Everything had to be carefully planned and timed to ensure a smooth flow of events—avoiding any surprises that, even if not disastrous, might diminish the pleasure she so eagerly anticipated.

Lệ felt an extraordinary thrill and intense curiosity—the excitement of a new discovery, an unexpected delight in life. It was vibrant, fresh, and playful, like an intriguing new game; it brought the sheer joy of finally receiving a doll she had long coveted—one she had gazed at through the shop window day after day, walking past countless times without the means to buy it.
 
She had had many lovers before, but never a young man fourteen years her junior—someone barely out of adolescence, perhaps not yet fully mature, like a novice taking his first steps into the world, in need of the guiding hand of an older sister or a mother figure. Lệ laughed aloud. *Like a mother!* she chided herself silently.
 
Yet, the comparison only heightened her excitement; the sensation was so novel that she wanted to savor it slowly, letting the realization of this new romance seep into her very skin and flesh, enveloping her completely as she strode down the corridor, counting off the numbers until she finally stopped before the door to Room 826.
 

Lệ gave the door three light knocks—the signal she had agreed upon with Hoán. The door swung wide, and Hoán appeared before her, his eyes wide and his breathing rapid and shallow. Lệ smiled. She turned to hang the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the outside of the door and locked it securely.
 
Hoán remained standing there, rooted to the spot and looking dazed, as if unsure of what to say or do. Lệ narrowed her eyes at Hoán and remained silent; she wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a searing kiss on him, feeling his body go limp. Yet, Hoán’s reaction shifted instantly—just as she had foreseen and desired.

He suddenly transformed into a fierce tiger—growling, clawing, and acting with the aggression of someone starved for days. He swept her up in his arms and tossed her onto the thick mattress nearby. Lệ opened her eyes in anticipation and smiled as Hoán’s entire body descended upon hers like a violent storm crashing onto the shore during a tempest—sweeping away all other emotions, leaving no room for regret or pity, and surrendering entirely to raw, primal instinct. It was like tilting one’s head back to drink life to the dregs—without calculation, without a shred of remorse.

° ° °

Tuyến walked into his wife’s office and, with a nod of his chin, asked the secretary sitting outside:

"Where’s my wife?"

"She’s out for lunch."

Tuyến shook his head in frustration. He had driven all the way from Los Angeles to Westminster for a task. He had hoped to drop by Lệ’s office and invite her to lunch, but he had missed her—all because he had forgotten to charge his cell phone. Tuyến glanced at the secretary. She had a charmingly crooked tooth. Should he ask her out to lunch instead?

He smoothed back the few strands of hair remaining on his head, which was balding halfway to the crown. Lệ probably wouldn't be back for another hour. He tossed a file folder onto the desk:

"Give this to her when she gets back. I want her to review it and call me immediately."

 
Chapter 2
 
Tuyến picked up the phone sitting on the secretary's desk and dialed. Quang’s office was nearby; it would be convenient to invite him to lunch and discuss business at the same time.

"Put me through to Lawyer Quang."

On the other end, Quang’s receptionist answered in English, asking him to hold. Tuyến cursed under his breath. Doing business with Vietnamese people—yet putting on airs like this! Acting as if they were a high-end law firm in Beverly Hills! Quang’s voice sounded curt as he picked up the receiver:

"Who is this?"
 
"Who else but yours truly? Come meet me at Tây Sơn Phở for lunch. I’ve got some big business to discuss with you."
 
Tuyến left Lệ’s office and drove two blocks down to Tây Sơn Phở. He couldn't even count how many *phở* shops and Vietnamese restaurants had sprung up along Bolsa Avenue. But this particular *phở* shop was a favorite for both him and Quang. It evoked memories of the old street-vendor *phở* stalls in Hanoi—back when they were just little kids, craving every single strand of noodles and every spoonful of rich, savory broth.

The shop was packed at lunchtime, even on a weekday. Outside, a dozen "armchair pundits"—the *thầy bàn*—sat on long benches, noisily debating current events. Two old men, their hair almost entirely gray, stood up with beet-red faces, gesticulating wildly and arguing at the top of their lungs. Tuyến smiled. He steered clear of the heated debaters and opened the door to the shop to wait for Quang.
 
He had grown accustomed to the sight of idlers gathering outside the *phở* shop to argue about everything under the sun; it no longer bothered him the way it once had. Yet, the amusing nature of the term *thầy bàn*—"armchair pundits"—always caught his attention, and he found a certain joy in it whenever he visited.

Sometimes, Tuyến would even run into acquaintances he hadn't seen since his days in Saigon thirty years ago. These older men—who once commanded great authority or held high-ranking positions in the South—now lived here dependent on their children or government welfare. Their sole pastime was gathering outside busy *phở* shops or inside shopping malls along Bolsa Avenue to discuss current affairs. They were known as "armchair pundits," each clutching a Vietnamese or American newspaper every morning, unfolding it to read and then launching into debates.
 
Arguments broke out frequently; sometimes, tempers flared into physical brawls—resulting in bloody heads and the need for ambulances to rush them to the hospital. Tuyến found the sight of these men gathering seven days a week both comical and pitiful, yet he understood their state of mind. What else was there to life? He shook his head, thinking to himself: *If I were in their shoes, I’d probably be exactly the same.*

But deep down, Tuyến knew for certain he would never end up like that. There were still so many pleasures in life left to enjoy, and countless opportunities to amass more wealth. Had he earned enough to be considered truly wealthy? In American society, just how much of a fortune did one need to be called rich?
 
He thought of Quang, a friend who viewed living for pleasure as the ultimate purpose of existence. Quang had once defined the term "millionaire" for him: A millionaire isn't someone who earns a million, nor someone who saves a million. A millionaire is someone who *spends* a million! Quang would laugh heartily when saying this. "Take me, for instance! I’ve never earned a million, let alone saved that kind of money. But I’ve spent millions—and I keep right on spending them!"

"Of course!" Tuyến would reply. "Because you’re spending other people's money!" Perhaps no one else enjoyed life with such ease, joy, and utter lack of concern as Quang. Tuyến had admired—and envied—Quang’s lifestyle ever since their days back in Vietnam. As the son of a bank manager in Saigon, Quang—even while still a law student—exploited his father’s position to engage in shady deals and rake in money hand over fist.
 
Tuyến suspected that father and son were colluding to amass wealth through these illicit schemes. One of Quang’s easiest money-making ventures involved extracting payments from construction companies bidding for U.S. military contracts; in exchange, he provided them with letters of credit—certified by his father—attesting that they possessed the capital required to bid on the massive U.S. projects flooding South Vietnam with funds during the 1960s.

Quang would contact the bidding firms and collect fees, while his father—leveraging his role as bank manager—signed off on fraudulent paperwork granting these companies enormous loans for their operations. Additionally, Quang acted as the importer of record for motorcycles entering Vietnam. Thanks to his father’s extensive connections within the South Vietnamese government—and the strategic use of bribes—Quang secured the necessary import licenses.
 
Possessing a license to import brands like Honda, Suzuki, and Yamaha was akin to owning a money-printing press; the public was clamoring for Japanese motorcycles, and demand far outstripped supply. Quang made a fortune; despite being merely a law student, he would turn heads by parking a gleaming Peugeot 404 or a convertible Mustang right on Duy Tân Street, outside the law school.
 
At the time, Tuyến was merely an impoverished law student, but as Quang’s childhood friend, he often tagged along to share in the high life. Quang’s lifestyle left Tuyến both envious and utterly awestruck. Quang kept a bachelor pad—a *garconnière*—on Lê Lợi Street. The room was air-conditioned, humming softly day and night, and lavishly decorated; its centerpiece was a massive, ultra-modern bed inlaid with gleaming brass fittings imported from Hong Kong.
 
It was an electric bed that adjusted at the touch of a button, featuring a plush, deep-sinking mattress and surrounded by mirrors—including a ceiling mirror that was Quang’s pride and joy. Tuyến often got a taste of the good life accompanying Quang to nightclubs, bringing hostesses back to the bachelor pad, driving to Vũng Tàu the next day for a swim at Pineapple Beach, and partying for days on end at Quang’s father’s mountainside weekend villa overlooking the sea.
 
Yet, this hedonism never hindered Quang’s studies; he passed his law exams every year and began his apprenticeship at the firm of a prominent lawyer—a friend of his father. Having secured a permanent military exemption, Quang lived without the fear of conscription, continuing his lavish lifestyle right up until the fall of South Vietnam. After arriving in the United States in April 1975, Quang retrained in law and became one of the first Vietnamese lawyers to practice in California.

Tuyến looked toward the door. Quang walked in, carrying a leather briefcase. He gazed at his friend with admiration. Quang looked a full ten years younger than him, despite them being the same age. His face was wrinkle-free, thanks to two facelifts. His hair, dyed a reddish-brown, showed not a single strand of gray. And for the first time, Tuyến noticed Quang’s right earlobe.
 
Tuyến burst out laughing. "You rascal!" A small diamond stud was pierced into Quang’s earlobe—just like the trendy jewelry worn by American men these days. "When in Rome, do as the Romans do; adapt to the times," Quang had once declared to his friend. "The way I live now has to match the style of American millionaires—I can't just keep acting like a typical Vietnamese guy forever!"
 
Quang shook his friend's hand and ordered food. He asked immediately:

"Got a big business deal in the works?"

"Eat first! We'll talk later."

"Where's Lệ? I haven't seen her around for weeks."

Tuyến glossed over it:

"Oh! Lệ's been really busy lately. My wife and I sometimes don't even see each other until late at night. Both offices—the one in LA and the one down here—have a huge workload."

Quang looked at his friend hesitantly:

"You'd better watch out! Working too hard isn't good for you. Take a page out of my book—I never get stressed!"

Tuyến remained silent. He bent his head and finished his bowl of phở. Quang was nearly done with his meal as well. Tuyến glanced around; the neighboring tables had cleared out, and the shop was growing quiet. He lowered his voice:

"I've got a massive investment opportunity. I need a lawyer to handle the paperwork. Naturally, it has to be kept confidential, and you're the only lawyer around here I trust."

Quang looked up at his friend. He simply asked:

"What is it?"

Tuyến hesitated:

"I can't tell you everything right now. Just the main points. If you're on board, I'll share more. Of course, whether we go through with it or not, this stays strictly between us."

Quang nodded. Tuyến continued:

"These people need to invest between 100 and 120 million US dollars. They want to set up a corporate structure in the US—companies nested under other companies—with the ultimate parent company based overseas, somewhere in the Caribbean like the Cayman Islands or the Bahamas."

"So no one knows who they are?"

"Exactly. The front company is this investment firm in Westminster, which is a subsidiary of another company in San José. The San José firm is a subsidiary of a New York company. And at the very top of the chain is a company in the Cayman Islands! Naturally, the paperwork is a hassle—which is why I need you to handle it.

Quang thought for a moment. He asked:

- How much?

- Your retainer is a hundred thousand a year. Hourly billing is separate.

Tuyến looked at his friend. How could Quang possibly turn down such a lucrative deal? Quang simply asked:

- I’ll take it, on the condition that there’s no involvement with drugs.

