he had once held as absolute truth regarding the nature of men and women, of Vietnamese and Americans, and of the refugee existence in this land of temporary refuge.

Could it be, then, that love is a matter of destiny? Sơn still refused to believe it; indeed, he loathed the very concept of destiny. On this point, he and Lữ were in perfect accord. Destiny, they believed, was a fabrication of weak, fearful souls—minds all too ready to surrender. Destiny had no place in the lives Sơn and Lữ had lived back in Vietnam—lives spent in constant, inseparable proximity to death, every second of every minute. For destiny, to them, was synonymous with failure, with injury, and with death itself.
 
Was there ever such a thing as a happy destiny? A bright and radiant destiny? No—there was only the destiny of suffering, of loss, and of mortality. Sơn refused—he would never bring himself to believe in destiny. He considered this ingrained belief, characteristic of the Asian people, to be their greatest flaw—the very cause of the vast disparity between the progress of the West and the backwardness of the East.

Yet, Sơn immediately perceived the contradiction within himself. He held an absolute faith in the reality of love. And the most plausible explanation for the very existence of love was destiny—that very concept he disbelieved and rejected. How, then, could he explain the sudden arrival of the love he felt for Miriam—something he had neither anticipated nor believed possible?
 
Indeed, he could not even explain how love could have come to him at all. He had grown convinced that love would never visit him again—not with each passing day, as his years accumulated, as his thoughts grew ever more profound, and as his view of life became increasingly clouded. Love, it seemed, came easily to the young and the innocent; yet, it had chosen to alight upon a soul as parched as his own. Was that not, perhaps, the most astonishing and magnificent wonder of all?

 
Chapter 23
 
Lữ looked over the financial statements detailing the cash flow of VietCal Investment, L.P.’s various holdings, and he smiled with satisfaction. The partnership between himself, Uyên, and Triệu Tôn was growing stronger by the day; every single investment venture had exceeded expectations.
 
In less than a year, the value of the Bolsa shopping center had more than doubled. He had leveraged the equity in the shopping center to secure a bank loan for an investment in a 120-unit apartment complex in Garden Grove. This time, the bank approved his loan immediately, without a single hitch. He hadn't needed to ask Miriam to pledge her assets as collateral as he had the last time—a fact that gave him a quiet sense of pride when he shared the news of his latest business venture with her.
 
Miriam simply looked at him and said, her voice soft:

"You’ve become a wealthy man now, Lữ."

Lữ looked back at her. Was there a hint of coldness—perhaps even a touch of bitterness—in her words? Lữ couldn't be sure, but he didn't dwell on it much. Success had intoxicated him like fine wine; whether Miriam approved or not—what did that matter? Lữ replied:

"I’m still not as rich as you are!"

Miriam stared at Lữ for a long moment. *Why must you use me as a benchmark for competition? What is the point of accumulating even more wealth? And what of our life together as husband and wife? Do you even realize how far apart we’ve drifted?* These were the words she longed to scream at Lữ. But she knew it would be futile. Instead, Miriam simply offered a faint smile and walked into the inner rooms of the house.

Lữ watched her go, but he immediately dismissed the thought of her, turning his attention elsewhere. He had far more pressing matters to occupy his mind. And making money—piles of money—had become an all-consuming obsession for Lữ. Why should he waste his time fretting over his wife’s inexplicable discontent?

Lữ had come to realize one thing: To get rich in this society, you needed momentum. The hardest part is earning your first hundred thousand. After that, it becomes much easier to become a well-off, prosperous individual. Of course, true wealth requires much higher figures. And Lữ believed that the most difficult milestone on the path to great wealth was the first million.
 
He had set himself a specific timeframe to reach this level: exactly one year from the day he signed the papers to purchase the Bolsa shopping center. Uyên had been instrumental in assisting him with his business ventures. The real estate market in California had never been as booming as it was during this period; for rapid wealth accumulation, nothing beat having the capital to invest—at precisely the right time and in the right location—in commercial real estate. Just a few months after the Bolsa shopping center was operating smoothly and its equity value had appreciated significantly, Uyên said to Lữ:

"I know of an apartment complex that just went up for sale. It’s a beautiful, upscale property—almost entirely leased out to white tenants. The only drawback is its size: 120 units. They’re asking for $10 million, but I think we could probably acquire it for $9.5 million."

Lữ replied:

"Have you looked into it thoroughly? I’m not usually keen on investing in apartment complexes, but if the price is a bargain and the property is solid, I’ll go with Sơn to check it out."

He tasked Sơn with evaluating the location, the demographic makeup of the current tenants—specifically how many were employees of nearby factories and their ethnic backgrounds. He instructed Sơn not to overlook a single detail, no matter how trivial, in order to accurately assess the property's true value and its potential profitability should he decide to invest in acquiring it.

Sơn spent a full week conducting his research. He compiled a comprehensive, detailed report for the partnership. Handing it over to Lữ, he offered a concise assessment:

"I think this property is sound; it’s worth buying. How do you plan to finance it?"

Lữ replied:

"I can handle that. The equity we’ve built up in the Bolsa property is sufficient collateral for a bank loan. We might just have to get Triệu Tôn to put up a little more cash for the down payment. Hey, Sơn!" "Take a good look at those Hong Kong Chinese backing up Trieu Ton. Down the road, who knows—we might end up dealing directly with them, cutting this devilish middleman out of the picture entirely!"

In the end, Lữ successfully purchased the apartment complex for $9.6 million. Given the skyrocketing real estate prices in Orange County, Uyên assured him that within a year, they could easily flip the property for a cool $12 million. Lữ chuckled:

"You make it sound so easy! I certainly hope it turns out just like you say. But we still have to be cautious. I don't think housing prices here can keep rising forever. Even the most inflated bubble has to burst eventually. We’ll get out before that happens. I’m not going to wait until prices hit the levels you’re predicting. The moment we’ve cleared a profit of one million, we’re selling—immediately!"
 
Uyên laughed:

"You’re just worrying over nothing! I think housing prices still have a long way to go before they peak. Look at all the Hong Kong and Taiwanese investors pouring their capital over here to snap up homes and land. With people flocking to California in such massive waves, housing prices can only go up; they certainly won't be coming down anytime soon!"

Lữ grew pensive:

"You can't be quite so optimistic. Everything has its limits. I’ve been keeping a very close eye on the local construction industry. The moment you see the price of an older home climb higher than that of a brand-new, comparable property, that’s when you know you need to be careful. I certainly won't be waiting around until things reach that point!"
 
Uyên threw her arms around Lữ 's neck:

"Oh, forget about that for now! We’ve successfully bought this apartment complex—so what kind of reward are you going to give me?"

Lữ smiled but remained silent. He knew Uyên’s nature all too well. And lately, she had become increasingly amorous, making ever-greater demands of him. Nothing made her cheeks flush crimson—or made her body heat radiate with the intensity of a blazing fire—quite like the thrill of making money and amassing wealth.
 
He had already booked a hotel suite for the day of the closing to celebrate with Uyên—and had arranged for room service to deliver their most expensive bottle of Dom Pérignon. What could be better in life than becoming wealthy?

 
What could life offer that is better than achieving wealth and having a passionate lover—a woman consumed by a burning desire that offers the ultimate stimulation—like Uyên, standing right before him now? Lữ gazed at her through his glass of shimmering golden champagne. Uyên’s eyes were wide and glistening. Her lips parted slightly, full and moist. Lữ could hold back no longer. He set his glass down, swept her up into his arms, and carried her into the inner room.
 
The bedroom of the penthouse suite—vast and sprawling atop the hotel’s highest peak—looked down upon the city of Los Angeles, a metropolis ablaze with lights like falling stars, radiant as a paradise consecrated to the twin deities of wealth and desire.

° ° °

Lữ watched Triệu Tôn, who sat dwarfed within the tall, deep leather armchair facing his desk, and found himself genuinely surprised by his own patience. Triệu Tôn continued to haggle over his share of the quarterly profits, whining incessantly:

"Are you absolutely sure the books are accurate? This quarter it’s only fifty thousand—that’s over eight thousand less than three months ago. I thought our cash flow had increased significantly! Why haven't the profits gone up? Why have they actually gone down?"

Lữ retorted angrily:

"If you don't believe me, go ahead and check the books yourself! Have you forgotten that this quarter we had to pay more than double our usual estimated taxes to avoid penalties at year-end? And then there were the expenses for our investment in that spring roll company. The fact that there’s any profit left at all is impressive enough as it is!"

Lữ looked Triệu Tôn straight in his beady eyes and growled:

"Listen here, Triệu Tôn! You need to remember that in this partnership, I am the general partner; the entire investment operation is managed by Uyên and me. You merely chipped in a paltry sum at the start; the profits you’ve earned so far—relative to the capital you actually contributed—are already far more than you deserve!"


Triệu Tôn looked crestfallen and spoke in a strained whisper:

"I was only asking for clarification—why get so worked up over nothing? Fine, I’m leaving! Please give my regards to Uyên."

Lữ watched as Triệu Tôn trudged forlornly out of the room. He shook his head in exasperation. This Sino-Vietnamese fellow was a constant source of annoyance for Lữ. Yet, the initial phase of the business venture between him and Uyên required his capital. Lữ had made inquiries about Triệu Tôn immediately after deciding with Uyên to bring him in as a partner.

Triệu Tôn was born and raised in Vĩnh Long, the son of a Chinese father and a Vietnamese mother. At the age of twelve, he went to work for an uncle who owned a small eatery in Chợ Lớn. Triệu Tôn had to rise early and stay up late—steaming *bánh bao* and rolling *wonton* dumplings, waiting tables, scrubbing floors, and tidying up. He did it all, yet still found the time to carry his books to school.
 
