overconfident. The Euro waitstaff circulated with trays carrying Champagne, sparkling mineral water and pineapple juice. Big Band music fought against the din of voices. Knox choked on the cigarette smoke.
He caught Grace appraising the other women. “You needn’t worry,” he said. “They’re all eating your dust.”
She looked down. “Dust?”
“You look fine.”
“Fine?”
Before Knox could rectify the moment, the two of them were interrupted by a young Chuppy-a Chinese upwardly mobile professional-bulging out of a low-cut bustier and wrapped in a dark gray jacket and skirt. Her chic eyeglasses reflected the glow of an iPad she carried with authority.
The woman introduced herself by her English name, Katherine Wu, and her position as Yang Cheng’s executive assistant. Grace introduced Knox as a business client. The hostess had greeted Knox with an openly coquettish expression, though it turned quickly churlish: import/export was regarded as unglamorous and “last century.”
“Allow me to introduce you to our host,” she said as she led them through a choking crowd around the bar and up three small stairs to the view lounge.
The lounge consisted of clusters of well-heeled guests randomly grouped. Yang Cheng stood at the top of the steps welcoming and chatting. Slightly balding and of an indistinguishable age, Yang wore a tailored suit, Italian leather shoes and a red tie. His wide-set eyes suggested a man overly pleased with himself.
Knox identified the fit man in the cheap suit as the bodyguard or security man. This man lingered a little too long on Grace for a complete stranger. There was something smarmy about the look. He then took in Knox like a full body scanner. Knox distilled this man’s reaction and quickly analyzed it: he knew Grace; he didn’t want to forget Knox.
Then something strange happened as Yang spotted Grace. He offered a smarmy look at his security man. It was a locker room exchange: one man to another, a look Knox knew well and had trouble processing for its content. It went beyond “She’s hot” to something more licentious. It was, in particular, personal, not simply suggestive. Knox was right on the edge of understanding it when he was jarred by introductions. The meaning escaped him.
The provocative young assistant introduced them. Yang had the enviable ability and grace to make them both feel it was only the three of them in the room. Knox caught a tick to Yang’s eye and Katherine Wu gently took Knox by the arm, following an obvious script. For now, Knox agreed to play his part.
“Please, Mr. Knox, allow me to show you the view.” She eased Knox away from Grace and toward the windows. Grace and Yang Cheng descended into the bar area.
“You have been to the Glamour Bar before?”
“Many, many times,” Knox replied. “One of my two favorite views in all Shanghai.”
“And the other?” she inquired.
He turned his gaze onto her. “Why, you, of course.”
“Ah!” She blushed involuntarily.
“But alas, views are only for looking. You’ll please excuse me, Ms. Wu,” he said cordially, wanting to keep track of Grace. “I’ll be right back. I just need a beer.”
Her grip tightened on his elbow. She lifted her other hand and miraculously, a waiter appeared like he’d come through a trap door. He took Knox’s order.
His hostess said something, but Knox didn’t hear. He’d lost sight of Grace.
7:48 P.M.
Being led by Yang Cheng into the main bar, Grace couldn’t help but see eyes following them. Yang demonstrated his knowledge of her, reciting pieces of her CV. Thankfully, he referred to her most recent employment as an independent accountant based in Hong Kong; there was no reference or insinuation of any work being performed for Rutherford Risk. The take-away for her was that she was a person of interest to him. This, in turn, made him more interesting to her. Was he calculating enough to have had Lu Hao kidnapped? Was her invitation to the party related to the kidnapping?
He continued greeting guests and shaking hands on the way to a table reserved for them. She declined the offer of Champagne, as her head was already spinning.
“My father,” he said, “began this business with a single handcart and a shovel.”
“Yang Construction has a fine reputation as the number-one construction company in all of Shanghai. All of China.”
“You flatter me.”
“I repeat only that which I have heard,” she said.
“We are honored to do business in such a great and charitable nation. We employ over twelve hundred in management positions, and many thousands in the workplace. All Chinese. No foreign blood other than a few consultants for appearances.” When he smiled, his eyes became quiet. “For nearly twenty years now, our chief competition is The Berthold Group, your new employer, Chu Youya. Their presence has grown from consultant to major player. My father first did business with BG in nineteen eighty-two. Now look: they are building the Xuan Tower. Foreign firm, not Chinese. This is not right. I make no secret of my wish to see Xuan Tower completed by a Chinese firm, such as ours.”
“I have just recently arrived in Shanghai,” Grace replied. “I am sorry to hear of your differences with The Berthold Group.”
“It is not your concern. Forgive me.” He paused and offered her a drink for a second time. She declined. “I would like to come straight to the point, Chu Youya,” he said. “I have the burden of many guests I must entertain. So you will please forgive me.”
“Of course,” Grace said, concentrating on keeping her face calm. Yang Cheng would never begin the ransom negotiations himself, but she prepared herself to look behind whatever his point was.
He lowered his voice. “The house of Allan Marquardt is destined to fail, Chu Youya. It is a foreign company, after all. No matter the lip service paid by our great country, a foreign company will never be allowed to attain the position of a Chinese company within her borders. Never! You and I both understand that. When Berthold fails, many people will be seeking employment. Accountants-even brilliant, young accountants-will be like ants after the same sugar. Great challenges present great opportunities,” he continued, as if quoting a proverb. “Such an opportunity now awaits you, Chu Youya. You are Chinese like me, not foreign blood like them. You come work for me now, I will pay twenty-five percent more than Allan Marquardt, I will offer better benefits, and you will honor your family by working for a Chinese company.”
“You do me a great honor, Yang Cheng.” Grace hung her head, wondering if this was indeed the point of her invitation, or was he seeking to explore the possibility of negotiation by erecting the pretense of an employment deal between them? “I am deeply humbled. You will forgive me if I must take time to consider your generous offer.”
“Time is sometimes a blessing, sometimes a curse. Use yours well. I am not the one in a hurry. You…on the other hand.” He paused, tellingly. She thought the implication had to be connected to the ransom situation, but then became confused as he continued. “The Xuan Tower nears completion. Mark my words: it will not bear the name of Berthold Group at the time of its ribbon ceremony. It was never to be.”
“In defense of my current employer,” she said, letting it hang there, “certainly dozens, maybe hundreds of buildings in Shanghai have been financed and built with foreign money, whether in part or in whole. So many Western architects have made our skyline all the more interesting. The French. The Germans. The Arabs. Shanghai is truly metropolitan.”
“Of this there is no doubt. Americans, too. Yes. But Xuan is to be the tallest building in world. A point of great Chinese pride. Chinese pride, not American pride.”
“Yes, of course.”
“There will be no confusion on this point. Do not fool yourself. Allan Marquardt’s reach will stop here in Shanghai, and before the Xuan is open.” His face grew red. The whiskey? She doubted it. Perhaps he’d had a promise from the government from the start. Lu Hao’s kidnapping might be but a single mahjong tile pushed to send others falling. Financial conspiracy was an art form in Asia, practiced by all-from the street sweeper to people like Yang Cheng. He said, “Chinese profits are reinvested. Foreign profits travel across the oceans and never return.