Tuyến replied:

- Rest assured! There’s absolutely no connection to drugs. It’s all legitimate business. The whole point is just to set up a pyramid-style corporate structure so that no one knows who the investors actually are.

Quang looked at his friend:

- I want to know one more thing—though you can refuse to answer if the time isn't right. What nationality are these investors?

Tuyến smiled:

- They’re Vietnamese! Just like you and me.

 
Chapter 3
 
Quang said nothing. Tuyến looked at his friend. He understood that Quang didn't believe a group of Vietnamese people could possess such a massive sum—hundreds of millions of US dollars—for investment. And if it wasn't something shady, why go to such lengths to conceal it by setting up a pyramid-like corporate structure, with the ultimate parent company based on a Caribbean island?
 
Tuyến addressed Quang’s unspoken doubts:

"I don't know who these people are myself. But they want to invest in legitimate, legal business ventures. The only issue is not knowing who the real principals are. I have a list of six people listed as the company owners. They’re scattered across the States—California, Texas, New York, Florida—just ordinary Vietnamese people running harmless businesses, with no ties to anyone else. I’m certain they’re just figureheads! I haven't been told anything more, and I don't want to know. As long as they want to invest legally and stay clear of drugs or crime, that’s enough for me. You agree?"

Quang pondered this for a moment. He sensed something amiss. But the fee the law firm was paying was huge. And he needed the money to buy a Lamborghini. No Vietnamese person in all of California drove a Lamborghini yet! Quang nodded:

"Fair enough! We’re just hired hands, after all. I only need to know the names of the people on the paperwork. If, as you say, they’re nobodies with no connections to anyone or any organization, that’s all I need to know!"

Tuyến stood up and shook his friend's hand:

"Good! I’ll get all the paperwork to you later. If any issues come up, call me right away. You’ll get your first check in three days!"

Quang left first. Tuyến placed the money on the table and walked out of the Tây Sơn phở shop. The armchair pundits outside the door were still eagerly debating current affairs. Tuyến shook his head. To him, time was money; take this business venture with Quang, for instance—each of them stood to make millions if things went smoothly. How could so many people afford to be idle, to squander their time like that? Meanwhile, he didn't have a single minute to rest—let alone take the summer vacation he had promised Lệ three years ago!

° ° °

Hoán returned to his office, feeling as drained as someone just recovering from an illness. Lệ had been far more passionate and demanding than he had anticipated; he had been forced to use the excuse of a heavy workload to break free from her embrace and hurriedly get dressed to leave.
 
He had read somewhere that a woman of Lệ’s age was at the peak of her sexual vitality, and that afternoon at the Excelsior Hotel had proven it beyond a doubt. He had discovered things he had never known before; Lệ had guided him, showing him every step of the way toward ceaseless pleasure, making the experience exquisite and perfect—he had never imagined that physical sensations could be so powerful, so utterly consuming.

Yet, at the same time, fear gripped him. It was the feeling of someone who had committed a terrible transgression, plunging his soul into the depths of a horrifying abyss; there, flickering memories of his late mother suddenly mingled with arms that felt slick and constricting—like a python squeezing the breath out of him—amidst raging flames and the shrieks and moans of demons. The hallucinations that flashed before him at the moment of climax left him limp, thrusting him into a state of unexpected, profound despair. He was in a panic, as if unaware of what had just befallen him; ignoring Lệ’s pleas, Hoán told her he had to leave immediately.

Hoán found himself unable to work. Stacks of clients' insurance files sat high before him, yet he had no desire to touch them. Overwhelming emotions still clung to his mind, refusing to let go. Hoán had known many women, but none had left as profound an impression on him as Lệ. The fair-skinned girls he had known in high school and later in college had given him some experience, yet perhaps he had never truly encountered a *woman*—a woman in the fullest sense.
 
He was stunned, as if suddenly discovering a vast realm of things he did not know and had never even imagined. Until now, sex had been merely a physical need—an urge he kept strictly separate from the love he felt for Vân. He had wanted to preserve that love, keeping it untainted by what he viewed as base desires that might muddy his thoughts and feelings when he was with her.
 
She, too, trusted him implicitly, waiting for the day she finished pharmacy school so they could marry. Their love was like golden sunlight—clear and pure. That was how Hoán saw it. To him, sex was something entirely different, utterly unconnected to his love; he felt no guilt when satisfying his physiological urges with the Latina or white women he met in bars.
 
Until today. Hoán sat dazed, recalling that afternoon in the hotel with Lệ. What had happened? Could sex, in its rawest form, exist on a different plane—a different level—than what he had previously defined? And what of his love for Vân? He sensed a subtle shift, a transformation that filled him with unease. What had befallen him? Does life always hold such turning points—and are the majority, if not nearly all, of them harbingers of misery, suffering, and disappointment rather than anything good?

 
° ° °

Bách poked his head into Hoán’s office:

"Vân stopped by earlier asking for you. I told her you’d gone to lunch. She asked you to call her back when you got in."

Hoán thanked him and dialed Vân’s number. Bách studied Hoán more closely. What was going on with the kid? He looked so haggard. Bách told himself he needed to keep a closer eye on this employee. Among the nearly thirty agents selling insurance for him in Orange County, Hoán was one of the most capable, yet Bách still wasn't satisfied. The problem was that Hoán was too honest and straightforward with clients!

Bách Việt Insurance Agency was the largest provider of insurance services to the Vietnamese community in Orange County—and had the biggest staff—but Bách still needed more people because he wanted to expand aggressively into other cities with large Vietnamese populations. He wanted to train Hoán to go up to San José and open a branch there. But first, he had to teach Hoán to be a bit more of a hustler! Bách smiled to himself. The kid needed to pick up at least a third of his own cunning before being sent off on his own. How could someone as gentle as Hoán possibly survive in this world?

Bách reflected on the past and felt a sense of smug satisfaction. You couldn't succeed in California—in Orange County—without being shrewd! And what was the difference between shrewdness and being a hustler? Better to just admit to being a hustler than to waste time with silly questions or delude oneself. Only then could you fool others! And only then could you survive in Orange County!
 
The first thing Bách had realized was that the influx of Vietnamese people settling here had raised the bar: to succeed, one needed a level of shrewdness—or "hustler" mentality, by Bách’s definition—far beyond the norm. It seemed as though the most unscrupulous of the Vietnamese refugees had converged here—flocking from every U.S. state, from Paris, Montreal, Brussels, Germany, Australia, and corners across the globe. These were rogues who cloaked themselves in the guise of being "savvy operators," drawn to Orange County as if by a powerful magnet to live, to swindle one another, to amass wealth, and to enjoy the good life.

Bách was one of them. He had begun his life as a refugee in sweltering Houston but had grown weary of the heat and humidity of cowboy country. He wanted to move to California, but first, he needed sufficient capital to launch a business. The hardest part was the beginning; without the seed money to establish a viable venture, how could one strike it rich or build a glorious career? Bach spent two or three years floundering, unable to find an opportunity.
 
Then, a stroke of luck arrived when he traveled to France to visit a friend. He was introduced to Huyền, a capable woman skilled in the restaurant trade. Huyền had recently divorced and longed to move to the United States. She wanted to leave Paris to forget—and escape—her wretched ex-husband, who spent his days strolling the Champs-Élysées with young French women, squandering her money.
 
Her friend had described Bách as the first Vietnamese man to become an "oil king" in the Houston area. She had heard much about the region as the U.S. oil capital; during those years, oil prices were skyrocketing and shortages were widespread—with cars queuing for hours just to fill up—so how could she not take notice of Bách, the Vietnamese oil tycoon visiting Paris from Houston?

Bách visited her restaurant in Saint-Germain-des-Prés every day. He told her about America—specifically the warm, sunny Houston area. Naturally, he described the climate as mild and pleasant—affectionately dubbed the "Sun Belt"—dismissing the claims of detractors who spoke of sweltering 105-degree days and humidity that clung to one's skin like a sticky film.
 
He lavished praise on Houston, a city drawing people from all over, where housing prices had doubled or tripled in just a year or two, driven by the anticipation of oil prices hitting $100 a barrel. He spoke proudly of his timely investments in the oil industry: he owned five gas stations and an oil drilling company in Beaumont, a city just a few dozen miles from Houston. He showed her photos of his gas stations—located at busy city intersections and selling both fuel and convenience goods—featuring long lines of cars waiting to fill up, with him, dressed in a suit, gesturing instructions to his staff.
 
There were also photos of his oil well in Beaumont, showing a tall derrick resembling a miniature Eiffel Tower and a pump jack bobbing up and down like the giant beak of a bird, drawing oil from the depths of the earth. In these shots, Bách stood at the base of the rig wearing a hard hat and casual jeans, yet still exuding the dashing air of a boss directing a crew of American workers.

Huyền gazed at the photos Bách proudly displayed with fascination and admiration. She marveled at his achievements; in just over five years since leaving Vietnam, he had built such a magnificent career, becoming a Vietnamese "oil king" right in the heart of the U.S.—and global—oil capital. There was no telling how far a talented man like him might go. She also felt a secret sense of pride that Bách had taken an interest in her—and was clearly captivated by her—given that he visited the restaurant every day and had even postponed his flight to stay in Paris for an extra week, despite the mountain of work awaiting him back in Houston.
 
Huyền did not hesitate to accept Bách's invitations: seeing *Moulin Rouge* one evening and the *Lido de Paris* the next; the following day, she handed the restaurant over to her younger sister so she could head out to the countryside with Bách, staying at a charming little auberge and that night spent with Bách—a move designed to bind him to her.
 
The opportunity had arrived for Huyền. She wanted to leave behind this land of stingy, prejudiced Westerners; the land of Vị—her wretched ex-husband who had chosen Paris as his home—a place as despicable as the man himself. And Bách had appeared at just the right moment in her life, ready to whisk her away to the oil capital, where he had built a brilliant career that promised to shine even brighter.
 
She married Bách the very next week. He postponed his flight a second time to stay an extra two weeks. He boldly declared that no matter how busy work was, or how many millions of dollars might be lost because he wasn't in Houston to handle business, it didn't matter. He had found the ideal woman for his life. An opportunity to meet a lover like Huyền came only once in a lifetime; he couldn't let it slip away, no matter the cost!
 
Yet Huyền understood him; every day he stayed could cost him hundreds of thousands of dollars in deals with major oil companies like Mobil and Pennzoil—without his presence, they might turn to others, and he would lose the business. As a businessperson herself, she understood this perfectly. That was why, when Bách proposed and wanted to marry immediately, she quickly agreed. What more could she ask for? There was no need for hesitation or further calculation!
 
With a solid pillar of support like Bách—and the prospect of becoming the mistress of an oil company—she was ready to sell her restaurant and take her capital to the United States to build even greater wealth alongside him. Life was like a dream, and everything seemed preordained by fate. Hadn't the blind Vietnamese fortune-teller in Montmartre predicted she would soon meet a benefactor and experience a glorious union of dragon and cloud?
 