He was shrewd enough to realize that if he wanted to escape his uncle's exploitation, he needed at least a modicum of education. However, Triệu Tôn studied only just enough. He dropped out of school after finishing the tenth grade to focus on business. Making money and getting rich in Vietnam didn't require excessive schooling, and he didn't want to waste any more time.

At seventeen, Triệu Tôn received capital assistance from the Teochew Guild to open an eatery of his own. He demonstrated his gift of the gab, convincing the Guild Master that he possessed the talent to manage a restaurant and would need only two years to repay the Guild the entire principal plus interest.
 
Triệu Tôn’s business flourished immediately, and he kept his promise to the Guild Master. The issue of military conscription cost him a considerable sum to procure a permanent exemption, but to Triệu Tôn, it was merely another business expense. It was also through his search for avenues to offer bribes and buy his way out of military service that Triệu Tôn discovered the intrinsic link between power, corruption, and the accumulation of wealth.

During the final years of the war in the South, Triệu Tôn established a highly effective network for fixing draft exemptions for young men seeking to evade conscription—particularly for ethnic Chinese like himself. Triệu Tôn’s network involved, for the most part, the wives of generals in Saigon, as well as a number of regional commanders. Furthermore, he became deeply involved in organizing smuggling operations on behalf of the highest-ranking general’s wife in the South.
 
Money flowed into his coffers like water, and by the age of twenty-three, Triệu Tôn had already amassed a considerable fortune. The longer the war dragged on, the more money Triệu Tôn made. His only wish was for the status quo to persist, allowing him to continue serving the generals' wives—enriching both them and himself in the process.

Triệu Tôn felt that April 30, 1975, had arrived far too soon; nevertheless, he decided to stay behind. Triệu Tôn reasoned that, given his talents, establishing connections with corrupt Communist officials was merely a matter of time, and that everything would eventually fall back into place. However, he failed to anticipate the border war that would erupt between Communist Vietnam and Communist China.
 
Anti-ethnic Chinese sentiment surged to an alarming level, and Triệu Tôn was forced to seek a way to flee. He left all his assets behind, though he did manage to escape with over three hundred taels of gold. Upon resettling in California, he immediately set about rebuilding his fortune, eventually opening a small grocery store in Santa Ana. Uyên came to know him through her frequent visits to this very market.

On that particular day, she scoured the entire store in search of a specific brand of shark fin soup—a favorite of hers and Vấn’s—but could not find it anywhere. A short, pot-bellied man approached her; wearing a smile of pure commercial eagerness that caused his already-narrow eyes to vanish into slits, he asked:

"What are you looking for? Let me find it for you. I’m the owner of this shop!"

She replied, telling him exactly what item she was trying to locate. He leaned over, pointing toward a corner of the shelf where a stack of boxes lay obscured beneath a pile of rice crackers. Uyên clearly saw him flare his nostrils to inhale her scent, and his eyes suddenly glazed over. She chuckled inwardly. Yet another fool! Uyên was well accustomed to such scenes. It seemed she possessed a natural allure for cunning market proprietors—particularly those who, like this fellow, bore the physical resemblance of a boar.
 
He followed her relentlessly, attempting to flirt with her right from the start. Although Uyên had no fondness for him, she responded to his advances cheerfully. Experience had taught her that rogues and scoundrels—like the Triệu Tôn who was now dogging her every step—were precisely the sort of men most willing to part with their money for the sake of a woman.
 
Such men might not hesitate to swindle a single penny from the poor if the opportunity arose, yet they would readily squander thousands of dollars just to court a beautiful woman like her—even if it amounted to nothing more than empty flattery! After sharing a few meals together, Uyên successfully sold Triệu Tôn a house valued at over three hundred thousand dollars, and in doing so, she discovered that he possessed a vast fortune.

Not all of that money, however, belonged to Triệu Tôn personally. He confided in her that the bulk of his capital consisted of investment funds provided by a group of brokers based in Hong Kong. This group was seeking to transfer their assets and invest them within the United States. Triệu Tôn explained to Uyên that these associates trusted him implicitly to manage their funds, entitling him to a commission on any profits generated. He asked her to keep an eye out for any lucrative investment opportunities, suggesting she bring him in so they could share the benefits. On a more personal level, he also simply wanted to get closer to her—hoping, perhaps, that one day he might even get to sleep with her!

 
Chapter 24
 
Lữ leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk as he pondered. A lingering sense of unease regarding Triệu Tôn still weighed on him. He reflected on the details of Triệu Tôn’s life—as recounted to him by Uyên—and felt that something was amiss. Triệu Tôn had invested in his and Uyên’s business ventures far too easily.
 
Although they had formed a partnership, Triệu Tôn held the financial leverage—the "tongue-end" of the deal—while Lữ and Uyên held the operational control—the "handle-end"—managing every aspect of the business. The capital Triệu Tôn had put up was a colossal sum; few people would invest such a fortune with such apparent recklessness.
 
Furthermore, the story regarding the group of Hong Kong brokers who had supposedly provided Triệu Tôn with his seed capital seemed far too vague and nebulous. Lữ sensed that something irregular was afoot. Initially, he hadn't paid it much mind; after all, having someone willing to put up the down payment to acquire the Bolsa shopping complex alongside him and Uyên was precisely what had allowed his investment venture to take shape. But now that everything was running smoothly—and the business was growing more prosperous by the day—he felt it was time to revisit the matter of Triệu Tôn.

Lữ instructed his secretary to invite Sơn over to his office for a discussion. VietCal Investment, L.P. now occupied an entire floor of the office building. Sơn’s office was situated right next door to his. Sơn opened the door and stepped inside. Lữ spoke up:

"Care for a little Martell? I wanted to have a quick chat with you about that guy, Triệu Tôn."

Sơn poured himself a splash of cognac, mixed it with Perrier, took a sip, and asked Lữ in return:

"You want to talk about tracking down the Hong Kong Chinese syndicate backing Triệu Tôn—is that it?"

Lữ nodded:

"I’m starting to find this Triệu Tôn character highly suspicious. Have you managed to dig up anything yet?"

Sơn replied:

"Triệu Tôn is guarding their identities as fiercely as he would his own ancestral graves. But rest assured—I’ll sniff them out one way or another." "I know his network is connected to three groups in Hong Kong: a food company called Hsu Kwai Foods, an import-export firm called Cheng Tok Trading Co., and an investment firm called Feng Shui Investment. I’m not sure which of these groups—or if perhaps someone else entirely—is involved. It looks like I might have to make a trip to Hong Kong to find out!"

Lữ nodded in agreement:

"Yeah! You should go to Hong Kong and see what you can uncover! I want to know exactly which group is bankrolling Triệu Tôn. We need to have the facts straight so we can figure out how to deal with them! And while you’re in Hong Kong, make a vacation out of it! I’m swamped right now; otherwise, the two of us would have gone over to Hong Kong together for a good time! I hear the girls in Hong Kong are absolutely stunning!"

Sơn replied:

"I’ll only be gone for a few days. As soon as I finish investigating this Triệu Tôn business, I’ll head straight back. I still have a ton of work to do. There are several units at the apartment complex in Garden Grove that need renovating before they can be rented out."

Lữ laughed:

"Ease up on the work, Sơn! Are you really going to turn your nose up at Hong Kong girls?"

Sơn simply smiled and said nothing. He had no interest whatsoever in Chinese women. Miriam had asked him to take her shopping for some contemporary art pieces the following week, and he wanted to get back in time for the gallery opening. Going to view art with Miriam was happiness enough for him. What else could he possibly need?

° ° °

Sơn drove straight from the Los Angeles airport to his office. The flight from Hong Kong had hit some rough weather—bouncing and lurching through the air—leaving him feeling utterly drained and exhausted. He tried calling Lữ on his cell phone but couldn't reach him. Sơn urgently instructed his secretary to track Lữ down immediately and have him wait at the office. This was a matter of critical importance; there could be no delays.

Sơn opened the door and stepped inside. Lữ was already seated, smoking a cigarette as he waited, his gaze fixed intently on Sơn:

"What’s going on, Sơn?"

Sơn tossed his leather briefcase onto the desk:

"All the documents are right here. The Chinese group bankrolling Triệu Tôn is Cheng Tok." It took me ages to finally track down these guys' address. You wouldn't believe it. The Cheng Tok Trading Company—the outfit bankrolling Trieu Ton—turns out to be nothing more than a shabby little storefront in Kowloon. I spent three days digging to uncover the truth behind it all. Cheng Tok is a front for the Triad!

Lữ recoiled in shock, dropping the cigarette he held in his hand. He asked in disbelief:

"Are you sure? The Triad—they're the ones standing behind Trieu Ton, funding his investments with us?"

Sơn nodded.

"That’s right! Cheng Tok Trading belongs to the Triad. The genuine Chinese Mafia, Lữ!"

Lữ fell silent, saying nothing. His mind raced like an electric current. The Triad—that fearsome Chinese Mafia, ruthless killers who wouldn't hesitate to take a life—were the very ones backing Triệu Tôn and supplying his capital. They were using Triệu Tôn to funnel illicit funds into legitimate, honest business ventures within the United States. It was a method of money laundering—cleaning dirty cash—and making that money generate even more wealth.
 
He recalled the times they were closing on deals, when Triệu Tôn would arrive with stacks of thick cashier's checks—each one made out for exactly two thousand dollars, not a penny more. That specific amount was the threshold for purchasing cashier's checks with cash at a bank without triggering federal reporting requirements. The Chinese Triad had been feeding Triệu Tôn their cash—money derived from drugs, murder, and robbery—to serve as the down payments for the real estate investments held by his and Lữ's partnership.

