Second Sister

by Chan Ho-Kei

  “Hello,” said a voice after a couple of rings. Chung-Nam recognized it: Doris.

  “I’m—I’m Sze Chung-Nam from GT Technology. Is Mr. Szeto in?” He kept his voice calm.

  “Mr. Szeto isn’t available right now. May I take a message?”

  “Sure.” Ching-Nam swallowed. “I have some matters pertaining to GT Technology I’d like to discuss with Mr. Szeto. It would be great if we could meet in person.”

  “All right, I’ll let him know.”

  “Uh … Okay, thank you.” He didn’t know what else he could say to such a brief response.

  He hadn’t been prepared for anyone but Mr. Szeto to answer the phone—he’d had all his lines ready and the next steps planned. Instead, he was reduced to waiting passively for the other man to return his call.

  A whole day passed, and Mr. Szeto still hadn’t called. Chung-Nam cursed Doris—he was certain she’d forgotten to pass on the message. He decided to phone again after work, but right after lunch, when he and Hao were back in the conference room working on the text and slides for the proposal, he heard the ringtone he’d been waiting for.

  “I should take this,” he said to Hao, and hurried from the conference room to the passageway outside the office.

  “Hello, Chung-Nam speaking.”

  “Hi. Sorry about yesterday. Doris has such terrible handwriting, I thought it was a different Charles who’d called.” Szeto Wai chuckled. “She tells me you want to meet. What’s up?”

  “Um, it’s not convenient to talk right now.” Chung-Nam kept his voice low, turning back to glance at the office door, terrified that Hao or one of his other coworkers was eavesdropping.

  “Sure. Are you free tonight? Want to come out for a drink?”

  “All right. I’m free whenever.”

  “Let’s say nine o’clock—I have dinner plans,” said Szeto Wai. “I’ll pick you up in Mong Kok?”

  “No, no, I don’t want to trouble you. Tell me the place and I’ll find my own way there.” Once again, Chung-Nam was anxious about being spotted by someone from work.

  “This is a members only bar that I’m bringing you to, you won’t be able to get in on your own—” Mr. Szeto hesitated, then said with exaggerated seriousness, “Also, there’s something I want to show you. It’s best if we meet in Mong Kok first.”

  Chung-Nam found this odd, but in order not to be left standing on a street corner again looking anxiously for his boss or coworkers, he hastily said, “Actually, now that I think of it, I have an errand to run after work. I’ll be at Quarry Bay on the eastern side of Hong Kong Island—why don’t we meet there?”

  “Okay. Let’s say nine o’clock at Taikoo Place?” This was a well-known business district in Quarry Bay. IBM had its Hong Kong offices there.

  “Great, thank you!”

  Chung-Nam picked this location purely to reduce the chances of running into his coworkers. No one in his office lived on Hong Kong Island, and even if they had dinner plans there, they were much more likely to be hanging out in Causeway Bay or Central.

  Trying not to look too smug, Chung-Nam went back to the conference room, where Hao was still bashing away at the computer, entering words and numbers he didn’t understand.

  “Girlfriend?” he said out of the blue.

  It took Chung-Nam a few seconds to realize he was referring to the phone call.

  “Ha, you know I’m single.” He smiled to cover his anxiety, putting on a nonchalant air.

  “Oh—wasn’t that your girlfriend on the line? Even if she wasn’t your girlfriend … but I guess not, she didn’t really look the type,” Hao said, not looking up from the keyboard.

  “Just an old classmate asking me out to dinner next week,” said Chung-Nam, reaching for the first excuse he could think of.

  “I didn’t mean the phone call.” Hao glanced up at him, smiling sleazily. “That girl looked really young. She can’t have been cheap.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “A few days ago I was at Festival Walk for a movie. Afterward, at the food court, I saw you on a date with a teenage girl.” Hao cocked an eyebrow. “PTGF?”

  Chung-Nam froze. He hadn’t realized he’d been seen.

  “Don’t talk nonsense,” he said, frowning. “That was my little sister.”

  PTGF stood for part-time girlfriend, another way of saying “escort.”

  “You have a little sister? How come you’ve never mentioned her?”

  “Oh please.” Chung-Nam lightened his tone. “If you and Ma-Chai knew I had such a cute little sister, you’d pester me to death asking for an introduction.”