Huyền sold the restaurant to an acquaintance for over a million francs and gathered all her diamonds and more than fifty taels of gold to join Bách in Houston, where they would build a new life alongside her brilliant husband—the first "oil king" among Vietnamese refugees in the United States.

 
Chapter 4
 
Huyền felt a twinge of apprehension when the plane landed at Houston Intercontinental Airport and Bách took her to a hotel instead of his home. However, her joy was overwhelming; the prospect of an exciting new life with her brilliant, newlywed husband dispelled any doubts when Bách explained that his house was undergoing renovations and would take a few more days to complete before she could move into their nest. While they waited, he took her to the bank to open a joint account, into which she deposited all the money she had brought from France.

Three days later, Bách brought her to a luxurious home in Memorial, an affluent neighborhood in Houston. Yet, the house showed no signs of recent renovations. Huyền also stumbled upon a framed photograph of a couple tucked away in the drawer of the bedroom vanity. When she asked about it, Bách casually replied that it was a picture of friends who had stayed with him a few months prior.

Two weeks after arriving in Houston, Huyền discovered the truth—because Bách suddenly vanished. Without warning or explanation, Bách left for work one morning and simply never returned. As the days passed, Huyền waited in vain for a call from him. She visited the gas station Bách had claimed to own—one of five he supposedly operated in the city—but no one there knew who he was. She went to the other locations, yet no one understood who she was asking about. Finally, at the last station, an employee recognized Bách’s photo, revealing that he had previously worked there as a manager but had quit three months earlier.

Huyền returned home, and the truth became painfully clear. She encountered the couple—whose photograph she had seen in the vanity drawer—inside the house she had believed belonged to Bách. They revealed that they were the actual homeowners; they had just returned from a two-week summer vacation and had entrusted the house to Bách—an acquaintance—to look after while they were away. Huyền was stunned; she rushed to the bank, only to discover that Bách had withdrawn every cent from her accounts—over one hundred thousand US dollars in capital she had brought with her from France.

The couple who owned the house in Memorial could offer little help to Huyền. Bách was merely a casual acquaintance, and they had no idea where he had gone. They sympathized with her plight but were powerless to assist, having also been deceived by him. Huyền declined their offer to stay for a few days and packed her bags to return to France immediately. She vowed never to set foot in America again. It was a costly lesson; Huyền blamed only her own naivety and resigned herself to her fate. Perhaps she was simply destined to encounter nothing but scoundrels. Or perhaps all men were just as vile and deceitful.

° ° °

Bách established a career in Orange County, California, using Huyền’s capital. He experimented with a few different ventures before finally settling on the insurance business. Gifted with a silver tongue and the patience to wear down any listener’s resistance, Bách found great success in the industry. He opened an office in the Bolsa district, and within just two years, his firm—Bách Việt Insurance Agency—had become the largest insurance provider for the Vietnamese community in Orange County.

Yet, Bách was not satisfied. He wanted to expand his company into other cities with large Vietnamese populations, such as San José, Houston, Washington, Chicago, and Atlanta. There were countless locations across the United States where Bách Việt could grow. He began recruiting and training staff to open new branch offices in these various regions. Hoán was one of his most capable employees, yet Bách held off on promoting him—he wanted Hoán to pick up a few more tricks of the trade first.

Suddenly remembering something, Bách headed back to Hoán’s office. He wanted to ask about the client who had come in a few days earlier to update her car insurance—the woman who had caught his eye the moment she walked in and asked him to point out Hoán’s desk. He had heard about her ever since Lệ opened her investment firm three blocks away from his insurance agency years ago, but this was the first time he had actually met her.

And what he had heard about her intrigued him. That woman—with her alluring figure, lips that looked ripe for devouring, and a faint yet arousingly seductive perfume—had stood close to him while asking for Hoán. Bách had heard Tài go on and on about Lệ—how he had slept with her just once, yet no other woman could ever compare. Tài would lick his lips and swallow hard whenever he spoke of it.

Bách was genuinely surprised, given that Tài was a notorious playboy in the area. The fact that Tài craved her so intensely—like someone who had tasted a unique, exquisite delicacy they would never experience again—only made Bách more interested in Lệ. He had heard rumors about her impotent husband and her choice of lovers. Besides Tài, he had heard others boast smugly about being Lệ’s one-night stand—treating it like a badge of honor or the ultimate accolade for an Orange County player. It was as if, without being chosen by Lệ, they wouldn't be able to die in peace.

Bách knew how to enjoy the good life, fueled by the wealth generated from his insurance startup using Huyền’s capital. He spent money lavishly to indulge in the most beautiful white women of Southern California, hot and passionate Latina girls, and Chinese beauties brought over from the mainland. Yet, Bách was not satisfied with the carnal pleasures of mere transactional sex.
 
He wanted a lover—alluring, elegant, and ideally of high class—to take out to dinner, to social events, and to show off to the world. He wanted the bastards crowding together in Orange County to flare their nostrils and gawk with wide, bulging eyes, to drool with envy and gulp hard—just like that vulgar fellow Tài!
 
Bách resolved to win Lệ over at all costs. He knew exactly why she had come to see Hoán. But Hoán was too young, too inexperienced. How could he possibly satisfy a woman as demanding as Lệ? The affair between Lệ and his young employee wouldn't last long. At most, it would amount to little more than a single night—like the encounters with the other men who had passed through her life. Hoán wouldn't escape her clutches, but the time would come when she grew bored of him, just as she had with so many others. And Bách would be ready to step in—like a hero arriving at the last minute to rescue her—and quench the blazing, unquenchable fires of her desire.

He was confident in his own abilities. Wealth had come his way, and he continued to amass even more, yet he wanted to prove his success in a different arena. After all, wasn't Lệ the ultimate trophy for any man who placed sexual obsession on the same level as life’s other pursuits—like money and fame?

° ° °

On Saturday night, the Thiên Thanh nightclub was packed; there wasn't a single empty seat. The spacious dance floor accommodated hundreds of couples, yet it was packed for every song; most dancers stayed put between tracks rather than returning to their tables and fighting the crowd to get back out for the next number.
 
Standing on the stage, Vân looked down at the dancers. She could never picture herself among that crowd of ballroom enthusiasts. Hoán felt the same way; he didn't know how to dance and declared he never would! He came to the club solely to hear Vân sing and to escort her home. She didn't sing because she loved performing enough to seek out a venue like this; rather, she needed the money to complete her pharmacy studies and to save for her wedding to Hoán.

Vân possessed a natural gift for singing. Her voice could soar to great heights yet remained sweet and captivating. She was selective with her repertoire, performing only songs that suited her style and vocal range—pieces that celebrated love, rich and lyrical melodies, and elegant lyrics, avoiding the silly, colloquial tunes characterized by poor, banal, and uninspired rhythms and scales. Although she performed only a few songs before leaving, the audience adored her voice.
 
Many patrons visited the Thiên Thanh nightclub specifically to hear her, and the owner pleaded with her to perform on all three nights the club was open—Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. However, Vân agreed only to Saturday nights; she had classes on Friday evenings, and she reserved Sundays entirely for Hoán.
 

 
Chapter 5
 
Vân held the final note as the song ended. She bowed in acknowledgment of the applause and scanned the room for Hoán. He nodded to her, and Vân apologized to the audience for being unable to perform the requested encore, promising to sing them next week instead. She stepped off the stage and walked toward Hoán. He complimented her:

"That *Nocturne* was beautiful; it’s been ages since I last heard it. Are you hungry? Let’s go get something to eat."

Vân nodded. She was a bit tired and wanted to go straight home, but she always indulged Hoán. Her only desire was to please him—as long as he returned her love, that was more than enough for her.

Hoán took Vân to a restaurant. It was two in the morning, yet the Phổ Nghi eatery remained open for late-night diners—the revelers from nightclubs, karaoke bars, and high-stakes billiard halls. The place was famous for its chicken congee and its insolent Chinese waiters, but the customers didn't care; they simply needed a spot open in the dead of night to satisfy their cravings.

Hoán ordered for the two of them and glanced around. The place was crowded and noisy, filled with faces familiar to the nightlife scene—pale, haggard figures resembling night-foraging herons. His heart skipped a beat or two when he looked toward a corner of the room. Although the woman was bent over her meal, he recognized Lệ instantly from her hair and the profile of her face.
 
She was with a man Hoán assumed to be her husband—a balding fellow with a sharp, narrow face and the cunning air of a wheeler-dealer, the sort of man who preyed on others and would never let the tables be turned on him. He was successful in many respects, yet suffered a distinct disadvantage—a single weak point—in the form of his wife.

Hoán had heard a great deal about Tuyến but had never met him. He was curious to see what the
man he had cuckolded actually looked like. He felt no guilt or remorse toward the husband, knowing that if it hadn't been him, it would simply have been someone else. Yet, Hoán wanted to know more about Tuyến—a renowned figure in the Orange County business world, commanding a major investment firm with multiple branches and significant clout within the Vietnamese business community of Little Saigon.

Hoán hadn't seen Lệ since that afternoon at the Excelsior Hotel. She had called him repeatedly, but he had avoided returning her calls by claiming to be out of town. She had left voicemails urging him to call back, citing an urgent matter. But Hoán wasn't ready to return the call just yet. He desired her, certainly, but his sexual appetite wasn't strong enough to override his apprehension—a gut feeling that Lệ would bring disaster, that she would ensnare his life and bind him forever within her seductive, monstrous embrace.

Hoán started and quickly looked down at the bowl of chicken porridge the waiter had just brought over. Lệ had looked up and spotted him. He saw her stand up to pay the bill—her table was right next to his. There was no avoiding her now. And with Vân sitting right there beside him!

 
Chapter 6
 
After settling the bill at the counter, Lệ walked straight toward Hoán’s table. He stood up and made the introduction:

"Ms. Lệ, a client of mine from the insurance company."

Lệ didn't need Hoán to introduce Vân:

"Singer Hoàng Vân! I really love your voice. The Thien Thanh Nightclub is at its best when you’re performing. When are you releasing a CD?"

Vân offered a few polite words of thanks to brush the matter aside. She felt no affinity for the beautiful, sensuous woman standing before her. Moreover, the way Lệ looked at Hoán made her feel uneasy and suspicious. What was going on between Lệ and her fiancé?

Lệ asked Hoán:

"Hoán! I need to change my health insurance policy. Can I drop by your office tomorrow?"

The words grated on Vân’s ears. Why did this woman address Hoán by his first name, using such a honeyed, affectionate tone? Her intuition told her that the woman standing there would bring disaster—to her, and to Hoán. Vân suddenly turned to Hoán:

"Darling! We have plans to go to Yosemite Park tomorrow with Hà and Tường. Have you asked for the time off work yet?"

Hoán looked startled, but he understood immediately. Vân was fabricating an outing to prevent Lệ from coming to see him. Hoán nodded:

"I’ve already put in for the leave."

He turned to Lệ:

"Feel free to come by and handle the paperwork. I’ll have someone else assist you with it."

Lệ glanced at Vân. The girl was sharp, certainly. But how long could she hold onto Hoán? Not once Lệ decided she wanted him for herself. Lệ exchanged a few perfunctory words and returned to her own table. Tuyến stood up and walked her to the door. He asked about the young couple she had just spoken to, but she deflected the question. Anger had taken hold of her mind. Why did Hoán no longer pay her any heed? Never before had Lệ felt her pride so deeply wounded.