Sơn looked at Lữ with concern. He asked:

"So, what's your plan now, Lữ?"

 
Lữ remained deep in thought, not immediately answering Sơn’s question. He had to devise a strategy to extricate himself from this situation with as little damage as possible. Lữ could not tolerate having the Chinese Mafia involved in his business dealings, yet he had no desire to clash with them. To confront an entire Triad organization—one with a network extending all the way to American soil—while standing completely alone would be sheer folly. Lữ needed to find a way to skillfully and carefully ease Triệu Tôn out of their partnership—without jeopardizing his thriving investments, and, simultaneously, without provoking the vengeance of the Chinese Mafia.
 
Lữ turned to Sơn and said:

"I honestly don't know yet, Sơn. I want nothing to do with those people, but the matter of Triệu Tôn—that, I have to resolve properly. I need you to do me a favor: investigate who runs the Triad in this region, and specifically, who is in direct contact with Triệu Tôn. The more information we can gather, the better."

Sơn nodded. He had learned a great deal about the Triad during his time in Hong Kong. This criminal syndicate was even more tightly organized and ruthless than the American Mafia. Drug trafficking rings, human smuggling operations, prostitution rackets—all were under their absolute control. From their base in Hong Kong, they had expanded their territory into the United States, establishing their strongest presence in the San Francisco and Los Angeles areas.
 
The Triad already held sway over the Chinatowns throughout California; and with the subsequent influx of Vietnamese refugees into the state, they had infiltrated the commercial enterprises of the ethnic Chinese-Vietnamese community—extorting protection money and utilizing various businesses as fronts to launder illicit funds into legitimate investments. Just as they had used Triệu Tôn to launder money on their behalf, funneling it into the business venture shared by Lữ and Uyên. Sơn could not fathom what strategy Lữ might employ to break free from the Triad’s stranglehold. And for his friend’s sake, he felt a genuine sense of dread.
 
Sơn asked Lữ:

"How much has Triệu Tôn's equity in your partnership grown to?"

Lữ replied:

"Nearly a million and a half! He put down about seven hundred thousand in cash for the various acquisitions. In just one year, that investment has more than doubled! The Triad will never agree to let that go! I might try negotiating to buy out his share, but I’m certain the Triad won't allow me to buy Triệu Tôn out. I’ll have to find another way!"

Sơn turned toward the door. He asked one last time before stepping out completely:

"Do you need anything else regarding this matter?"

Lữ answered, his voice cold as ice:

"No! I just need you to keep this absolutely confidential! No one else must know! Not even Uyên!"

° ° °

Lữ drove onto Highway 10 and took the exit for San Gabriel. It had been a long time since Lữ had visited the restaurant up here. For one thing, he had been far too busy with his new investment ventures. For another, this particular restaurant was under Vincent’s supervision. Vincente Montello—the former manager of Don’s Hamburgers in South Central—was the man who had trained Lữ to take over his position at the behest of Don Lavitz, Lữ’s father-in-law.
 
After Lavitz passed away and Lữ began his investment partnership with Uyên, he had entrusted Vincent with overseeing all three restaurants—in Beverly Hills, San Gabriel, and South Central—while Lữ himself managed only the single location down in Orange County. Miriam, too, was pleased with how Lữ had handled the arrangement.
 
Vincent had been a close friend of her father’s since their youth, and he regarded her as a daughter of his own. Following Lavitz’s death, Vincent had grown even more protective and affectionate toward her. Lữ would typically meet with him every three months at his home to review the books and go over the profits and losses of the restaurants.

Vincent appeared surprised to see Lữ show up at the restaurant specifically to meet with him. He was even more taken aback when he observed Lữ carefully closing the office door before speaking.
 
Lữ got straight to the point:

"I’m in trouble." "Vince! I need your help with something!"

Vincent looked deep into Lữ’s eyes and replied:

"Anything at all, Lữ—provided it brings a smile to Miriam’s face. Lately, I’ve noticed Miriam hasn’t seemed very happy. Why is that, Lữ?"

"I don’t know! It’s not that Miriam is displeased about anything! I actually wanted to ask for your help in meeting Al—the sooner, the better!"

"Why do you want to see my brother, Lữ? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"I can’t say! And I don’t think you should know, either! Just know that the situation I’m facing requires Al to resolve it! Can you help me?"

Vincent remained silent for a long moment. He stood up and gazed out the window. The sky outside was a clear, brilliant blue, yet Vincent caught a fleeting glimpse of dark clouds gathering on the horizon. He felt a sudden, ominous premonition regarding Miriam—the daughter of his late, close friend. And he regretted having ever told Lu about Al Montello—his younger brother—during a drunken afternoon at Don’s Hamburger joint, back when he was preparing to hand over the manager’s position to Lữ.

Al Montello was Vincent’s younger brother, yet he bore absolutely no resemblance to his older sibling in any respect. Growing up in the ghettos of the Bronx—New York City’s poorest district—Vincent had strived relentlessly to escape the poverty and criminality that plagued the neighborhood. At the age of eighteen, Vincent—alongside Don Lavitz, a Jewish friend who had arrived in New York after surviving the horrors of Auschwitz—embarked on a westward journey to the "Golden State" of California, determined to build a fortune and forge a career. These two close friends—one Italian, one Jewish—had weathered every storm and shared every triumph side by side.
 
Although he never amassed the same level of wealth as Lavitz, Vincent Montello nonetheless succeeded in carving out a prosperous life for himself and his family. When Lavitz fell ill, Vincent honored his friend’s request to look after the restaurant—a duty he continued to fulfill, now on behalf of his friend’s daughter.
 
Al Montello chose a path distinct from his brother’s. To be precise, there really was no other path available to Al in that squalid corner of the Bronx. For a burly, aggressive Italian-American who was too lazy to pursue an education, the shortest route to a comfortable, easy life—one filled with ample cash and an abundance of beautiful women—was to join "the Family." Al became a foot soldier for the Gambino Family in New York, the most powerful Mafia organization among all the *Cosa Nostra* families across the United States. Through ruthless brutality and with several lives claimed on his record, Al Montello gradually climbed the ranks to become a *capo*—the leader of a small crew within the Mafia hierarchy—after more than a decade of service.

Al’s final operational territory was Southern California, and after more than thirty years of separation, the two Montello brothers finally reunited. The honest older brother looked upon the decadent lifestyle of his criminal younger sibling with a profound sense of weariness toward life itself. Crime, it seemed, truly yielded far more spectacular rewards than a lifetime of virtue!
 
Al owned a magnificent estate boasting over thirty rooms—complete with a swimming pool and tennis courts—a first-class mansion situated in the regal enclave of Bel-Air, along with a fleet of luxury automobiles, including rare Ferraris and Lamborghinis. Vincent did not care to see his brother often; yet, despite his disapproval of his brother’s criminal lifestyle, and like any true-blooded Italian-American, he could not help but harbor a faint flicker of pride in the Mafia organization that had struck fear into the heart of America for so many years.

One hazy afternoon, after philosophizing about life with Lữ at Don’s Hamburger joint, Vincent told Lữ the story of Al—his Mafia brother. He also let slip a revealing detail: no one dared to touch Lavitz’s restaurants, and they remained free of any trouble or harassment from the gangs running rampant in the area, solely because of the connection between him and Al Montello.
 
Vincent regretted having told Lữ about his younger brother. Yet, he could not bring himself to turn Lữ away. Lữ must have been in truly dire straits to come to him for help. Moreover, he had promised Lavitz that he would look after and protect Miriam. Could this trouble Lữ was facing have anything to do with Miriam? Lữ refused to say, and Vincent had no other way to find out.
 
Vincent replied to Lữ:

"I will help you meet Al. But you must promise not to do anything that puts Miriam at risk. I will never forgive you if any harm comes to her!"

Lữ nodded. This eccentric old man sometimes wore Lữ out with his excessive protectiveness over Miriam. But Lữ needed to stay on Vincent’s good side in order to make contact with Al Montello—the path he had chosen to deal with the Triads who were threatening his business operations. And all of this was solely because of that damned Triệu Tôn!

 
Chapter 25
 
Triệu Tôn glanced into the rearview mirror and felt a growing unease. A massive, hulking eighteen-wheeler had been tailing the Mercedes he was driving for over forty miles, and it showed no signs of letting up. Triệu Tôn had deliberately slowed down several times to let the truck pass, but the driver of the rig seemed to have no intention of speeding uô to overtake him—unlike most other truck drivers he encountered. If Triệu Tôn sped up, the truck sped up; if he eased off the gas and slowed down, the truck matched his pace.
 
The truck loomed like a massive, menacing threat, dogging Triệu Tôn’s every move ever since he had left the outskirts of Los Angeles—though he had only truly taken notice of it within the last half-hour or so. The winding mountain road Triệu Tôn was traveling was a route where he rarely, if ever, saw truck traffic. Thinking of Mei Liang, who was waiting for him, Triệu Tôn grew impatient and pressed harder on the gas pedal, surging forward even faster.

Lately, Triệu Ton had been making this trip every week to visit the voluptuous woman—an illegal immigrant from mainland China—who was waiting for him. Henry Cheng, the Triad boss in Los Angeles, had entrusted Triệu Tôn with the task of overseeing the organization's prostitution ring, which trafficked beautiful women illegally smuggled in from Communist China.
 
These women—some of them mere girls—hailed from the rural villages of mainland China; dreaming of reaching the "Land of Gold" across the Pacific, they had been lured by Triad recruiters with promises of a glamorous life in the United States. Blindly trusting those promises, they had allowed themselves to be ushered into the holds of cargo ships, embarking on a perilous, months-long odyssey across the open ocean.
 
