swept over his ears in a style that might have suited someone twenty years younger, six inches taller, and forty pounds lighter. He’s still Hong Kong slick, she thought, eyeing his Gucci loafers, tailor-made dress shirt with monogrammed cuffs, and D amp;G belt around a thirty-eight-inch waist. “I need to know about Jackson Seto.”
“I know next to nothing.”
“You introduced him to Andrew Tam.”
“I mentioned Andrew Tam to Seto, and I called Andrew to tell him I was referring Seto to him. But I was never part of any meeting between them, and I had nothing to do with the business they did.”
“How did you meet Seto?”
“I met him through his brother, whom I do know very well.”
“What’s his name?”
“Frank.”
“How did it come about that you met?”
“I was having lunch with Frank when Jackson came into the restaurant. He joined us and we started to have, you know, the normal kind of conversation businessmen have. Sometime during lunch Jackson mentioned that he was looking for some purchase-order financing and I brought up Dynamic Financial. Andrew — if he hasn’t told you — and I went to school together.”
“That’s it? Nothing more than that?”
“That’s all.”
“You never saw Seto again?”
“Never saw him, didn’t talk to him.”
“Andrew suggested that you might have received a finder’s fee.”
“No,” Cheng said forcibly. “At the time the only reason I even mentioned Dynamic was that I thought if I helped Jackson, it might help me in my relationship with Frank. Little did I know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Frank is embarrassed by his brother. He wants nothing to do with him and is quite determined to keep him away from his social circle.”
“When did you find that out?”
“When I had lunch with Frank a few months after that first meeting.”
“Who is this Frank Seto?”
“He is married to Patty Chan, Carter Chan’s only child.”
“Ah, the all-powerful Mr. Chan. Is he still the wealthiest man in Hong Kong?”
“Maybe in all of Asia.”
“Nice catch.”
Cheng shrugged. “Patty is ugly and fat, but she’s going to be the richest woman in Hong Kong when Carter dies.”
“What does Frank do?”
“He tries to keep her happy.”
“No, I mean his job.”
“He tries to keep her happy,” Cheng said and laughed. “Officially, though, he’s the president of a real estate operation they own, Admiralty Properties. The office is on the Hong Kong side, Gloucester Road, overlooking the harbour. He wanders in there a few times a week.”
“Where does he live?”
“The family — the entire Chan family, including Carter, lives — where else? — at the top of the Peak. Security is very tight at the house. Actually, I should say houses, because it’s more of a compound.”
“I get the picture,” Ava said. “Still, I’d like to talk to him.”
“Good luck.”
“Would you — ”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Cheng interrupted. “If you want to speak to Frank, contact him yourself. I’ve told you all I know. I understand that Andrew may have problems as a result of dealing with Jackson. I’m sorry about that, but none of it was my doing. Andrew had an obligation to do his own due diligence.” Cheng stood up. “Now I have another appointment.”
Ava rode the elevator to the ground floor but waited until she was back on Nathan Road to call Uncle. She gave him a summary of her meeting with Cheng, then said, “Can you arrange for me to sit with Frank Seto?”
“I don’t know Frank Seto. I do know Carter Chan, but if I was face down on the street bleeding, Carter would probably kick me for good measure,” he said. “I’ll tell you who does know Carter, though, and probably Frank Seto too.”
“Who?”
“Your father.”
(7)
Marcus Lee didn’t seem surprised to be hearing from his daughter, but then he never did. Whether it was six days, six weeks, or six months since their last contact, he always acted as if they had just had breakfast together.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said, “are you in Hong Kong?”
When she had phoned his office the receptionist had said he was in a meeting and wasn’t to be disturbed. “Could you tell him that his daughter Ava called?” she said.
“Ah, wait,” the woman said. “For you, I can disturb him.”
For some reason it made her feel good to hear that, and then to hear him “sweetheart” her when he came on the line.
“I am.”
“That’s funny. I talked to Mummy this morning and she didn’t mention that you’d be here.”
“A last-minute change of plan. I’m really heading to Bangkok, but I need to do something here first.”
“Where are you now?”
“I just got off the Star Ferry on the Hong Kong side.”
“You know, it’s almost lunchtime. Do you want to join me?”
“Why not?”
“They have very good dim sum at the Shangri-La Hotel. Why don’t you grab a taxi and meet me there in about ten minutes.”
When Ava arrived at the hotel, her father was already standing by the restaurant host, waiting for her. He was just under six feet and slender, with no hint of middle-age spread. His hair was still jet black and fashionably long at the back. God, he’s handsome, she thought. He wore a charcoal grey suit with a white dress shirt and a red silk tie — the very picture of conservatism.
Her mother swore that Ava bore the closest physical resemblance to him of any of the children, even though she’d only seen pictures of the four sons from the first wife and knew nothing of those from the third. It wasn’t just that Ava was lean and easy on the eyes. Her entire appearance was striking: a combination of good looks, the ability to carry herself well, and an aura of self-confidence.
Marcus Lee saw her and waved, then walked across the lobby to meet her halfway. He threw his arms around her and they hugged. She could feel a hundred eyes on them.
“You look gorgeous, sweetheart,” he said.
“Thanks, Daddy. You look great too.”
“I’m still running, still watching what I eat.”
“It shows.”
The restaurant was jammed but a table had been held for them. He ordered from the dim sum menu without asking her what she wanted. Her mother loved that about him, that he always took charge.
“I told Mummy this morning that I’m planning to come over to Toronto in May, when the weather improves. I’ll stay maybe for the whole month. I hope you’ll be there,” he said.