° ° °

Lệ was not a person prone to anger. Tuyến had once praised her for her composure and level-headedness, noting that she never lost her temper or acted rashly out of rage. He even thought she was cold-blooded, as he had never witnessed her giving in to impulsive passion—not even during their moments of intimacy.

Lệ would smile inwardly at his praise. For despite having lived together for over a dozen years, he had never seen her truly angry. Each person is an island, she believed—even husband and wife, even those destined to spend a lifetime side by side, sharing every passing second. Her innermost self would remain unknown to everyone, even those closest to her.

Lệ had first experienced real anger when she was just over ten years old. She no longer clearly recalled the cause of the argument with her younger brother; she only remembered the intensity of her fury.

Yet Long knew nothing of it, and neither did anyone else in the family. Lệ did not cry; she simply sat motionless in her small room, nursing her blazing rage. She decided she had to do something to soothe her anger—and to let her brother know just how furious she was. She entered Long’s room and pulled out his cricket box, revealing two large "fire crickets" with aggressive, dark, menacing pincers.

Long had proudly named them "Tiger Crickets," and they were undefeated in matches against the neighborhood children. She took a long sewing needle and tormented her brother’s prized insects, jabbing the poor creatures repeatedly to vent her wrath. Finally, she tore the head off one cricket and used it—impaled on the needle—to goad the other into a fight. Her anger gradually subsided, and finally, she tore the head off the remaining cricket and stuck it onto Long’s sleeping pillow. Only then did her fury at her younger brother abate. From that moment on, Long never dared to provoke his sister again—not for the rest of his life, right up until the day he died during a military campaign in the Quang Tri region.

The second flare-up of anger came when she was fifteen. Le had gone to the movies with some female classmates and returned late. She had asked her father for permission to go, promising to be back early. But after the movie, the group wandered over to Bến Thành Market for *bún ốc* (snail noodle soup) at Mrs Ba Bủng’s stall, followed by beef jerky and sugarcane juice at Viễn Đông.

Then came the loitering along Lê Lợi Street, standing in front of shop windows to gaze at imported jewelry. There was no way Lệ could return exactly on time as she had promised her father. The result was a few slaps across the face and a torrent of vile abuse. Her father had called her a whore!

Lệ did not cry; her eyes remained dry, but a raging fire burned within her. She went straight to her room, lay down for a while, and decided she would live up to the name her father had called her. A whore! Lệ could not fathom that her father would use such a word to describe her.

Since her father viewed her as worthless—as someone fit only to be the lowest sort of social outcast—why shouldn't she fulfill his curse? She would make him the father of a whore! What punishment could be more fitting for his verbal abuse?

Lệ thought of Tuyết, a friend two years her senior—only seventeen, yet looking well over twenty. Tuyết was always heavily made up and dressed in the latest fashion, wearing the most luxurious clothes and spending money like water. Where did Tuyết get the money to live so lavishly, given that her family lived in a cramped, narrow alley? Lệ asked her friend directly, and after several failed attempts to dodge the question, Tuyết finally confided that she was "moonlighting" at an upscale establishment on Lê Quý Đôn Street.

Patrons visiting the luxurious villa on Lê Quý Đôn Street were willing to pay handsomely for young, fresh-faced, and beautiful girls like Tuyết. Serving a client just once a month earned her enough money to have a few *áo dài* tailored at the renowned Thiết Lập shop and to buy cosmetics like imported Max Factor powder, not to mention the lavish dining and spending without a second thought for the cost!

Lệ listened to Tuyết and couldn't help but feel curious. She questioned her friend in detail about this "parachuting" gig—what she had to do and the kind of men who frequented the place. Her blunt questions made Tuyết wonder about her friend's true intentions. Glancing at Lệ’s blossoming figure, Tuyết teased, "Do you want in? I could introduce you to Ms. Mười!"

Lệ shook her head and playfully punched her friend’s back, yet she was secretly tempted. She had never even managed to get the money for a trendy *áo dài*, let alone expensive cosmetics. On her father’s meager secretary’s salary, how could she ever hope to get the funds to keep up with her friends' lifestyle?

Lệ stayed in her room until her father left the house, then slipped out. She cycled over to Tuyết’s place. The vague imaginings she had formed while listening to Tuyết’s stories now crystallized in her mind. She would do exactly as her father had said. And let come what may!

 
Chapter 7
 
Tuyết opened the door to let Lệ in. She studied Lệ’s face—the furrowed brows and eyes blazing with anger—and instantly understood what Lệ wanted. Tuyết asked:

"You want to go see Sister Mười?"

Lệ nodded. Her lips were set in a firm line; her hatred for her father was intensifying by the moment. Tuyết looked Lệ up and down. She asked:

"Are you still a virgin?"

Lệ said nothing, but Tuyết took her silence as an affirmative answer. Tuyết told her:

"You’re going to make a lot of money! It’ll be fine."

She took Lệ to a two-story villa on Lê Quý Đôn Street. It was an old-fashioned house with two large trees in the yard, their dense foliage creating a thick canopy. From the outside, no one would suspect it was a high-class brothel. Gleaming cars were parked in the yard; some had chauffeurs waiting for their bosses, listening to the radio to pass the time. Tuyết introduced Lệ to Sister Mười—a stout woman who appeared benevolent at first glance, though her cold, beady eyes made Lệ’s skin crawl.

Tuyết whispered into Sister Mười’s ear, and the woman’s eyes lit up. Wealthy businessmen were willing to pay top money for virgins like Lệ, believing it brought them good luck. Even unsophisticated girls from the countryside fetched high prices, let alone someone as beautiful and shapely as Lệ. The prospect of profit transformed Sister Mười. She beamed, chatting eagerly with Lệ as if they were old friends; she fetched her a drink, opened a box of imported cookies for her to eat, and chattered away to put Lệ at ease—and, above all, to ensure she didn't change her mind and try to leave.

° ° °

Lệ never saw Tuyết again after that day. As for the money Sister Mười gave her, Lệ put it away and never touched it. She had lost her virginity in a fit of rage sparked by her father’s curse, plunging herself into the mire of the vilest of places. Lệ herself could not fathom how she had done such a thing; she buried the memory deep within her, hoping that no one—save for Tuyết, Sister Mười, and the middle-aged merchant who had paid a fortune for her maidenhood—would ever discover her secret.
 
The year 1975 brought her liberation through emigration to the United States; she wished for those three to remain trapped in Vietnam—or better yet, to perish amidst the chaos—so they would vanish from the earth and no longer serve as reminders of the gravest mistake of her life. A single, sudden burst of anger had transformed her from a girl with beautiful, youthful dreams into someone else entirely—someone who had squandered her innocence in the most wretched and senseless manner.

° ° °

Flares of anger were rare in Lệ’s life, yet each one was a catastrophe. She was powerless to restrain her fury. An irresistible impulse would drive her to act immediately to quell the burning rage, regardless of the consequences—even when she was fully aware that her actions were wrong and would lead to disastrous outcomes.

She had to act at once, and the object of her wrath would have to suffer her retaliation—swift and terrible. All calculations of gain and loss vanished; her anger had become instinctive, demanding immediate satisfaction and dominating her mind and actions.

Lệ knew she was furious with Hoán and Vân—the beautiful young singer accompanying her young lover.
The flame of sexual desire for Hoán had only recently been ignited following a tryst at the Excelsior Hotel; she still needed him and wanted to turn him into a slave at her beck and call. She could not let Hoán slip through her fingers to build a simple, ordinary life with that singer from the Thiên Thanh nightclub.
 
Lệ suddenly smiled. Why did she assume they wanted an ordinary life? And how could Vân—having chosen a career as a singer—ever hope for a peaceful existence? Could anyone truly captivated by the music and the colored lights of nightclubs ever lead a normal life?

Passion, desire, and lust were the very essence of those places filled with the sounds of horns, drums, scales, and rhythms. Amidst the hazy shadows, the dim red lights designed to arouse, and the intoxicating blend of cigarette smoke and perfume—how could such an environment foster peace of soul?
 
Lệ foresaw nothing but suffering in Vân’s destiny. As for Hoán—having once fallen into her embrace, he was now inextricably bound to her life; how could he ever enjoy the carefree existence he sought with the singer—the woman Lệ had spotted dining with him in the wee hours, and who had become the target of her destructive, fiery rage?

 
Chapter 8
 
Lệ stepped out of the restaurant. Her anger was still simmering, so she didn't notice the man and woman standing right in front of her, about to enter. The woman’s tight embrace startled Lệ, but she recognized her immediately. It had been a long time since she had seen Hoa—a friend she used to go out and dine with over six months ago. And the man accompanying her—who was now shaking hands with Tuyến—left Lệ even more stunned. Tài was one of her one-night stands from more than two years ago!

Lệ couldn't fathom how she had ever slept with Tài. Every time she saw him again, it made her uncomfortable; her skin would crawl with revulsion. It was especially unsettling when he stared brazenly at her body, his Adam’s apple bobbing rhythmically up and down his throat like a shuttlecock, finally settling in place after a loud, audible gulp.

Lệ had met Tài at a party hosted by a friend. She had gone alone because Tuyến was busy flying to New York, and Tài had latched onto her for the entire evening. Lệ had heard plenty about Tài—known by the nickname "Tài Bún" around the Bolsa area—but this was the first time she had actually seen his face.
 
Tài had arrived in California from Kansas City in 1978 to start a new life. Like so many others flocking here from across the U.S., he had tried his hand at various ventures before finally finding success by opening a restaurant. His establishment was famous for authentic Northern Vietnamese dishes like *bún ốc*, *bún thang*, and Hanoi-style *bún chả*. Customers often had to wait thirty minutes to an hour for a table, especially on weekends.

Within just two or three years, Tài had become a wealthy man, with money pouring in like water and virtually none flowing out. Moreover, the restaurant business ran almost entirely on cash; Tài paid the bare minimum in taxes—some years even declaring a loss—so the money just kept piling up.

Once he had amassed enough capital, Tài sold the shop to someone else and branched out into investing in shopping centers and rental apartments. With real estate prices in California skyrocketing, he flipped properties and quickly built a substantial fortune.

Although he had begun to gain recognition among the Vietnamese elite in Orange County, his reputation remained tethered to his original trade; everyone knew him by the nickname "Tài Noodle"—though no one dared call him that to his face.

Tài hovered constantly by Lệ’s side at the party, chattering incessantly about his investments, real estate, and the massive profits he’d made flipping shopping centers in Garden Grove and Westminster.

At first, Lệ listened with indifference, but eventually, his words commanded her attention. After all, Tài had achieved genuine success in the local business world. Besides, she was starting to feel tipsy; she had downed nearly three Martinis and a large Vodka, not to mention the two Bloody Marys she’d had earlier that afternoon.

There wasn't a single decent man at the party—just a bunch of frail, doddering old guys on the verge of a nursing home. Tài, for all his coarseness, at least wasn't that old. And the way he looked at her with undisguised desire gave her a secret sense of flattery.