To evade detection by U.S. Immigration authorities, the ships would crisscross the globe—traveling nearly halfway around the world and docking at countless ports—while the women from China remained locked away in the filthy, suffocating depths of the vessels, hidden away like contraband cargo. Departing from a Latin American seaport, these ships eventually docked in the waters off the eastern United States; under the cover of darkness, the wretched women were herded onto cargo trucks, slipping past the scrutiny of immigration officials.
 
Triad enforcers in the New York area sorted these modern-day slaves by age and physical beauty at a large estate on Long Island—holding the girls who had fallen into their trap captive there before distributing them across the United States. Major Chinatowns in New York, Chicago, Boston, Washington D.C., Houston, San Francisco, and Los Angeles all harbored prostitution rings operated by the Triad; depending on demand, beautiful young women from the rural hinterlands of mainland China were coerced into a life of prostitution for the Chinese Triad Mafia.
 
Any who resisted were murdered, their bodies disposed of without a trace. The survivors were subjected to constant psychological terror and forcibly injected with heroin to induce addiction, thereby rendering them incapable of escape. Each Triad operational zone maintained large suburban estates to house and confine these women forced into the sex trade.

Henry Cheng entrusted Triệu Tôn with the critical responsibility of overseeing the Triad’s brothel—situated within a luxurious mountaintop villa located more than eighty miles northeast of Los Angeles. He traveled frequently to receive new "shipments" arriving from New York or, after a certain interval, to transfer the sex workers to other regions in exchange for girls from local Triad factions.
 
Triad protocol strictly forbade keeping any specific group of girls in one location for longer than four months. This constant rotation served a dual purpose: it ensured that clients were always presented with fresh faces and novel pleasures, while simultaneously bolstering security. By keeping these coerced women constantly on the move, the organization made it nearly impossible for them to devise an escape plan, establish contact with acquaintances in the U.S., or find a sympathetic client willing to risk intervening to rescue them.
 
Triệu Tôn had always viewed this Triad brothel as nothing more than a business enterprise. He ran it like a commercial establishment—much like the market he owned in Orange County—with the sole objective of generating profit: satisfying the Triad while enriching himself. Triệu Tôn paid absolutely no mind to the girls working there. Partly because he regarded them merely as commodities to generate revenue, and partly because he was so infatuated with Uyên that he couldn't be bothered to notice any other woman.
 
However, Mei Liang was a stark contrast to the other girls in the brothel—those pale-faced, listless-eyed wretches. With her voluptuous, curvaceous figure and a pair of long, perfectly sculpted thighs, Mei Liang provided him with moments of exquisite pleasure, satisfying him to the absolute limit. Triệu Tôn found himself increasingly inventing excuses to go upstairs and visit Mei Liang more often than before. Her techniques were so masterful that they yielded sensations he could find in no other woman; moreover, she displayed none of the misery typical of girls forced into the trade.
 
At times, Trieu Ton found her baffling. He even contemplated promoting Mei Liang, elevating her to assist him in overseeing the brothel. On several occasions, he defied Triad protocol to take Mei Liang down to Los Angeles for an outing—virtually granting her a taste of freedom—though she was always required to be accompanied by him or kept under the watchful eye of one of his henchmen.
 
Triệu Tôn even brought Mei Liang to a reception hosted by Lữ and his business partners, and he felt a surge of satisfaction watching the many men who visibly gulped in lust as they beheld Mei Liang in a *cheongsam* slit daringly high up her thigh. His ego was further soothed when he noticed even Uyên casting a glance in their direction, looking visibly surprised.
 
° ° °

Triệu Tôn thought of Mei Liang as he navigated the winding mountain road, no longer paying any mind to the truck trailing behind him. It was surely just some cocky driver—someone who had been behind the wheel for too long and was looking to stir up trouble with other motorists just to relieve the boredom. He imagined Mei Liang lying in wait for him on a king-size bed, and his impatience grew. He stopped checking his rearview mirror.
 
Consequently, he failed to notice the eighteen-wheeler suddenly surging forward, pulling up tight alongside his flank as if to overtake him. At that moment, Triệu Tôn’s Mercedes 560 SEL was rounding a mountain bend, flanked on one side by a sheer, precipitous drop—a chasm separated from the road only by a row of guardrails. Suddenly, the massive truck swerved violently sideways, slamming into the left side of Triệu Tôn’s car. The Mercedes lost its momentum and plowed straight through the line of guardrails.
 
Triệu Tôn stomped on the brakes with all his might, but it was too late. He felt himself and his car plummeting into the vertical abyss below. The rocky slope beneath him seemed to rush upward at terrifying speed. Triệu Tôn let out a scream—the primal shriek of a cornered beast. The car smashed against the rock face, erupting in a towering fireball, and continued to tumble down the mountainside like a massive, rolling ball of flame.

The truck driver pulled over and stopped, gazing out across the deserted road where not a single other vehicle was in sight, and smiled. Al Montello would surely be pleased with this flawless execution of the job. After all, had he ever once failed to deliver on a task Al had entrusted to him?

 
Chapter 26
 
Sơn ran up the stairs, taking three or four steps at a time, and burst through the door into Lữ’s office. Panting heavily, he exclaimed:

"Have you heard the news about Triệu Tôn yet? The police just called! He drove his car off a deep ravine up on the mountain road—it exploded! The car was completely incinerated! The police are currently working to haul the wreckage up. They said they have to wait for the investigation to conclude before they can determine the cause!"

Lữ’s lips curled slightly—something akin to a smile. He said nothing; instead, he walked over to the liquor cabinet and picked up a bottle of Martell.

"Sit down, Sơn! Care for a drink?"

Sơn stood motionless, staring wide-eyed at Lữ.

"You... you knew about this already?"

His voice betrayed a hint of suspicion. Lữ met his gaze. His eyes turned cold for a fleeting instant, but immediately softened again. Sơn was the closest friend he had ever known. Lữ replied:

"No! I didn't know, Sơn! It was completely unexpected! Let's wait and see what the police have to say. Has Uyên heard the news yet?"

Sơn shook his head

"Not yet! I literally just got off the phone with the police and rushed straight up here."

Lữ said:

"Call Uyên to the office! We need to hold a meeting to discuss our partnership immediately. While you're at it, please fetch all the files regarding Triệu Tôn, as well as the partnership documents; we need to re-evaluate everything."

Sơn turned and headed out the door. Lữ downed the glass of Martell he had just poured in a single gulp, then leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk. Al Montello had kept his word. And everything had unfolded, step by step, exactly as he had planned.

Vincent Montello had introduced him to Al Montello, telling the Mafia brother he had long kept at a distance:

"If you help Lữ, you are helping me. Lữ needs a favor—I don't know what it is, and I don't *want* to know. I’ll leave you two to talk."
 
Lữ shook hands in thanks and waited for Vincent to leave before getting straight to the point with Al Montello. He told Al about his partnership, about Triệu Tôn, and about the Triads. Then, he presented his proposal to Al:

"When we established the partnership, we took out life insurance policies on each member to protect the firm. If any partner were to die, that individual's share of the equity would revert to the partnership and the surviving members. This ensures the partnership wouldn't have to be dissolved to distribute assets to the deceased's heirs. Conversely, the partnership covers the premiums for each member's life insurance policy, set at a coverage amount of one million dollars. Each partner designates their own beneficiary.
 
In Triệu Tôn's case, he designated the Cheng Tok Trading Company as the beneficiary of his life insurance proceeds. My guess is that the capital he invested in our partnership actually belongs to the Triads—channeled under the name Cheng Tok Trading—so he wants the insurance payout to flow back to the Triads should anything happen to him."

Al spoke up immediately:

"You want Triệu Tôn to 'disappear'?"

Lữ nodded:

"I want to ensure the Triads harbor absolutely no suspicions. If it looks like an unfortunate accident, that would be ideal. The Triads would collect Triệu Tôn's insurance payout. They invested five hundred thousand, and they’d get back a million in insurance money; surely they’d be satisfied with that. If possible, I’d also appreciate it if you could pass the word along that your organization has ties to our partnership, so they won't bother us anymore."

Al offered a compliment:

"That’s actually a pretty clever scheme you’ve come up with! I’ll help you out, since Vince asked me to. However, the cost to you is going to be quite steep. Can you afford it?"

Lữ immediately asked in return:

"What kind of figure are you talking about? Our partnership is still quite small; we’re not exactly flush with cash yet!"

Al smiled:

"You get what you pay for! If you want everything to go off without a hitch, it’s going to cost you two hundred thousand. That’s a special rate I’m giving you specifically because Vince asked me to help you out." "Ordinarily, I wouldn't want to dirty my hands with such petty matters. But I will have someone handle this for you, exactly as you requested!"

Lữ agreed immediately. Truth be told, he had expected it to cost him far more. Two hundred thousand was a price he could stomach—a price to escape the Triads' stranglehold, and to finally purge that bastard Triệu Tôn from his partnership. Permanently!

° ° °

Uyên rushed into Lữ’s office, her face pale.

"It’s ghastly, Lữ! Triệu Tôn met such a gruesome end!"

Lữ, who had been hunched over reviewing the partnership papers with Sơn, looked up and spoke to Uyên:

"It was fate, Uyên. Triệu Tôn was a reckless driver. I’d always feared a day like this would come, given his daredevil driving habits."

Uyên asked:

"What becomes of our partnership now?"

Lữ replied:

"It’s fine! We’ll just have to redo the paperwork—a minor formality. You’re aware of Triệu Tôn’s life insurance policy, aren't you?"

Uyên nodded:

"I am! It’s a good thing you had the foresight to arrange that. Otherwise, we’d be in a massive bind right now! We might have even had to dissolve the partnership!"