  “No way. I’m not a pedo. I don’t like them so young. Anyway, your sister isn’t that good-looking.”

  “Enough of your nonsense.” Chung-Nam sat down next to Hao. “Have you turned the projected user numbers into a trend line?”

  “Here it is. But I don’t think these numbers look too good.”

  Hao went on explaining the problems, but Chung-Nam didn’t take in a single word. He couldn’t believe Hao had seen him the other night. Not that it mattered what Hao saw or didn’t see, but it bothered him that he hadn’t realized he was being observed. He thought again of the suspicious man he’d noticed on the MTR after his dinner with Szeto Wai.

  “I’m going—I have something urgent to take care of,” he said at seven, leaving Hao buried in documents.

  “Hey, at this rate, we’ll never get this done by next week.”

  “I’ll do some more on the weekend.”

  “Fine, but don’t expect any weekend overtime from me—I already have plans.” Hao grinned. “Even a hanged man needs to catch his breath.”

  Chung-Nam flashed him the okay sign, then trotted out of the office with his briefcase.

  From the busy streets of Mong Kok he caught the MTR to Quarry Bay. Not that it was a bay these days—the boatyards had been replaced with a fancy apartment complex, Taikoo Shing, while Taikoo Place stood where sugar processing plants once had. Only the occasional street name such as Shipyard Lane remained as a reminder of the past. There were a lot of restaurants around Taikoo Place, catering to the many office workers, while low-cost food stalls in the alleyways served longtime residents. Chung-Nam had planned to have dinner at an American-style place on Tong Chong Street called The Press, but a quick glance at the menu by the door showed appetizers alone going for over a hundred dollars. His pockets weren’t deep enough for this; instead, he ducked into the next street, where a rather run-down noodle establishment was able to satisfy his pangs.

  After some dumplings and noodles—which were unexpectedly delicious—Chung-Nam waited in the restaurant until the appointed time. He kept running through various scenarios, hoping this encounter would go as smoothly as the last one. There weren’t many customers, and the servers sat around staring at the TV, ignoring the distracted anonymous office worker lurking in a corner.

  At 8:50 Chung-Nam was shaken out of his reverie by his phone ringing.

  “I’m at Quarry Bay, on King’s Road,” came Szeto Wai’s voice. “Where are you?”

  “Hoi Kwong Street.”

  Szeto Wai repeated the street name and was answered by a beep—probably his GPS finding the location. “I’ll meet you at the corner of Hoi Kwong and Tong Chong.”

  Chung-Nam hastily paid the bill and hurried out of the shop, expecting to see the black Tesla Model S. But no—as he approached the junction, there was Szeto Wai, standing by a dazzling red sports car.

  Chung-Nam shook his hand, unable to take his eyes off the vehicle. “Mr. Szeto, is this …”

  “I told you I had something to show you,” Szeto Wai crowed. “Recognize the make?”

  “Of course! It’s a Corvette C7.” Chung-Nam was so overwhelmed he forgot to let go of Mr. Szeto’s hand. This was the latest model, its horsepower and sleek lines every bit as impressive as a Porsche or a Ferrari. There were hardly any of these in Hong Kong.

  “I borrowed it from a friend. Let’s go for a s
pin!” Mr. Szeto looked as thrilled as a kid with a new toy.

  Chung-Nam got in the passenger seat, even more excited than he’d been over the Tesla. The seats alone, with their magnesium alloy frame and twin-flag Corvette logo, made this car a cut above. Compared with European models, Chevrolets had a sort of wild energy that matched the mood of dominance Chung-Nam was after.

  “It’s Doris’s day off, so I thought we’d take the two-seater,” said Szeto Wai, getting in on the driver’s side. “Besides, I’m sure you understand—if I let Doris drive, I’d feel embarrassed sitting next to her.”

  “Mmm, true, it would be weird to see a woman drive a Corvette.” As far as Chung-Nam was concerned, this was an extremely masculine vehicle.

  “That’s not a problem. I just worry I’d look like a beta male.”