That night, Lệ agreed to let Tài drive her home. She didn't remember the details clearly, having been dead drunk, but when she woke up the next morning to find Tài lying beside her, snoring with his mouth wide open, she rushed to the bathroom to vomit, then hurriedly dressed and left immediately. From then on, whenever they crossed paths, Lệ deliberately acted as if she didn't know him, even though Tài tried every trick to cling to her, hoping for a second chance at intimacy.

Lệ turned to look at Hoa, a friend she hadn't seen in months. Her surprise at seeing Hoa with Tài left her barely able to speak. It also made her respect Tài a little more. Someone as haughty as Hoa—who was always quick to disparage others for lacking sophistication or having humble origins—had ended up pairing up with a man who had only recently struck it rich: Tài "the Noodle Guy"!

Hoa was well-known in the Bolsa area for her legal offices—one large branch on Brookhurst Street in Orange County and another on Beverly Boulevard in Los Angeles. Hoa wasn't a lawyer herself, but she employed a handful of American attorneys—older men past their prime who struggled to earn a living or had disciplinary records with the American Bar Association that made it hard to find work at mainstream firms. She paid them monthly salaries to lend their names to her practice, allowing her to run a legal service catering to the Vietnamese community.

Hoa was raking in money hand over fist, thanks to the wave of staged car accidents in Orange County. She commanded a squad of Vietnamese and Hispanic operatives who specialized in scouting for luxury vehicles—Mercedes, Lexuses, and Porsches—driven by wealthy elderly American women in affluent neighborhoods like Beverly Hills, Bel Air, Santa Monica, and Newport Beach, looking for opportunities to stage a collision.

These operatives worked in pairs, driving beat-up old Fords; one car would pull up alongside the target to box them in, while the other would surge ahead and slam on the brakes, catching the elderly driver off guard and causing her to rear-end the car in front. Even though the impact was minor, Hoa’s men would feign unconsciousness and sprawl on the ground, ensuring they were taken to the hospital by ambulance. Afterward, there were X-rays, head scans, massages, and electrical stimulation treatments to compile the medical records for the lawsuit handled by Hoa’s law firm.
 
Insurance companies rarely let lawsuits drag on; instead, they tend to negotiate settlements. Hoa paid the lawyers and doctors on her payroll, as well as the henchmen who acted as plaintiffs in the lawsuits; each case netted her around five or six thousand dollars. On average, her two offices processed paperwork for three new lawsuits daily, bringing in a monthly income of two hundred thousand dollars.

She kept each office open for only about six months. Hoa was shrewd; she knew the FBI was investigating car accident lawsuits in Southern California and that several Hispanic-run law firms had already been busted. Vietnamese-run accident law offices in Orange County were small fry compared to the Hispanic operations, so the FBI hadn't bothered with them yet—but Hoa didn't let that make her complacent.

She operated at each location for just six months. Even if there were no signs of trouble, she would close up shop, find a nearby office on a different street, give the firm a new name, hire different struggling American lawyers and new henchmen, and put her parents or siblings down as the owners to ensure no trace of the old firm remained. Hoa also knew her business couldn't last forever. Sooner or later, after finishing with the Hispanic lawyers, the FBI would turn its attention to the Vietnamese groups in Orange County; despite all her precautions, she knew her operation wasn't sustainable.

Moreover, the trend of staged car accidents among the Vietnamese community in Southern California had surged; insurance companies were paying out huge sums and, feeling the financial sting, were becoming more vigilant than before. Latecomers trying to cash in on the last train—who lacked Hoa’s caution—would likely fall into the nets of the FBI and insurance company investigators.

As the business began to yield less profit, Hoa fell deep into a gambling habit in Las Vegas. She flew there every week, becoming a VIP guest at Caesar's Palace. The casino extended her a gambling credit line of up to one million dollars. Hoa flew first-class to Las Vegas, stayed in a hotel suite, and enjoyed complimentary meals—all courtesy of the casino. She earned this "high roller" status and lavish treatment because she wagered between two and five thousand dollars per hand at the blackjack tables.

She would win or lose one to two hundred thousand dollars a week; gambling had become an irresistible passion for her. When she first started, she experienced an uncanny winning streak—proving the old adage that "luck favors the beginner." For months, she won consistently; flying in on Saturday afternoons and returning Sunday nights, she would walk away with a hundred thousand dollars each trip, leading her to believe that gambling might become a lucrative new career.

Of course, the casino had its reasons for pampering high rollers like her. The gambling industry is a massive enterprise worth hundreds of billions of dollars annually; the entire city of Las Vegas—and the livelihoods of hundreds of thousands of people—relies on gambling revenue. And naturally, that revenue comes from the losers! The casino provided free airfare, lodging, meals, and show tickets to big spenders like Hoa because they were confident that, sooner or later, the gambler would lose enough to cover those costs—and then lose even more, generating huge profits for the house.

No one who wins early on simply quits cold turkey and never plays again. Having tasted victory, any player will return for more, hoping to win again. Even if luck holds steady for weeks or months, continued play inevitably leads to losses—wiping out previous winnings and draining even more funds. Hoa had won while her luck was hot—a time when money was pouring into her business and good fortune seemed to follow her everywhere.
 
However, after changing law offices three times and facing fierce competition from newly opened firms in Bolsa, her luck took a turn for the worse. Just as she learned the FBI was monitoring and investigating her, Hoa began suffering heavy losses at the gambling tables.

Over two months of playing blackjack in Las Vegas, Hoa lost the entire $600,000 she had won over the previous six months. In the following month, she lost another $400,000—her long-saved capital. The more she lost, the higher the stakes she played. She wagered $10,000 per hand; while she managed to recoup a little during some weeks, the majority of her losses occurred that June. During her final session, she played for 48 consecutive hours, eventually losing the full $1 million in credit the casino had extended to her via signed markers.

Hoa realized she was wiped out and saddled with a $1 million debt to the casino. She was well aware of the fate awaiting those who defaulted on gambling debts in Las Vegas. Out in the desert, just miles from the Las Vegas Strip, lay the bones of countless gamblers who had reneged on their debts—victims "disposed of" there by mob enforcers acting on behalf of the casinos.

Hoa spent a full day and night in her room, devising a plan to handle the casino debt. Finally, she hit upon a bold idea. She went straight to the FBI office in Las Vegas and reported that the casino had threatened to kill her if she did not pay the full amount. Naturally, the FBI was obliged to investigate any allegation, however vague. Hoa also contacted American newspapers in Las Vegas, making a public scene about the death threats and stating that she was seeking FBI protection.
 
Caesar's Palace was a major casino operation owned by ITT, a Fortune 500 giant. Consequently, the casino's management wanted to avoid trouble with the authorities or any investigation sparked by the allegations of a single woman. ITT ordered the management to defuse the situation after Hoa reported to the FBI and the press that Caesar's Palace was conspiring with a criminal organization to have her eliminated.

Hoa was summoned to the administrative offices to negotiate with the casino director. Ultimately, they reached an agreement: Hoa would withdraw her complaint to the FBI, and Caesar's Palace would reduce her one-million-dollar debt to one-tenth of that amount—$100,000—payable over five years.

In reality, management had been ordered to forgive the entire debt; however, for the sake of protocol and official records, the obligation remained—albeit at just ten percent of the original sum. The director also hinted that if Hoa filed for bankruptcy upon returning to California, the Las Vegas casino would write off the remaining balance, effectively severing all ties between the two parties.

Although she had escaped the casino debt, Hoa was left penniless. Her law firm was forced to close after the American attorneys she had hired—fearing an investigation—withdrew from the case one by one. She needed to find a new line of work, and that was when she met Tài. She had heard vaguely about "Tài Bún" from Lệ, but among the Vietnamese business community in Orange County—particularly those with offices in the Bolsa area—Tài was a well-known figure.

 
Chapter 9
 
Hoa was introduced to Tài by a friend at a nephew's wedding reception held at the Hyatt Hotel in Anaheim. She had already taken note of Tài, having heard about his substantial wealth—which included shares in three shopping centers across Orange County and Los Angeles, along with various other investments. Tài’s CPA had let slip details regarding his annual income and estimated net worth, revealing him to be worth upwards of ten million dollars.

Back when money was pouring in like water—and her own spending, including gambling, ran to one or two hundred thousand dollars a month—Hoa used to look down on men like Tài. Despite building vast fortunes, such men were inherently stingy—miserly to the core; though wealthy, they dared not spend a dime on themselves, deriving pleasure only from counting the money they deposited into bank accounts and tallying up their growing net worth each month. Any seemingly flashy expenditures—like buying a Mercedes or a million-dollar home—were actually just business moves intended to impress potential co-investors or partners.

At heart, men like Tài lived lives of extreme frugality, afraid to spend; they would willingly drive out of their way to find gas that was two or three cents cheaper per gallon just to save a dollar or two, or clip coupons from the newspaper to save fifty cents on toothpaste. Perhaps all wealthy hoarders were equally stingy—or so Hoa thought. She usually steered clear of cheapskates like Tài, paying them no mind; after all, why bother with them when she was surrounded by so many young, handsome, and vigorous men eager to chase after her and indulge in her lavish, free-spending lifestyle?

But that was back when she was on a winning streak, with money flowing in faster than she could count it. Upon returning from Las Vegas—exhausted from dealing with the casino and the burly, oversized "mob" types in dark sunglasses who constantly loitered outside her hotel room—Hoa faced a new set of disheartening challenges.
 
Her law office had closed, and Steven Huy—the singer-lover she had been bankrolling for over six months—had vanished the moment the money stopped flowing; she felt utterly despondent and deeply depressed. She needed a new source of income to recoup the fortune she had lost, leaving her virtually penniless. For the first time in her life, she took an interest in men like Tài: unattractive and stingy, perhaps, but possessed of a vast fortune. He was at that age where men feel a sense of regret, eager to live life to the fullest and craving a fling with the beautiful, sophisticated, and elegant women of the Vietnamese upper-class social scene in Orange County.

Hoa had singled out Tài as the prey she needed to capture to rebuild her wealth and maintain the lavish lifestyle she had enjoyed for years. She orchestrated a meeting with him at her niece’s wedding—the first step in a plan she had meticulously detailed across five pages of legal-sized paper. Hoa’s goal was simple. When it was all over—when she finally cast Tài out of her life—she would walk away with at least eight or nine million of his ten-million-dollar fortune. Hoa smiled, considering herself a humanitarian; after all, she would leave Tài a millionaire with that final remaining million!

° ° °

Hoa threw her arms around Lệ, barely giving her a chance to breathe:

"It’s been ages! How are you? Anything new?"

Lệ narrowed her eyes as she looked at Hoa:

"I’m good! So... who did you come with?"
 
Hoa playfully punched her friend’s back and laughed:

"You’re always putting on an act! Let me introduce you properly. Tài! Say hello to Lệ again."

Lệ smiled at Tài. She gazed at the Adam’s apple on his neck and waited. Just as she expected, the bump—with its slight indentation at the top—began to bob up and down; she could see him trying to mask the act of swallowing. He stammered:

"Hello, Lệ! It’s been a long time."