Sơn looked up, glancing first at Uyên, then at Lữ. Uyên appeared completely oblivious. Or perhaps she harbored some suspicions but chose to keep them to herself? Sơn couldn't tell anymore. He could never have imagined that this—this—was how Lữ would choose to resolve the Triệu Tôn problem. And Lữ was behaving with an unnerving nonchalance—as if he were merely resolving some trivial, simple issue that required no further thought. As if he were swatting a fly hovering over a bowl of soup. As if he were simply crushing a tiny ant that had wandered off course.

Sơn looked at Lữ once more. And he felt a sudden shiver. He felt an awkwardness toward the close friend standing right before him—as if he were a complete stranger.

Sơn had known Lữ for countless years, yet now he suddenly realized that perhaps he knew nothing at all about his friend. Two people might walk side by side their entire lives, seemingly without a single mystery left between them, yet at some unexpected moment, the truth inevitably reveals itself. Each person is an island unto themselves—an island where change occurs every second, every minute, and where transformations unfold according to each individual’s own unique rhythm as time passes.
 
Sơn reflected that even he, the man standing here today, was no longer the man he had been yesterday. How much less, then, could he expect another person—someone like Lữ, his friend—to remain unchanged? And so, was it truly surprising that Lữ’s behavior today no longer aligned with the man Sơn had once called his friend?

Sơn had killed during the war. But that had been a necessity. The enemy soldiers he killed held no personal identity; they were merely vague, abstract concepts. And in the heat of battle, one killed simply to avoid being killed oneself—a primal act of self-preservation cloaked in the rhetoric of duty and ideology. He had buried the images of war deep within the furthest recesses of his mind, and in doing so, he had rediscovered his true self: a man who loathed violence, a man who cherished life—even the life of the lowliest creature.

Sơn had been a vegetarian for several years now, seeking to cultivate a sense of inner peace. And he felt a profound disquiet upon learning that Lữ had sought to eliminate Triệu Tôn—to resolve a business dispute and to serve his own self-interest.

He had always known Lữ as a man of good heart. Not a saint, perhaps, but a man of average moral standing—someone who knew how to distinguish between right and wrong, between good and evil. There was a time when this man stood as a symbol of virtue, fighting alongside his friend to purge the South China Sea of ​​Thai pirates.
 
Yet, Sơn sensed a shift in his companion when Lữ became consumed by an obsession with amassing wealth—at any cost. And Sơn saw with stark clarity that his friend had crossed the line between good and evil when Lữ—with a composure bordering on coldness—dealt with the Triệu Tôn problem. He resolved it permanently, unburdened by even the slightest qualm. For Lữ, success had become the sole, absolute imperative. A human life—a life like Triệu Tôn’s—no longer held any significance whatsoever.

 
Chapter 27
 
The female secretary asked Vấn:

"Would you like to send this package via regular mail or Federal Express?"

Vấn snapped back angrily:

"I already told you! Send it overnight. Federal Express, obviously!"

Vấn hadn't been able to get any work done all morning. He could see nothing but the image of his wife from the previous night right before his eyes, and he felt as if he were going mad. Uyên had come home late, and Vấn knew instantly that she had just returned from being intimate with Lữ. The signs were undeniable. Uyên looked like someone intoxicated; her cheeks were flushed crimson, and her hair remained slightly disheveled despite her attempts to comb it back into place.
 
She wore the dazed, weary look of a woman who had just emerged from a sexual encounter—one in which her every desire had been fully satisfied, reaching the pinnacle of ecstasy multiple times over. She didn't even bother to answer Vấn, hurrying off to shower so she could get to bed early. Vấn could take no more! His capacity for forbearance had finally reached its limit. And so, all his hatred was now directed at Lữ—the man who had cuckolded him.

Vấn knew that the time for his revenge had finally arrived. He could not simply grit his teeth and turn a blind eye forever. Vấn had endured it all so that Uyên’s business ventures would run smoothly, and so that her assets—or rather, the assets belonging to them both as a couple—would have the opportunity to skyrocket in value. Vấn estimated that Uyên’s capital contribution to their partnership must have already reached nine hundred thousand dollars.
 
With the news of Triệu Tôn’s death—and knowing that half of Triệu Tôn’s share would now pass to his wife—Vấn calculated that Uyên’s total assets had likely reached one and a half million dollars. If they were to divorce, he would be entitled to half of Uyên’s assets! He had turned a blind eye and swallowed his pride for just long enough to secure a nest egg of seven hundred thousand dollars. That, he thought, wasn't a bad deal at all. But Uyên and Lữ grew increasingly brazen in their cuckolding of Vấn. Their behavior became almost public—shameless, even—right in Vấn’s presence! And whenever Uyên returned from sleeping with Lữ, she no longer bothered to put on an act to deceive her husband!

Another factor compelled Vấn to seek immediate revenge. For nearly three months now, Uyên had flatly refused to sleep with him! Vấn knew he still loved his wife, despite her infidelity. He knew his own conduct was cowardly, yet he could not bring himself to act otherwise! Vấn still loved his wife. Had Uyên simply offered him a few sweet words and shared intimacy with him, Vấn would have been willing to turn a blind eye—to swallow his pride and endure the bitterness.
 
But Uyên had cast him aside completely. She moved her bedding to a separate room and remained silent whenever Vấn asked to sleep with her! Vấn was furious, yet he held onto the hope that she might eventually change her mind. Three months, however, was more than enough time for Vấn to conclude that he was no longer Uyên’s husband in any meaningful sense—even though they still lived under the same roof!

Vấn spent the entire night wide awake after Uyên returned from the hotel with Lữ, went straight upstairs to bed, and did not utter a single word to him. That was the final straw! Vấn resolved that, come the next day, he would put his plan into motion.

The female secretary grumbled as she carried a thick envelope out of the office. Vấn closed the door, then opened his wallet to retrieve Frank Rutter’s phone number. The private investigator—the very man who had caught Uyên and Lữ in the act and photographed them at the Holiday Inn—had certainly proven his worth. When Miriam received the envelope filled with photographs of her husband embracing Uyên outside the hotel, she would understand everything instantly. Vấn smiled. He had plenty more surprises in store for Lữ!
 
Vấn dialed the number for Joe Battaglio, a fixer Rutter had recommended to him. Rutter was strictly business; he couldn't care less about Vấn’s reasons for wanting to engage with such unsavory characters. He was merely a go-between—a facilitator. He simply provided information, supplying the specific phone numbers his clients requested in exchange for generous fees. What they chose to do with that information was entirely their business.

Vấn spoke softly into the receiver the moment someone picked up on the other end:

"Mr. Battaglio? I’m a client of Frank Rutter. Frank referred me to you. I’d like to meet with you to discuss a matter."

Vấn heard the sound of heavy, labored breathing over the line. He could almost imagine the pungent reek of alcohol and the menacing, scowling face of Joe Battaglio. Then, a surly, irritable voice—clipped and staccato, typical of a native New Yorker—barked out:

"What do you want? I don't have time to shoot the breeze with a buddy of that bastard Rutter. Just spit it out!"

Vấn replied:

"I want to talk business! Business that could net you a substantial sum of money."

The voice on the other end shifted completely, suddenly sounding much more interested:

"What kind of business? How much money?"

Vấn smiled.

"That’s not something we can discuss over the phone. Could you meet me somewhere tonight? Any restaurant will do."

Joe Battaglio’s voice—which had sounded like that of a drunkard—suddenly cleared up completely, becoming sharp and alert:

"Tonight? Let’s see... Denny’s in Long Beach, 8:00 PM. I’ll be wearing a Harley-Davidson leather jacket with an eagle emblem. How will I recognize you?"

"I’ll be wearing a gray business suit and carrying a black leather attaché case. If you see an Asian man dressed like that and wearing glasses, you’ll know it’s me."

Vấn hung up the receiver and let out a soft sigh of relief. He was confident that everything would go smoothly. That bastard Lữ would have to pay a steep price for cuckolding him. He would suffer; he would live in fear; and he would lose absolutely everything. Vấn’s vengeance would be terrible—a series of vicious, calculated strikes designed to leave his enemy utterly defenseless.
 
And finally, when he lay writhing in his death throes, Vấn would step forward to bestow upon the man—who had so arrogantly and contemptuously cuckolded him—one final act of mercy. A *coup de grâce*. Vấn smiled. He rather liked that French phrase. *Coup de grâce!* To send one’s enemy off to the other side. The French certainly knew how to turn a phrase!
 

 
° ° °

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looked at Sơn intently:

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

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

Miriam nodded:

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I have a registered letter for you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 
° ° °

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

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

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

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

Vấn smiled:

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

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

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

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

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

Battaglio narrowed his eyes:

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

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

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

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

Vấn shook his head:

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

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

Battaglio furrowed his brow:

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

Vấn nodded:

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

Battaglio asked:

"When do you want to get started?"

"As soon as possible!"

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

"How much do you want?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Battaglio gave an arrogant laugh:

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

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

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

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

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

Lữ smiled and replied:

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

Lufkin shook his head:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lữ asked in return:

"What exactly do you suggest I invest in?"

Sơn replied:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sơn spoke up:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I want us to file for divorce."

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

"Have you thought this through carefully?"

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

° ° °

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Barnes shook his head:

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

Lữ pressed the point:

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

Barnes nodded thoughtfully:

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

Lữ continued:

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

Barnes replied:

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

Lữ replied:

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

Barnes laughed heartily:

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

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

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

Barnes looked Lữ directly in the eye:

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

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

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

Lữ smiled back:

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

Barnes pondered for a moment, then finally spoke:

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

 
Lữ nodded:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

° ° °

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

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

Lữ snapped fully awake:

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

Sơn replied:

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

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

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

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

Sơn threw up his hands in exasperation:

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

Lữ frowned:

"Arson? Have the investigators arrived yet?"