  Szeto Wai seemed to be opening up to him—a good sign. That meant he was starting to see Chung-Nam as a friend. Szeto had dressed casual again: a grayish-white shirt, no tie, deep blue lightweight jacket, khakis, and dark brown shoes. The whole ensemble made him look several years younger than his actual age. These clothes looked informal, but closer examination would reveal exceptional craftsmanship that, along with the Jaeger-LeCoultre watch on his left wrist, indicated he was exceptionally wealthy.

  As Szeto Wai buckled his seat belt, Chung-Nam noticed something. “Hey this Corvette is a right-hand drive!”

  “Of course, left-hand drives can’t be registered in Hong Kong.” Szeto’s lip twitched. “Unless you’re a diplomat or someone, uh, powerful from China.”

  “But I remember reading that Chevrolet doesn’t even make right-hand drive C7s.”

  “It doesn’t matter if you have money.” Szeto Wai grinned. “Actually, I acted as an intermediary in the States to get my friend this car. Connected him to people in America, bought spare parts from a dealership, had the left-hand drive changed to right. After that, all he had to do was to arrange shipping to Hong Kong and pay the import taxes, get it licensed and registered, and he could legally drive it here.”

  “That can’t be cheap. Surely the modification, shipping, and registration taxes added up to more than the cost of the car.”

  “Oh yes, for sure,” said Szeto Wai drily, nudging his glasses up his nose. “But it’s still not that much—about six hundred thousand for the car, plus another million for everything else. A four-hundred-square-foot apartment in Hong Kong costs five or six mil these days, so what’s one million?”

  Chung-Nam quickly ran through the numbers—he was right.

  “My friend’s a businessman. As far as he’s concerned, this C7 is just a toy. Only something like a Pagani Zonda is a real car.” Szeto Wai stepped on the gas. The engine roared, shaking away the last of Chung-Nam’s worries.

  They zoomed down King’s Road, past Taikoo Shing, and onto Island Eastern Corridor, then through the tunnel of Eastern Harbour Crossing. The lights of Victoria Harbour greeted them when they rose into the open again. The lights of Kai Tak Cruise Terminal and Kwun Tong gleamed like precious jewels. The sea was dark, but if you looked closely, you could make out ships and boats of all sizes moving slowly across the surface. There wasn’t much traffic, and Szeto Wai was able to floor the pedal. As the scenery flashed past, Chung-Nam felt the acceleration pressing his back into the seat.

  “Zero to sixty in less than four seconds,” Szeto Wai bragged. “A shame the limit’s forty. If you want to really enjoy the C7’s speed, you have to let rip on North Lantau Highway, where you can go up to seventy. Of course, not even American highways let the Corvette reach its full potential—their limit is eighty-five at most.”

  “What’s the Corvette’s max speed?”

  “One-eighty.” Szeto Wai grinned. “You’d need a private race course to reach that. Or just go to Australia, their highways have no speed limit. I once got up to a hundred and twenty there.”

  “I’d like to try that at least once in my life.”

  “You’ll get your chance. Shame this isn’t my car, otherwise I’d let you take a turn at the wheel.”

  It was Thursday night, so traffic was smooth. In just a few minutes they’d reached Admiralty and turned off the highway.

  “There isn’t much traffic—let’s take the scenic route.”

  Before Chung-Nam could work out what he meant, Szeto Wai had turned the car onto Queen’s Road Central. In less than a minute Chung-Nam understood what they were doing here. A flame-red sports car gliding between these shop fronts dripping with European luxury goods, attracting the envious stares of flashily dressed young things on their way to the pleasure palaces of Lan Kwai Fong, made him feel for a second as if they were in Paris or Manhattan.

  So this is what rich people do for kicks, he thought.

  The car cruised onto Hollywood Road in Sheung Wan, then turned back to Central. Chung-Nam had assumed their destination was Lan Kwai Fong, but Szeto Wai parked next to The Centrium on Wyndham Street, some distance from the bars Chung-Nam had in mind.

  “We’re here,” Szeto Wai said, removing the key from the ignition. “You can leave your briefcase in the car.”

  “It’s okay, I’ll bring it with me.”

  They went into the building, where a bearlike foreign man in a black suit stood by the elevator. When Szeto Wai called out a greeting, the man’s stern features relaxed into a smile. He took the car key from Szeto, politely summoned the elevator, and ushered Szeto and Chung-Nam in.