Without waiting for Lệ to reply, Tài quickly changed the subject to cover his awkwardness:

"I need to drop by your place sometime to discuss some investments. You’re still handling mortgage finance, right?"

The two men turned to talk to each other. Lệ gave Hoa a playful tap on the cheek:

"You’re something else! You have to call me and tell me everything later. Anyway, let’s catch up another time."

Lệ and Tuyến headed to the car. As she watched Tuyến drive home, she noticed for the first time a resemblance between him and Tài. It wasn't that they looked like brothers, but there were similarities she hadn't perceived before. Perhaps men of that age were all cast from the same mold—faces marked by experience, by the taste of life’s realities and the cunning necessary to navigate them. Their hair was thinning—receding past the crown or nearly bald like Tuyến’s—and though dyed black, the roots revealed a stark, silvery white.

They were men on the verge of old age, desperately clinging to the illusion of youth; their bodies were beginning to fail, yet their sexual desires were kept burning by fantasy and the fear of impending impotence. And so, they sought out younger, passionate, and fiery women to maintain the stimulation they craved during this "second spring."

Lệ felt a sense of pity for Tài. She knew that Hoa had snagged a prime catch and would never let go until she had drained Tài of every drop of blood and stripped him of all his wealth and assets.

 
These men were shrewd and cunning enough to amass great fortunes, yet upon reaching this age, they would succumb to a fog of delusion; losing all capacity for rational thought or judgment, they would walk right into the traps set by femme fatales like Hoa. They would surrender their entire wealth for a mere few minutes of sexual gratification, deluding themselves about their fading youth and vitality. Lệ had witnessed countless men like Tài—men who ended up destitute, losing both their money and their hearts, left only to lament their fates and rue their own gullibility.

She smiled inwardly. These were men who had spent their lives preying on others—masters of deceit and fraud—yet, by some law of karmic retribution, they would ultimately be swindled by women like Hoa. It was not that they were too dim-witted to realize they were being bewitched and deceived; after all, Tài was a top-tier success in the business world among the Vietnamese community in Bolsa—no one would ever call him a fool.

But Lệ understood the psychology of such men. Perhaps, deep down, he had never truly believed in his own success. In his heart of hearts, he did not feel worthy of such vast wealth, so he sought ways to sabotage and destroy himself. And what sweeter form of self-destruction could there be than one brought about by a woman—a woman who offered the illusion of youth and a kind of love he had never known—leading him to turn a blind eye to the deception?

Lệ’s thoughts wandered from Tuyến to Tài, and finally to herself. Was her own obsession with Hoán not essentially the same situation as that of Tài and Hoa? It was merely a reversal of the roles played by man and woman. She wasn't old yet, but for a woman like her to seek youth in men younger, stronger, and more vigorous—like Hoán—was no different from the behavior of the very men she had long scorned.

Lệ smiled. She hadn't yet reached that stage of "second youth" common among the wealthy matrons of Bolsa—women who kept young male companions, preferably singers, or otherwise smooth-talking hairdressers adept at flattery and sponging off them. These women—past fifty, nearing sixty, or even collecting Social Security—would pair up with fresh-faced youths, men younger than their own children, who had just arrived from Vietnam and needed money for school.

They would brazenly frequent restaurants and dance halls together: plump women with high-piled hair, faces stretched tight from repeated cosmetic surgeries until they all looked like sisters—sharing the same high-bridged noses, double eyelids, and perfectly round, artificial dimples. These "mother-and-son" style couples would embrace affectionately on the dance floor, indifferent to the whispers or mocking glances of onlookers.

Lệ shook her head. Hoán was her youngest lover, yet she set limits for herself; an age gap of a dozen years or so—like the one between her and Hoán—was acceptable, given that she looked much younger than her years. But a gap of twenty or thirty years, as seen with some of the local matrons? That was something she could never bring herself to do. One had to have some self-respect!
 
Lệ thought of a new term that had recently emerged in the community: "boy-husband." Wealthy Vietnamese women in Bolsa had started a trend of keeping "boy-husbands"—a role reversal of the "younger wife" or concubine system men used to maintain in the past. They would gossip about handsome, virile young men and casually swap lists of guys available to serve as "boy-husbands" for a few months—conversations as nonchalant as chatting about St. John outfits, Tiffany or Cartier diamonds, or summer vacations in Paris and Venice.
 
Occasionally, scenes of rivalry and squabbling over a particularly desirable boy-husband would erupt. Yet, more often, these men were simply passed from one woman to another like commodities; the lovers' merits and flaws were cataloged and shared intimately, like confidences between sisters in the same circle.

Lệ did not fault the older women who belonged to this "boy-husband" movement. When money came so easily—and sexual desires, long suppressed for decades in Vietnam, were suddenly awakened by the constant stream of erotic imagery on television and in movies here—they wanted to race against time to indulge themselves. And why not? No matter how vast one's wealth, who could take it along when sickness struck or death arrived?
And what could compare to finally tasting the forbidden fruit they had craved for so long?
 
Back in Vietnam, they had dared only to fantasize about such things in their boldest daydreams; now, they had the chance to make it a reality, with no one to forbid them. It was a society where everyone lived for themselves; if you had the opportunity, the means, and the money to do something, you simply did it. Anyone who dared to preach morality was free to speak—and listen—only to themselves!
 
They felt truly liberated from the moment they first set foot in America. This is especially true when the women are the ones earning the money—and a great deal of it—while the once-demanding Vietnamese husbands have faded into mere shadows. Earning little to nothing and reduced to living off their wives, these men are often sickly, weary, and consumed by self-pity and a sense of inferiority; they resignedly accept their wives’ dominance in this new environment and lifestyle, even turning a blind eye to their wives’ extramarital affairs.
 
Lệ felt she was still young and refused to see herself in the same plight as those other women. Yet, she couldn't help but wonder. Her relentless sexual desires had driven her to seek out other men to fill the void left by Tuyến. However, she was discreet about it to save face for her husband. She could not bring herself to openly take up with men who were far too young; there were limits to everything. Hoán had marked the final boundary in her string of brief affairs.
 
But did the final encounter always bring such exquisite passion—only to usher in suffering? Who had said that? Lệ couldn't recall. She drifted off to sleep just as Tuyến began turning onto Magnolia Road, the street leading to the subdivision where the couple lived.

 
Chapter 10
 
Quang studied the list of investors and company names for which he needed to handle incorporation paperwork, and he couldn't help but feel puzzled. There were over twenty companies, spanning various sectors and located across different U.S. states. These companies had a presence in more than a dozen major cities with large Vietnamese populations—Orange County, San Jose, Houston, Atlanta, Washington D.C., Seattle, Oklahoma City, and so on.

Quang categorized the companies into three types: money-transfer services sending funds to Vietnam, real estate firms, and investment companies. Each company was owned by an individual with a distinctly Vietnamese name—there wasn't a single "hybrid" name like John Nguyen or Tony Pham among them. These companies were structured to fall under one of four major entities based in the areas with the largest Vietnamese populations: Orange County, San Jose, Houston, and Washington, D.C. These four entities, in turn, were subsidiaries of an investment firm headquartered in New York. However, the ultimate owner was yet another company—one not based in the United States, but rather offshore in the Caribbean, on the Cayman Islands.

According to Tuyen, some of these companies were already operational and properly registered, but most had not yet been formally established. The priority was securing the paperwork for the four regional entities and the main New York company. The key holding company in the Cayman Islands had already been set up, but Tuyen did not know the identity of the ultimate owner and advised Quang against being curious enough to investigate further. Quang simply needed to ensure the paperwork was processed smoothly so that the pyramid-like structure of smaller companies would ultimately and legally fall under the umbrella of the shadowy Cayman Islands entity.

Quang opened the file for the Orange County region. It included two money-transfer companies that already had designated owners, as well as a wholesale food company based in Los Angeles. Another company managed three restaurants in Fountain Valley, Long Beach, and San Gabriel. Yet another owned a shopping plaza right in Westminster. Quang’s task was to handle the paperwork for a parent company—a holding company—that encompassed these smaller entities in Orange County. The registered owner was Trương Quý Tài. Quang glanced back at the document. Which Tài? Could it be "Tài Bún"—a notorious local thug?

Quang had met Tài Bún on several occasions and knew him better than anyone. Two years prior, his firm had represented Tài in a fraud case. Tài and five others had pooled their money to buy a shopping plaza on Brookhurst Street. The other investors were Tài’s cousins; trusting him, they had handed over their funds for him to hold the title in his name. In reality, they couldn't have held the title themselves even if they wanted to, as they were all on welfare and receiving government benefits, including Medi-Cal health coverage.

They had plenty of money, but it was held in their children's names while they filed false declarations to collect state handouts—grabbing whatever free money they could. They had handed over their hard-earned savings to Tài after he promised a tenfold return on the shopping plaza—a sure thing. Some contributed a hundred thousand dollars, while others put in at least fifty or sixty thousand. The plaza was purchased for eight hundred thousand dollars; a few months later, Tài sold it to a Taiwanese company for just over six hundred thousand. He told his partners he had sold at a loss, and that their contributions had been largely wiped out by that deficit.

In truth, however, Tài had sold the plaza for over 1.2 million dollars. Yet, on paper, the sale price was recorded as only six hundred thousand. The remaining six hundred thousand was paid by the Taiwanese group in the form of shares in two other companies within their conglomerate. Naturally, this was a private agreement, as it benefited both parties. While Tài had swindled a few hundred thousand dollars from his cousins, the Taiwanese partners had their own shady schemes involving the main corporate entity in Taiwan; consequently, both sides kept quiet and pocketed the money.

Tài’s cousins ​​filed a lawsuit, and Tài asked Quang to serve as his defense attorney. The case was a simple win, as the plaintiffs lacked any documentation proving they held a stake in the business with Tài. It took very little time for Quang to get the case dismissed. However, he had gathered enough information during the process—and caught a slip of the tongue from Tài—to uncover the fraudulent schemes involving Tài and the Taiwanese group. Quang said nothing and gave no indication that he had figured it all out. He wanted to keep that knowledge as a noose, loosely draped around Tài’s neck, ready to be tightened whenever the need arose.

Quang jotted Tài’s name down in his small notebook. He needed to learn more about Tài Bún and this new business venture. A corporate structure resembling a pyramid scheme, with a parent company based in the Cayman Islands at the apex, could hardly be a legitimate business—especially with someone like Trương Quý Tài at the center of it. Quang smiled to himself. His profession brought him into contact with all manner of crooks, but there were only a handful of scoundrels in Orange County who could match Tài’s level of shadiness—so few he could count them on the fingers of one hand.

Quang looked at the check Tuyến had handed him a few days earlier. The retainer fee for his law firm was a handsome, round figure: $100,000. The Citicorp check was made out to him, with the issuing company listed as Red Dragon, Inc., based at 1200 Liberty Road, Cayman Islands. The signatures of the President and Treasurer belonged to Paul Vanderberg and Henri Lebeau. Not Vietnamese names, as he had anticipated.
 