Sơn nodded:

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

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

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

Sơn raised his hand to point:

"Over in that corner!"

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

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

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

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

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

Lữ nodded. He asked:

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

The investigator straightened his posture:

"Steve Wesley." Special Police Investigation: Arson!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Very well. That is your right."

He handed Lu a business card:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She turned to address the secretary standing nearby:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kim asked in return:

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

Lữ shook his head:

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

Berry mused:

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

Lữ asked:

"So, what should I do now?"

Berry replied:

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

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

Lữ seized the opportunity immediately:

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

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

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

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

 
Chapter 34
 
Chez Albert, located on Rodeo Drive, was one of the most exclusive restaurants in Beverly Hills. Lữ frequently dined here when conducting major business deals—occasions when he needed to reassure prospective partners, who were about to sign contracts worth tens of millions of dollars, that their investments were in safe hands. Nothing inspired confidence in his wealthy, albeit somewhat provincial, clients from Hong Kong or Taiwan quite like being ushered into a lavish dining room and seated at a table right next to famous stars like Clint Eastwood or Barbra Streisand.
 
Lữ had discovered that he could easily seize the upper hand when negotiating the tricky points of a contract once he had placed these affluent yet unsophisticated Chinese clients in a position of inferiority. A single meal might cost a thousand dollars, but it yielded Lữ profits a hundred—even a thousand—times greater.

Lữ took Kim to Chez Albert for a rather late lunch, yet the restaurant remained bustling with patrons. The silver-haired *maître d’* respectfully escorted the distinguished guest and the beautiful young lawyer accompanying him to their customary table. Lữ smiled with satisfaction. He wanted this first meal shared with Kim to unfold flawlessly. Lữ was not a superstitious man, yet he suspected that romance—much like business—was defined by those initial moments, which often left behind indelible impressions.
 
He could often spot a deal destined to collapse right from the very first minute—when things failed to fall into place in the proper sequence, and every subsequent step spiraled into a deadlock. Romance is just like business! Lữ chuckled to himself. Perhaps he was the only person who had ever drawn such a parallel!

Kim wore a form-fitting dress cut just above the knee—short enough to allow admiring eyes to feast upon her long, slender thighs, yet not so high as to appear overtly provocative. Her gait was swift, fluid, and graceful—like the sinuous glide of a serpent. Lữ felt a surge of pride and pleasure as he realized that every pair of eyes in the restaurant had turned to gaze upon her. He had dined with many beautiful women, yet none had ever stood out in this—the most elegant and luxurious restaurant in Beverly Hills—quite like Kim, the female attorney tasked with representing him legally.

Lữ felt a flicker of surprise. Under normal circumstances, the sensation of being protected by a woman—even if only in a legal capacity—would likely have struck Lữ as both irksome and utterly unacceptable. Yet, something about Kim made Lữ forget his ingrained disdain for women. Was it her extraordinary self-assurance—bordering on arrogance—or the seasoned professionalism evident in her every gesture? Lữ couldn't quite say. Nor did he dwell on the matter long enough to question it further.

One thing, however, Lữ perceived with absolute clarity: Kim was stunningly beautiful. Her allure grew more potent with every passing moment, and suddenly, a burning desire to possess her flared within him like an inferno. He stared at her unblinkingly, his hand gripping the edge of the table so tightly it felt as though he might crush it, while his breathing grew heavy and labored.
 
The surge of lust left Lữ feeling utterly numb. He had never experienced such intense sensations before, and for a fleeting instant, he felt a twinge of fear. Lữ took a long, deep breath. What power did the woman sitting across from him possess to evoke such a profound reaction on their very first meeting?

° ° °

Kim ordered a few light appetizers and a glass of white wine. She felt a momentary flicker of unease at the dazed, vacant look in the eyes of the man seated opposite her, yet she quickly regained her composure. Countless men before him had displayed their infatuation with her just as brazenly as Lữ was doing now. Kim was all too accustomed to such scenes: the undisguised, blatant lust; the glazed-over eyes; the voices hoarse and trembling with desire.
 
At first, Kim had taken pride in her own allure; but over time, it had evolved into nothing more than a nuisance. Her work required her to meet all manner of people, and Kim had noticed one thing: whether rich or poor, honest or dishonest, educated or uneducated, every man she had occasion to interact with in a professional capacity shared a single common trait. The moment they met her, they would transform into beasts, completely consumed by lust.
 
Kim felt no apprehension in dealing with these men who, right before her eyes, suddenly turned into wolves eager to devour her. She possessed more than enough poise and capability to ensure that no harm ever befell her. Yet, the constant strain of having to fend them off sometimes left her feeling weary and fed up. Why couldn't she ever meet someone who looked at her with eyes that held something other than wild, unbridled desire?

Kim addressed Lữ in a strictly professional tone, as if completely oblivious to his fiery gaze:

"Mr. Lữ, could you tell me a bit more about your partnership?"

Lữ cleared his throat a few times. His throat felt dry, and he took a sip of water. It was time to return to business matters. The task of winning Kim over would have to wait for another time.

"My partnership originally consisted of three people. Now, there are only two."

Lữ began to recount the entire story of his business dealings to Kim. Kim immediately interjected the moment Lữ mentioned the complications surrounding Triệu Tôn’s death and the subsequent lawsuit filed by Triệu Tôn’s relatives:

"Do you think Triệu Tôn’s heirs might have had a motive to set fire to the apartment complex?"

Lữ grew pensive:

"It’s possible, but I don’t think so. The settlement with Triệu Tôn’s relatives is essentially concluded. They have nothing to gain by starting a fire."

Kim pressed further:

"Aside from the matter of Triệu Tôn, do you have any other enemies?"
 

 
Lữ did not answer. Events had been unfolding so rapidly that he hadn't had a spare moment to reflect on the most critical aspect of the apartment arson case. Was Kim’s presence partly to blame? Lữ smiled to himself. Even a man as sharp as he could become flustered in the face of Kim’s beauty! She had truly captivated him.

Kim found Lữ’s expression amusing, yet she also felt a touch of embarrassment. He appeared astute and intelligent, but clearly had a romantic streak. She felt a flicker of curiosity about his private life. Was he married? His romantic history must be quite a story. A thought crossed her mind, and she reverted to her professional lawyer’s tone:

"Enemies usually strike for a specific reason—money, fame, or love. Do you have any enemies stemming from a romantic entanglement, Mr. Lữ?"

Lữ hesitated. He found it difficult to discuss his private life, yet Kim was his lawyer, and he couldn't withhold such personal details from her. He replied:

"I’m in the process of divorcing Miriam. But, of course, Miriam would never stoop to something as heinous as this!"

He spoke hurriedly, as if to defend her. Not for a moment did he suspect Miriam; she was far too kind and straightforward. Yet, there was the matter of a woman’s scorn. Driven mad by betrayal, a person might do anything—even the unthinkable. Kim shared this line of reasoning. She said:

"Is the divorce proceeding smoothly? I don't mean to cast aspersions on Miriam, but we must be thorough and overlook nothing."
 
"Miriam’s lawyers are demanding a share of the partnership’s assets, but I doubt anyone on her side has considered the possibility that sabotaging the property—which might eventually become her own—would cause such damage."
 
Kim remained silent. She told herself she needed to investigate Miriam further; experience had taught her that a woman going through a bitter divorce was capable of anything—even the most irrational acts—simply to exact revenge on the man who had abandoned her. Conventional concerns like money or personal gain often paled in comparison. Kim had witnessed enough divorces in her legal career to harbor no illusions about rational human behavior. She might even have to meet Miriam in person to learn more.
 
Kim asked Lữ:

"What about your current partner, Ms. Uyên? Are there any issues between the two of you?"

Lữ shook his head. Uyên had brought him good fortune and helped him achieve his current success. She was still infatuated with him, demanding intimacy at least twice a week. How could she possibly be involved in the apartment complex fire? Lữ replied:

"No! There’s never been any trouble between Uyên and me."

Kim furrowed her brow slightly. Her intuition told her something was amiss. There was an unusually tender note in his voice when he spoke of his partner—not the tone one uses for a mere business associate, but rather the way a man speaks of a woman with whom he shares an intimate emotional bond. Kim probed further:

"Ms. Uyên must be very beautiful, isn't she,  anh Lữ?"

Lữ nodded:

"Uyên is very beautiful."

He suddenly paused. Kim had just addressed him as "anh"—a term implying a level of personal closeness. Why had she changed her form of address? She had shifted from a formal, professional tone to an intimate one the moment she asked about his private life. Lữ understood immediately: Kim was trying to lower his guard so she could dig into his personal affairs. It was all part of being a skilled lawyer, after all. Kim asked again:

"Ms. Uyên is married, isn't she, Mr. Lữ?"
 
Lữ smiled. Kim had reverted to addressing him formally as "Mr." She had obtained the information she wanted by catching him off guard, prompting him to reveal his innermost secrets. Now, she had returned to a polite, distant demeanor.

"Uyên has a husband, but no children. Her husband, Vấn, works at Bank of America; he’s helped me with the financial aspects of a few business deals."

Lữ answered Kim, though he hesitated for a moment. Should he tell her about the affair between him and Uyên? If Kim were a male lawyer, he wouldn't have given it a second thought. But Kim made him forget everything else—Miriam, Uyên, and all the other women who had briefly passed through his life. He was determined to win Kim over. What would she think of him if she knew the full extent of his liaison with Uyên?