  “That was Egor,” said Szeto after the doors had shut. “He’s not just the valet, but also this private nightclub’s bouncer. Whether you get to enter depends entirely on his mood.”

  “Isn’t this a members only club?”

  “Anyone who gets past Egor is a member. Of course, there are different criteria for men and women.”

  Chung-Nam guessed what he was getting at: Egor probably judged male patrons according to their status in society, and a sad sack like Chung-Nam would never have been let in on his own. Women, on the other hand, needed only to be sufficiently attractive to encourage the men to buy more drinks.

  The elevator was clearly for the bar’s patrons—there was only one button other than the ground floor. The doors opened onto a wood-paneled room filled with mellow jazz and soft lighting. Behind the long bar by the entrance, two bartenders mixed drinks. Farther in were a dozen or so tables: low ones surrounded by armchairs, high ones with backless stools. At the far end was a floor-to-ceiling window with a balcony beyond it, through which the neon lights and endless streams of pedestrians below were visible. There were less than twenty customers, mostly clustered around the tables in small groups, though a couple were sitting at the bar.

  A waitress in a waistcoat led them to a corner table and took their drink order.

  “I’m driving, so I’ll just have a Jack and Coke,” said Szeto promptly.

  “Me too.” Chung-Nam had never tasted a Jack and Coke, but this seemed like the safest choice. He had no idea if asking for a martini would seem too flashy, or if ordering beer was vulgar.

  “Nice place,” said Chung-Nam, looking around. He’d only ever been in crowded, noisy bars that blared rock music or had DJs mixing electronic beats. This place was classy and sparsely attended, which made for a relaxing atmosphere, perfect for business talk or catching up with friends. Even striking up a conversation with other bar patrons didn’t feel awkward here.

  “If we’d stayed out later last week, I’d have brought you here,” said Szeto Wai.

  “Do you come here often?”

  “Not really, only when I need to.”

  “When you need to?”

  “I mean—”

  Szeto was interrupted by the waitress, who arrived bearing two collins glasses. She placed coasters in front of them and then served their drinks.

  “Do we pay at the end?” Chung-Nam had pulled out his wallet, determined to pay for at least one round, but she hadn’t left a bill.

  “They’ll just put it on my tab,” said Szeto, smiling and gesturing for him to put a
way his wallet. “Let’s drink to our working together.”

  Chung-Nam clinked glasses with him and took a sip.

  Szeto came straight to the point. “All right … you said you had something you wanted to discuss?”

  Chung-Nam set down his glass. “My coworker Hao—our ‘customer experience designer’—has been putting together a new proposal, which we’ll present to you next week.”

  “Fine. Are there any problems? After all, even if the report’s not quite up to scratch, I’m still going to invest in your firm.”

  “The problem is that Kenneth isn’t playing any part in this.” Chung-Nam almost stuttered, still not being used to calling Mr. Lee by his English name.

  “Oh?”

  “He didn’t give us any vision at all, just said to come up with some ideas like last time, to make you interested in putting money into the company.” Chung-Nam frowned. “I think that’s a serious problem. Kenneth set up GT to disrupt chatboards and give those old farts at Popcorn a run for their money. Whether or not he succeeded, at least that showed some spirit. But now there’s nothing in his eyes except dollar signs.”

  “Really?”

  “I think the company’s lost its sense of direction.” Chung-Nam sighed. “GT might have a small staff, but work used to be allocated fairly. Kenneth’s the boss, so he focused on fund-raising. Ma-Chai and I were in charge of the tech side, while Hao was more customer-facing. But ever since Kenneth took part in that VC project, he’s been throwing money willy-nilly at developing GT itself, even though that’s the wrong way around.”

  “You have a point.”

  “Right now, the company has a chance of getting funds from SIQ. Kenneth should be overseeing this new strategy himself rather than tossing it to his subordinates.”

  “Why do you think Kenneth is behaving like this? Is it just that he doesn’t understand the plan you proposed, or something else?”

  “Well …” Chung-Nam hesitated for a few seconds. “He’s dating Joanne.”

  “His secretary?”

  Chung-Nam nodded. “Nothing wrong with an office romance, unless it gets in the way of work. Kenneth’s meant to be our leader, but he’s too infatuated to do his job.”