Quang clicked his tongue. Naturally, a corporate pyramid structure wouldn't use a Vietnamese name to sign checks for such massive sums. Yet, Quang was certain that the chairman heading Red Dragon—a conglomerate with such an overtly Asian name—had to be Vietnamese.

Quang brushed the budding thought aside. First things first. He needed to focus on handling the paperwork for the twenty-plus small companies and four holding companies across four major U.S. cities before spending time investigating which group of Vietnamese investors commanded such vast capital. As long as they paid regularly, why should he concern himself too much with who they were or what kind of power they wielded to command a heavyweight like Trương Quý Tài?

° ° °

Quang pondered how to spend the $100,000 currently in his possession. He never held onto money for long. Whatever he had, he spent—quickly and decisively. It was as if money were an eel; the moment it landed in his hands, it would slip right through. He couldn't fathom people who were stingy, afraid to spend, hoarding every penny in the bank. It was as if their life's joy came simply from gazing at their account balance each month!

He knew plenty of wealthy people in Orange County who wouldn't dress the part, drove beat-up Fords that were fifteen or sixteen years old, and whose idea of ​​a lavish meal was a bowl of *phở* on the weekend. They might have three or four hundred thousand dollars in the bank, yet they still lived in "Black" or "Mexican" neighborhoods.
 
In short, money only flowed in, never out. Then, all of a sudden, consumed by financial anxiety, they’d drop dead from a brain hemorrhage. Or if not dead right away, the outcome was being bedridden, unable to speak, and paralyzed—left to rely on his wife and children to spoon-feed him gruel in a wretched, lingering state for a few months before finally departing on that one-way journey.

All the money he had hoarded was left behind for a wife who remarried just two months later—taking up with the handsome young actor she had previously been keeping as a lover. As for his children, they fell into drug addiction and drifted into a life of vagrancy and delinquency.

Quang witnessed these scenes and felt vindicated in his own choices. He had no encumbrances and no one to provide for, so why bother saving money? Consequently, the more he earned, the more lavishly he spent.

 
Chapter 11
 
Quang stepped out of the elevator onto the second floor of the building housing his law office. He had some miscellaneous paperwork that he needed Liên to handle. Liên ran a tax preparation service, but she also took care of a wide range of other tasks—from notarizing documents and handling vehicle or property title transfers to applying for business licenses and setting up new shops. Quang appreciated her work style; she was quick, efficient, and organized—someone he could trust with the tedious, time-consuming administrative details he preferred not to dwell on.

Quang opened the door and walked in. Upon seeing him, Liên exclaimed delightedly:

"Quang! Long time no see! I thought you’d gone to Venezuela for a vacation and gotten kidnapped by some South American beauty who wouldn't let you come back!"

Quang smiled. Liên was tactful and articulate; she knew exactly what kind of compliments the person across from her wanted to hear. She could flatter and please her listeners without ever coming across as crude or making them feel awkward or uncomfortable. Knowing Quang enjoyed the high life and travel—and having once heard him mention that Venezuela produced the most Miss World winners—she would tease him about going there to find beautiful women whenever they met. It was a subtle way of complimenting him as a genuine Casanova-style playboy—an image Quang took pride in, often likening himself to that legendary, dashing figure from old Venice.

Quang handed a stack of documents to Liên:

"I need you to handle the registration filing for this company at the administrative office. I need it ready by tomorrow."

Liên turned and called out to a young man who was intently typing at a computer at the next desk:

"Bằng! Drop whatever you're doing! Take care of this task for Lawyer Quang first!"

Quang glanced over. Bằng stood up, greeted him respectfully, and headed into the back room to prepare for the assignment. Quang liked Liên’s assistant; though the young man was a man of few words, he was big and muscular, and he was highly capable when it came to handling the various tasks Liên assigned him. Quang smiled, narrowing his eyes. Liên met his gaze calmly and shrugged. She knew Quang held a disdainful view regarding her third husband, but she simply didn't care. If men like Quang existed, why couldn't there be women like her?

Liên made no secret of the fact that she lived under the same roof with three men. Quang knew her situation, as did many others, yet she remained unbothered by the gossip. Everyone lives their own life; who is to say whose way is right or wrong? If one were to constantly worry about others' judgments and live according to artificial conventions imposed by hypocrites, what would be the point of living? One might as well retreat into the deep forest or become a hermit in the desert!

Of course, Liên knew that living with three husbands in one house was hardly the norm! It was only natural for people to gossip or mock the situation. She suspected there were likely other women living this way somewhere, though they went unnoticed by being more discreet. But even if hers was the only case—or the very first—so what? It wasn't as if she needed to concern herself with it.

She had married her first husband back in Vietnam when she was very young; he was fifteen years her senior. Her family had pressured her into the marriage because he held a high-ranking position—Chief of Staff of the finance ministry—a lucrative role that generated great wealth during the Second Republic. Being immature at the time, she had yielded to her family's wishes. Over time, affection and a sense of duty developed, though she never once experienced physical pleasure during intimacy with him. She had once resigned herself to the idea of ​​bearing children and living out her days in Vietnam with her older husband until the very end.
 
However, upon arriving in the United States, Liên discovered that there was far more to life than that. She went to work, becoming more independent and eventually the family's breadwinner. Her husband, meanwhile, was a frustrated man; he refused to learn English well enough to hold a proper conversation and wouldn't even drive on the highway for fear of accidents.

Lien lived an ordinary life, working to support the family for decades until both children had grown up, entered university, and moved away, leaving the couple alone in their spacious house. Her life was dull and devoid of excitement, particularly regarding their intimate relationship. Đạm, her husband, was now only capable of performing his marital duty once every three or four weeks—an experience that invariably left her feeling bored or even more frustrated.

Scenes of affection or eroticism on TV or in movies weighed heavily on Liên. She tried everything to arouse Đạm—buying ginseng, velvet antler, and medicinal wines for him to drink, and even renting pornographic videos for him to watch—but nothing worked. Đạm suffered from severe depression and disillusionment, causing his sexual performance to deteriorate steadily.
 
Liên was driven to anger and desperation when he turned his attention to Zen buddism, Tang poetry, and studying Chinese characters; she felt he was becoming senile and eccentric. Instead of satisfying his wife, he would obsess over brewing tea and sipping it slowly while gazing at the night-blooming cereus. Finally, in a fit of rage, Lien smashed Dam’s prized tea set, hacked down the cereus plants, and burned the collection of Tang poetry he had spent days painstakingly deciphering. Only then did Đạm begin to shake off the eccentric, senile habits that had taken root in his mind.

But things began to change when Đạm received a letter from Phú—who was then in a refugee camp—asking for sponsorship to come to the United States. Phú had worked under Đạm in Vietnam before 1975; Đạm held him in high regard, viewing him as a younger friend—there was a ten-year age gap between them. Phú had lost his wife and three children in a shipwreck while fleeing the country by boat; he spent over five years in the camps before moving to the Philippines to study English and await his departure for the U.S.
 
Đạm discussed the matter with his wife, and Liên agreed to sponsor Phú. With their children away at school—and soon to graduate and find jobs elsewhere—the spacious house was occupied by only the two of them; having Phú stay temporarily wouldn't be an issue at all. That was what she told her husband. Besides, he disliked driving and she was busy with work; having Phú around to drive him here and there would actually be quite convenient!

From the very first day Phú arrived, Liên knew her life was about to change. He was cheerful, amiable, and possessed a gentle, endearing nature—an undeniable charm. She had met him once or twice back in Vietnam when her husband hosted parties at home, though she didn't remember him clearly. Phú was only a few years older than her; he looked healthy and was constantly smiling and chatting. At first glance, no one would guess he had endured the tragedy of losing his wife and children during their escape years earlier.
 
The two men were overjoyed to reunite and reminisce, almost completely forgetting Liên as she stood nearby. But Liên didn't mind. She felt a surge of happiness and excitement at Phú’s presence in the house—a home she had grown weary of, dreading the moment she returned from work each day. With this new man—someone other than her husband—living under their roof, Liên felt like a dam on the verge of bursting! It had been over three months since she had angrily smashed Đạm’s tea set and *Quỳnh* flower pot after he had failed to satisfy her in bed. She had moved into a separate room, unable to sleep with her husband anymore, as doing so only fueled her resentment.

 
The moment she first laid eyes on Phú upon his arrival, Liên sensed an immediate sexual tension between them. His gaze, fixed intently upon her, stirred her deeply; never before had a man looked at her quite like that. Outwardly, he remained polite and courteous—addressing her as "Sister Liên" with a honeyed tone—yet she knew he desired her. Lien smiled inwardly. Having spent over five years on the island deprived of female company, he must have been like a furnace ready to explode—especially when provoked by her sidelong glances, playful winks, and teasing smiles.

Đạm warmly welcomed his old friend, chatting animatedly about their past days in Việt nam, yet he immediately noticed a change in Liên. To his surprise, he felt neither jealousy nor annoyance. Perhaps his meditation practice had cooled his passions, leaving him free from the grip of anger, greed, or attachment? He watched his wife laughing and talking, casting flirtatious glances at Phu; she would flit back and forth between the kitchen and the living room—asking after their guest one moment, then brushing against the young man the next under the guise of casual movement. Yet, Đạm remained unmoved.

He still loved Liên—his wife and constant companion—but the disparity in their sexual needs had become a source of exhaustion and anguish. He knew his own libido and virility had waned significantly over the years, whereas Liên, being much younger, was at the peak of a woman's sexual vitality. He realized he could not satisfy her desires. Knowing his own limits, he preferred intimacy only once or twice a month; he found far greater pleasure in meditation, reading classical poetry, or savoring fine tea.

Liên, conversely, demanded intimacy two or three times a week. She grew irritable whenever she didn't get her way, constantly snapping at him. Đạm grew increasingly despondent and distressed, while his sexual potency went into a tailspin. He even contemplated telling Liên to divorce him and marry someone else—to stop pestering him! A man has his limits, after all. He just wanted to be left in peace to enjoy the old age that was rapidly closing in on him. If she kept making such heavy demands, he’d surely drop dead prematurely!

But the thought was merely fleeting. Đạm resigned himself to the reality: he was no longer the head of the household; Liên was the one bringing in the money. How would he survive a divorce? Would he have to resort to welfare and food stamps? What would become of the tranquility he cherished—meditating, sipping tea, and admiring the flowers? Watching Phú and Liên laughing and chatting right before his eyes, Đạm hit upon a brilliant solution. He persuaded Phú to move in permanently, saving him the trouble of looking elsewhere. It wasn't a hard sell; having just arrived from the islands with no family or connections, Phú was simply grateful to have a roof over his head. Liên was overjoyed and immediately went along with the plan; it was exactly what she had hoped for—the best possible outcome.
 
The challenge for Đạm was ensuring everything unfolded smoothly and harmoniously, without causing embarrassment, discomfort, or unnecessary complications for anyone. He invented a pretext—visiting a distant relative—to be away for a few days. He told Liên to stay home and teach Phú how to drive so he could get his license, to show him the ropes of life in this new country, and to lend him a hand. Poor fellow! A decent man struck by tragedy—losing his wife and children during their escape—he deserved help getting settled and finding stability in this new life. Liên nodded, silently grateful for Đạm’s understanding and tact. She felt lucky to have such a husband.