Kim furrowed her brow in thought. She was almost certain there was a romantic connection between Lữ and Uyên; the way he spoke about her—combined with a woman's keen intuition—told her as much. But what did that have to do with the arson at their apartment complex? Kim asked another question:

"You mentioned that the partnership now consists of just the two of you—you and Ms. Uyên. Is Vấn listed as a shareholder, or is it solely in Ms. Uyên's name?"

Lữ replied:

"No! Only Uyên is on the paperwork. Vấn isn't involved at all."

He left his sentence unfinished. Lữ thought of Vấn. Why had he never paid any attention to this man? Vấn was like a faint shadow beside his dazzling wife. Lữ had always secretly scorned Vấn as weak, lacking the mettle of a true husband or man. Lữ thought of the man he had cuckolded. Could Vấn be the one involved in this arson attack? Was the enemy plotting to harm him actually Uyên’s husband? Lữ thought of the photographs—taken of him and Uyên outside the Holiday Inn—that had been the final straw for Miriam, driving her to divorce him. Whoever took those photos must have known all about his affair with Uyên.
 
Who else could it be but Vấn, the cuckolded husband? Aside from business associates who might resent the partnership's extraordinary success, Lữ could think of no one else capable of such a malicious, calculated plot to ruin him. The Triệu Tôn and Triad issues had been settled; that Chinese Mafia faction hadn't caused any trouble in a long time.

There was only one person left who hated him enough to orchestrate the recent attacks—someone Lữ had never paid attention to, someone who seemed not to exist at all. Yet, this was a man with every reason to hate him and seek his downfall.

Lữ let out a long breath. The difficulty lay in the fact that his enemy was lurking in the shadows. He was fairly certain it was Vấn; he just needed to verify a few details. Things would be much easier now that the nameless enemy had a name and a face; dealing with him was simply a matter of time. Lữ silently thanked Kim. Without her questions and probing, it would have taken Lữ much longer to view Vấn as an enemy—someone he had previously dismissed with contempt, paying him no mind, yet who was now the root cause of the myriad troubles Lữ was facing.

Kim noticed the shift in Lữ. She remained silent, leaving him to his thoughts. She knew her intuition was right: the connection between Lữ and Uyên lay at the heart of his current predicament. *It’s hardly surprising* she mused. She spoke when she saw the look in Lữ’s eyes change, as if he had suddenly awakened to the truth.

"You’ve figured out who your enemy is, haven't you, Mr. Lữ?"

Lữ nodded.

"I have a good idea who it is. I just need to verify a few details. I can handle that myself—no need to involve the agency's private investigators."

He took Kim’s hand.

"Thank you so much, Kim. Without you, I’d still be in the dark. Now, regarding the police statement—what do you think I should say?"

Kim didn't pull her hand away. Lữ’s grip was firm and warm, and she felt a wave of heat radiating from him into her own body. She felt a slight flush rise to her cheeks. She withdrew her hand and tossed her hair back, trying to compose herself. What was it about this man—divorced and currently being targeted by his mistress's husband—that stirred her so?

Lữ was just like hundreds of other clients she had handled. She would resolve his legal troubles, and then they would go their separate ways. There was nothing to wonder about. She looked up. Lữ was gazing intently at her. Something in his eyes had changed; the spark of desire was gone. Her gaze had shifted to one of admiration, filled with a gentle, affectionate solicitude the likes of which Kim had never seen before. Flustered, she blinked, her voice wavering slightly:

"It’s nothing too serious, Lữ! I’ll go to the police station with you tomorrow, and you should just give your statement like this..."

She began explaining how he should recount the details of the fire. Lữ heard her words as if from a distance; his attention was captivated by Kim’s lush lips and her cheeks, flushed pink like fresh, ripe peaches. Her eyes were so luminous! He wished time would stand still and the eatery would transform into a secluded oasis—just the two of them, with no one else around. Why couldn't life be a paradise like that? 
 

 
Chapter 35
 
Vấn slowed his car as he approached the burned-out apartment complex. A section of the exterior facing the lawn was almost completely gutted by fire. The apartments stood as blackened skeletons, waiting for bulldozers to knock them down; a few black children were clambering inside to scavenge, hoping to find any overlooked items of value.
 
Vấn smiled with satisfaction. His enemy must be seething over the destruction of his property, not to mention the legal trouble arising from police suspicion. He could forget about getting an insurance payout anytime soon! Vấn thought to himself. He might even face charges he couldn't shake—and end up in prison to boot!

Vấn congratulated himself. He had unleashed a barrage of blows that left Lữ unable to react in time. Vấn had heard his wife mention that Miriam and Lữ were on the verge of divorce and that Miriam was demanding a share of the partnership's assets. Uyên had expressed concern about the situation, fearing it might impact the business she shared with Lữ.

Vấn’s blood boiled whenever he thought of Lữ. Jealousy had made him lose all interest in amassing wealth. Increasingly, he felt cast aside, as if the couple's assets belonged solely to Uyên, with no connection to him whatsoever. Uyên no longer exercised the same discretion when discussing business and money; she spoke of "her" company, "her" apartment complex, and "her" hotel, treating Vấn like a stranger sharing the same roof—someone kept around merely for the sake of appearances, and only for a temporary period.

Vấn felt his anger remained unassuaged, even though events had unfolded exactly as he had wished. Reflecting on the trouble he had caused Lữ, he felt it amounted to little more than mere inconvenience—hardly commensurate with the damage and the grievous insults Lữ had inflicted upon him. After all, what could be more humiliating than being cuckolded? He was mocked by his enemy and scorned by the blind, benighted fool—his beloved wife—who, along with her lover, held his stupidity in contempt.

Seething with a mad rage, he suddenly realized that his revenge was far from over. The sins of the adulterous pair could not be punished by such trivial acts alone. He would have to see his vengeance through to the bitter end—to the ultimate reckoning for the lovers who had dared to gloat over the agony that clung to him. And he knew exactly what had to be done.

° ° °

The crystalline notes of a piano rang out, filling the vast, cold living room of the Mulholland Drive villa with its high ceilings. Miriam reclined on the sofa, eyes closed, listening to the Debussy piece Sơn was playing on the grand piano. It had been a long time—ever since her father’s death—since she had sat listening to piano music in her home. Sơn was truly talented, she mused. So unlike Lữ!

A pang of anguish shot through Miriam at the thought of Lữ, and she felt a surge of anger at herself. Why did every little thing, every image, draw her thoughts back to the man who had abandoned her? He had been cruel and cold—like a passerby who had paused at this house for a few years, using it as a foothold, a sanctuary, and a springboard to launch himself away, breaking free from her embrace and walking off without ever looking back.

Miriam could not forgive Lữ. Yet, she still loved him; of that, she was certain. No other man had ever stirred her the way Lữ did. The intimacy they shared had been transcendent—rising far above mere physical desire and gratification to create a sublime, all-consuming experience that held her in its relentless grip. Miriam believed what she felt was love. The painful truth was that the love was one-sided. The sexual ecstasy—that soaring rapture at the height of intimacy—was hers alone to experience; she alone knew the transformation it wrought. Lữ, she was certain, remained merely a man—content to have satisfied a woman and gratified by the physical pleasure, willing to let things stay exactly as they were.

Lữ was either unable or unwilling to cross the boundary between lust and love. He remained on this side of the divide, leaving Miriam alone on the other with a love that was hers alone to bear—painfully aware of her solitude, yet never regretting it. She had once thought she would never know love. Thanks to Lữ, she discovered its reality, though the pain arrived the moment she did. And she had no choice but to accept it.

Who was it that said the suffering of love is a form of happiness? A happiness far greater than that of those who have never truly felt or understood it? Hearing the music, Miriam recalled Sơn’s words:

"I don’t want to make excuses for Lữ, even though he’s my friend. He has wronged you, Miriam. I’ve told him as much. I know you’re suffering. But I want to offer you a piece of advice."

She looked at Sơn. Had Lữ asked him to come and persuade her? To convince her to drop her demands regarding the division of assets in the upcoming divorce? Sơn understood what she was thinking. He shook his head when he saw the suspicion in her eyes.
 
"I came to see you out of genuine sincerity. I’m not acting as a messenger for my friend."
 
His eyes conveyed this truth, speaking from the depths of his heart. Miriam nodded and asked:

"What advice did you want to give me, Sơn?"

"Let yourself suffer, Miriam! But do not let yourself be angry."

"I don't understand what you mean."
 
" It is very simple! Miriam! Suffering is necessary. And all suffering passes. But anger disfigures a person. Miriam has no need for that!"
 
" I am only human."

" That makes it all the more reason not to know anger! And I think Miriam is capable of that!"

Miriam looked at Son. Kindness was etched in every feature of his face. He had the air of an outsider—someone who had never known suffering or even anger. Yet, his eyes held understanding. Miriam saw something unusual in his gaze—something she was noticing for the very first time. She looked at him even more intently.

 
Miriam pointed toward the grand piano in the corner of the living room. She had never heard Sơn play, though he had once mentioned that he played every day.

"Sơn, play something for me."

Sơn sat at the bench and struck a few chords. Although the instrument had gone unplayed for a long time, Miriam had it tuned every six months. Sơn asked:

"Whose music would you like to hear, Miriam? Chopin, Brahms, or someone else?"

Miriam closed her eyes. She replied in a soft, dreamy voice:

"I’d like to hear Debussy. Do you know any Debussy pieces by heart?"

Sơn nodded. His fingers danced across the keys, and the music rose—enchanting and ethereal. Miriam kept her eyes closed. Why wasn't Lữ like Sơn? Why couldn't love be as gentle and sweet as the scales Sơn was playing for her? Why did she continue to suffer over a lost love that would never return?

Miriam shook her head. A realization suddenly dawned on her: her love for Lữ was truly over. It was foolish to keep tormenting herself. She could not allow herself to wallow in the banality of a jilted woman who did nothing but weep and lament a romance that had proven unworthy. She thought of her father; Don Lavitz had never approved of her marrying Lữ. Her father had spent a lifetime honing his keen insight into people and the world, and his advice to her had proven prophetic.

Miriam gritted her teeth, thinking of her father. Why wasn't he still alive to offer her further guidance? She would have listened and lived the life he had envisioned for her. Of one thing she was certain: Lavitz would never have accepted a daughter who suffered over love misplaced. Miriam told herself she would cast aside all thoughts of Lữ and the life she had shared with him—treating those past years as nothing more than a nightmare. Now, a bright new dawn was breaking; she would let joy return and allow life to blossom. One has only a single life; why not cherish the precious time ahead?

Miriam looked at Sơn. The young man before her was lost in the music, his slender fingers dancing across the keys. He was a kind, unassuming soul with a sensitive spirit, perfectly in tune with her artistic sensibilities. Being with Sơn brought her a rare sense of peace. He took her to art exhibitions, revealing the quiet serenity in Monet’s brushstrokes, the passion and turbulence of Gauguin, and the vibrant colors and composition of Matisse. She had sat for Sơn to paint her portraits, and he proudly pointed out the many paintings of her that filled the room—a space serving as both bedroom and studio.

As she listened to the piece he was playing, Miriam was truly amazed by Sơn’s talent; he played with the mastery of a concert pianist. She found it hard to imagine that a man who had endured the tragedies and horrors of the Vietnam War—as both he and Lữ had occasionally recounted—could, in just a few years, develop such fluent and accomplished musical skill. The thought that Sơn was a truly gifted man took firm root in her mind, and her perception of him began to shift in a new, profound way.

Before meeting Lữ, Miriam had never known love; she was certain of that. There had been only sex, physical desire, and a restless curiosity for adventure. Lữ had changed her, profoundly. The love Lữ brought into her life was like a sweeping tide, carrying her into an unfamiliar world. Miriam realized she had grown and matured through her love for him; she had become a woman in the truest, most complete sense of the word. She had discovered the meaning of love and the sublime harmony between romance and sexual fulfillment. Yet, that love had also brought her agonizing pain—and, in the end, it had abandoned her.

Deep down, Miriam knew that a love like the one she had shared with Lữ comes perhaps only once in a lifetime. Yet, losing it did not mean she would spend the rest of her days in mourning—no matter how profound that love had been.

She would gradually let the memory of her romance with Lữ fade, burying it in the deepest recesses of her mind—a forbidden zone where her imagination dared not trespass. Life still stretched out before her; the sounds of the piano seemed to echo the tender, gentle devotion of the young man sitting there, ready to offer himself to her.

Miriam snapped back to reality. The room suddenly brightened, and the lights converged on Sơn’s face, making it glow with a radiant, magnificent light. Overcome by emotion, she moved toward him, pulled his head back by the neck, and planted passionate kisses on his lips and across his face. A surge of desire swept through her, driving her to a fever pitch. Months of sexual deprivation had made her feel parched and withered; she craved a downpour to refresh her spirit and quench the deep-seated turmoil within—to prove to herself that she was still beautiful, alluring, and capable of inspiring passion and desire.
 
Miriam gently pried Sơn’s fingers loose from the piano keys. The unfinished notes of the melody still lingered in his eyes. Miriam gazed deep into their depths; the initial surprise gradually gave way to sheer delight. A yearning fulfilled and the bliss of passion overflowed in his eyes. Miriam knew she hadn't been mistaken—love had blossomed anew within her, born of the harmony between their souls. Whether the moment lasted an instant or an eternity, she could not say. Yet, she knew one thing for certain: she could not let this rapture end.

Miriam sought his lips, and amidst a lingering kiss, she helped him rise and guided him toward the roaring fireplace. She eased him down onto the thick, snow-white fur rug, never once breaking the hungry, fervent kiss they shared. Her hands moved to his chest, undoing the buttons of his shirt one by one.

° ° °

Sơn lay still, gazing upward. The flickering flames from the hearth cast dancing light across her flushed, glowing face. Her wavy, golden hair cascaded down over her alabaster, full bosom. She looked like a goddess from Greek mythology, Sơn thought—he could find no other comparison. He was fully aware of the magnificent happiness washing over him.

Happiness is truly happiness only when recognized in that fleeting instant. And it becomes sublime when one realizes that this joy endures—ceaseless, unfolding without a thought for when it might ever come to an end. Sơn was fully aware of his state, his being overflowing with blissful ecstasy as he watched Miriam slowly undress; she rose to reveal her exquisite beauty, posing before the fire for his eyes alone to admire.

She leaned back and held him close. Sơn let out a long, deep breath. He embraced her in return and pressed his body against hers, devouring her with a passion that consumed both soul and flesh—claiming her entirely as his own, binding himself to her forever, never to let go...

 
Chapter 36
 
The police department's arson investigation unit was located on the third floor of City Hall. Lữ scanned the list of specialized offices posted on a large board in the hallway and finally spotted Steve Wesley’s name near the bottom: Room 304B.
 
He turned to Kim and asked:

"Do you know anything about this cop, Kim?"

Kim nodded.

"I’ve spoken to a few lawyers who’ve dealt with him. He’s a tough cop—notorious for being prejudiced. He’s actually been reprimanded a few times for it."

Lữ remained silent. He recalled the police lieutenant’s loathsome, arrogant sneer on the night of the apartment fire and felt a surge of irritation. *Just another complication,* he thought to himself.

Lữ led Kim out of the elevator on the third floor. Her hand was soft and warm; she hadn't pulled away when he’d naturally taken it upon entering the elevator. She had even referred to herself as *em*—a term of endearment—speaking with a warmth that made them sound like lovers. Lữ felt lucky. Even amidst risk and misfortune, there was always a ray of hope. Kim was the light that had come into his life during these dark days.

What more could he ask for? Lữ had never shied away from hardship; he would smash through any obstacle in his path. And now, fate had brought him Kim—a brilliant, captivating, and loving lawyer. Lữ took a deep breath. He certainly wasn't going to let a low-life, crude, and detestable cop like Steve Wesley get to him.

Before they entered the office, Kim gave him a final instruction:

"Remember, Lữ—let me handle the talking. Only answer if I nod my approval. Don't lose your temper, no matter what! Just ignore whatever he says."
 
Lữ nodded. He smiled inwardly. Kim was worrying too much! He certainly wasn't naive enough to easily fall into a trap set by small-time cops!

Kim shook Wesley’s hand as he led them to his desk. She said:

"I am the lawyer representing Mr. Lữ regarding the fire at the apartment complex his company owns. Mr. Lữ is a very busy man, and I don't have much time either. I hope, Lieutenant, that you can make these statement-taking procedures a bit simpler and faster."

Lữ looked at Kim with admiration. She spoke to Wesley in a confident, slightly condescending tone, deliberately putting him on the defensive—though not so much that he would immediately take offense.

Steve Wesley smiled. He seemed amenable toward a young, beautiful lawyer like Kim, but he wasn't the type to be easily intimidated. Wesley said:

"We’re just doing our job. If Mr. Lữ has nothing to hide, I’m sure it won’t take long at all."

Lữ frowned; Steve Wesley was starting to sound threatening. Kim spoke up immediately, not letting Lữ get a word in:

"My client has nothing to hide. Mr. Lữ has suffered heavy losses from this fire. He simply wants the police to do their job quickly—to find the culprit and wrap up the investigation as soon as possible."

Steve Wesley gave a half-smile:

"Right. I imagine what Mr. Lữ really wants is the insurance payout as soon as possible. Now, please tell me: where were you on the night of the fire, between 1:00 and 3:00 AM?"

Kim cut him off immediately:

"Lieutenant, tell me this: is Mr. Lữ a suspect?"

Wesley shook his head:

"Mr. Lữ is not currently an official suspect." "However, it is our duty to view everyone with suspicion—especially those who might stand to profit from the fire at this apartment complex!"

Kim handed Wesley a stack of papers:

"Here is an estimate of the damages Mr. Lu’s company sustained from the fire, along with the projected insurance payout. You can see right away that even with the compensation, his company still suffers significant losses."

She spoke with a challenging tone:

"This complex has an occupancy rate of over 96%. Property values ​​here rise by 20% annually because it’s an upscale area—unlike the impoverished neighborhoods of South Central. No one would torch a place like this for insurance money, the way they do in the arson cases your department usually investigates!"

Wesley felt a bit awkward. He knew exactly what she was referring to: the recent arsons in predominantly black neighborhoods where his office had failed to catch the perpetrators. He offered a defense, though his voice lacked its earlier confidence:

"We simply follow up on every potential lead. Besides, what about that T-shirt bearing the name of 'Don’s Hamburger'—the shop Mr. Lữ manages?"

Kim smirked, dismissing the T-shirt issue as a triviality unworthy of attention. She turned to Lữ:

"Mr. Lữ, please tell Lieutenant Wesley where you were between 1:00 and 3:00 a.m. that night—since he’s so keen to know."

Lữ answered briefly:

"I was at home, asleep."

Kim tossed another document onto Wesley’s desk:
 
"This is a signed statement from the security guard at Mr. Lữ’s condo complex. He confirms opening the gate for Mr. Lữ when he returned home at 11:00 p.m. and seeing him leave again at 4:00 a.m., after he was notified about the fire."

Wesley furrowed his brow. He hadn't expected Kim to be so thoroughly prepared, ready with answers for every question he might ask. He asked again:

"And the T-shirt?"