On that first night, Liên and Phú came together like two souls dying of thirst in the desert. Over the next two nights, Liên realized she was truly a woman in the fullest sense—something she had never fully grasped before. She deeply regretted the decades she had spent living in a state of sexual deprivation, and she vowed never to let herself feel such regret again.
 
When Đạm returned, he acted as though nothing had happened, cheerfully chatting with Phú and guiding him on life in the United States. He found Liên much more at ease; she had transformed into a different person—no longer scowling or snapping, but instead pampering him more than ever. She respected his pastimes without a hint of sarcasm or reproach; she even went to the Bolsa district to buy a fine Chinese tea set for him and brought home pots of red and purple *Quỳnh* flowers—far more special than the white ones she had smashed the month before.

Liên arranged for Phú to stay in a small inner room, while she occupied the large central master bedroom; Đạm continued to sleep in the outer room. Once a month, she would take her pillow and join Đạm for the night. Free from nagging and verbal abuse, Đạm’s performance in the bedroom improved significantly. He became more relaxed and confident, which pleased Liên; she felt their marital bond had grown much deeper.
 
Twice a week, she would take her pillow to sleep with Phú. Naturally, being much younger and more vigorous than Đạm, Phú satisfied her even more. Best of all, regardless of whether she had slept with Đạm or Phú the night before, the three of them would gather for breakfast in high spirits—relaxed, and without a trace of suspicion, resentment, or anger.
 
Phú landed a job at an electronics firm near their home. He was diligent at work, handing over his entire paycheck to Liên each week and keeping only a small amount for pocket money. Đạm also received a monthly pension; though modest, he turned the check over to Liên to deposit, paying no mind to financial matters—he let her handle everything, seeing no reason to concern himself with it.
 
Liên was prudent, opening two separate accounts: one in both her and Đạm’s names, and another in hers and Phú’s, ensuring the funds remained distinct. In truth, the income earned by the two men paled in comparison to the substantial earnings she brought in herself. Yet, Liên was meticulous about organization; she kept the money earned by her husbands separate, while opening a bank account in her name and those of her two children—a nest egg for them should anything happen, one that neither husband could touch.

During that first year living with both husbands, Liên was satisfied; Phú was attentive to her needs, satisfying her regularly twice a week. Her intimate life with Đạm also improved; he increased his frequency to once every three weeks, up from once a month. Perhaps a little competition was a good thing after all! The two men lived in harmony, getting along famously. Phú even picked up Đạm’s love for gardening and growing flowers. In their spare time, they would set up a Chinese chess board, deeply engrossed in their moves—often so absorbed that they forgot Liên was coming and going, urging them to go to bed early.
 
What began to bother Liên, however, was that Phú followed Đạm’s lead in practicing meditation; while the effects weren't immediate, after a few months, it clearly impacted his sexual stamina. He now made love to her much less frequently—only occasionally managing twice a week, while the norm had become just once a week.

Liên had read somewhere that sexual ability and desire vary greatly from person to person; everyone has their own unique level, unlike anyone else's. Some people, like Đạm, desire intimacy only once a month; others prefer once a week, while some want it two or three times a week. Then there are the rare few who crave sex every day—or even multiple times a day! Naturally, frequency fluctuates with age and health, but ultimately, every individual has a unique body, resulting in vastly different levels of desire and capability.
 
It was only after Phú entered her life that Liên truly understood herself. She realized that sexual intimacy was as essential to her as breathing air or drinking water to keep her skin radiant. She saw herself as one of those rare individuals who needed to make love daily—or even several times a day! Like Cleopatra of ancient Egypt—that was how she pictured herself!

Phú’s decline in sexual drive coincided precisely with the expansion of her business. She moved her office to a large building on Brookhurst Street and hired additional staff to handle tax filings and administrative paperwork for other Vietnamese-owned businesses. Bằng was the third person she hired, joining two other secretaries. Having arrived from Vietnam over five years prior, Bằng was studying accounting and—most importantly to Liên—was single. With his tall, muscular, and well-toned physique, Bằng impressed Liên the moment they met; she hired him on the spot, without even inquiring further about his professional qualifications.
 
Just a week after Bằng was hired, Liên orchestrated a situation where she sent the two secretaries home early and provoked Bằng into making a move on her right there in the office—all during a torrential downpour, a rarity in Orange County. She made no secret of her intentions afterward. She knew Bằng was sharing a cramped apartment with two other friends and struggling to get by on his wages, as he had to send money home to his family in Vietnam.
 
Liên invited him to move into her house, which was far more spacious than the cramped apartment in the Vietnamese enclave where he was staying. She explained her marital situation and the presence of Phú. There were no strings attached—stay if you like, leave if you don't; no one would bother anyone else. Everyone understood the arrangement and lived together in a warm, comfortable harmony.

Bằng accepted without hesitation and moved into the fourth bedroom. *That’s perfect,* Liên thought to herself. It was a four-bedroom house; she occupied the master suite, and each of the three men had his own room. No one knew whether she slept alone or with someone else—all that mattered was seeing her carry her pillow into her room. For the first time, Liên felt that sexual desire was no longer a constant, nagging obsession.
 
Being young, Bằng satisfied her needs fully, a steady three times a week. Phú was now once a week, and Đạm once every three or four weeks. Everyone was pleasant and cheerful; there was no petty rivalry or competition, and no one disturbed the others. Every morning, Liên prepared breakfast for all three husbands according to their individual preferences: Đạm had cereal with milk, Phú liked eggs with sausage, and Bằng ate an omelet with ham. Each had a cup of Vietnamese drip coffee—Đạm took his black, Phú had his hot with milk, and Bằng preferred his iced with milk. The only rule Liên enforced was a strict ban on smoking inside the house. If the craving struck, he would wait until he had finished eating before stepping out into the garden for a smoke; only when the smell of tobacco had faded was he allowed back inside!

What delighted Liên most was seeing how well Bằng got along with both Đạm and Phú. Bằng treated them with respect—looking up to them as older brothers—and showed a humble, eager willingness to learn from them. Although Đạm and Phú were initially a bit wary, they quickly warmed up to Bằng within just a few days. Nothing brought Liên greater joy than watching her three husbands chatting happily and discussing current events while they waited for her to serve the meal. It was absolute bliss! Thinking this, she felt she must surely be the happiest woman alive.

She simply prayed for peace and for this way of life to endure. That was her silent wish. Work remained steady, and the income was plentiful—more than enough to support herself and the three husbands living under her roof. What use was immense wealth, after all? If one were rich yet miserable in marriage, or lived in solitude with no one by one's side, then a mountain of money would be utterly meaningless! While others might only hope for a single partner, she had three. What more could one ask for in this world? No amount of money could buy the heavenly life she enjoyed; perhaps it had taken lifetimes of virtuous living to earn such a blessing!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bách smiled:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

° ° °

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

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

° ° °

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

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

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

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

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

 
° ° °

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come dance this song, Hoán!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"May I have this dance?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 
Chapter 14
 
Tài sat in a daze, staring at his expense records and a summary of his assets. He never imagined that in the year or so since he’d started seeing Hoa, so much money would have vanished into thin air. Tài had a habit of meticulously recording every expense—from large sums in the hundreds of thousands down to the odd few tens for gas—jotting them all down in a notebook he carried with him at all times. Every weekend, he would tally his accounts and reconcile them against checks and cash; his bookkeeping was always precise—not a single penny off!

But since he began seeing Hoa, money had been flowing out like water; although he kept up the habit of recording expenses, Tài no longer dared to tally them up at the end of the week! He knew only that he had spent a great deal—an enormous amount. Yet, he spent happily, unwilling to dwell on the actual total. Hoa had praised him for being generous, a man who paid no mind to trivial financial matters or petty calculations. Tài knew that wasn't truly his nature, but under Hoa’s constant praise, he began to see himself as a dashing, open-handed man. He strove to suppress any pangs of regret whenever he wrote a check for Hoa, or when she needed large sums that exceeded his account balance, forcing him to sell stocks to get the cash for her.

Tài had always scoffed at men who were fools for women—those blinded enough to squander their money on beautiful girls. He prided himself on his shrewdness, believing he would never let anyone beguile or hoodwink him. Yet, since meeting Hoa, he tried to avoid such thoughts altogether. Occasionally, the notion that he might be acting blindly would cross his mind, but he would quickly banish it, unwilling to dwell on it—especially when Hoa was right there beside him, affectionately caressing his cheek. It was as if Hoa had a knack for reading his thoughts; she never allowed any negative ideas about her to linger in his mind for long.
 
Hoa would laugh heartily, strike a playful pose, or crack a joke—and Tài would instantly forget whatever doubts he might have had; the questions simply vanished. He often wondered what exactly it was about Hoa that captivated him so. She was pretty, certainly, but many women he had known—and slept with—were far more beautiful. Yet, Hoa possessed a charm that made him happy just to be near her—a source of joy unlike anything he had ever experienced. Perhaps his infatuation stemmed largely from the comfort, delight, and cheer that only she could provide.
 
Best of all, she seemed to read his mind; she knew his every preference. Whatever he desired—even before the thought fully formed in his own mind—she would magically anticipate it and grant his wish on the spot.
Tài couldn't fathom how she managed such feats. One morning at the office, a sudden rainstorm hit, and Tài found himself craving a hot coffee with milk and a steamed bun from Mrs. Sáu Trà Vinh’s bánh bao—a famous local shop. He shook his head; in this weather, it wasn't worth the drive just for a single bun.
 
He went back to his paperwork. Yet, just five minutes later, he looked up to find Hoa standing right there, holding a bag of buns and a coffee with milk—like a genie from *One Thousand and One Nights* granting his every wish, no matter how small. He couldn't imagine how she—sitting at home—could have guessed his craving. She had driven over and delivered the treat to his office before the desire for that bun had even fully registered in his own mind!
 
Hoa made him happy and filled him with a zest for life; she was skillful at boosting his ego, knowing exactly what he took pride in and making him feel good about it. As for his flaws, she acted as though they didn't exist, letting him know she simply didn't care about them—take, for instance, the fact that she was nearly half a head taller than him! Tài was self-conscious about his short stature and felt deeply uncomfortable whenever someone—man or woman—seemed to be trying to tower over him. Ever since meeting Tài, Hoa always wore flat shoes and would slightly stoop when walking beside him to minimize the height difference.

She chose her outfits carefully to avoid drawing attention to her long, slender legs, opting for horizontal stripes rather than vertical ones to downplay her height. When attending dances with Tài, she avoided the waltz, using dizziness from spinning as an excuse—even though she was actually an elegant and skilled waltz dancer. She knew that few couples took to the floor for the waltz; the spinning required an upright posture, making it immediately obvious that she was much taller than Tài, and she didn't want to make him uncomfortable by inviting whispers from onlookers. Instead, she preferred dances that filled the floor—like the Rumba, Boston, slow dance, or Tango—where no one paid much attention to anyone else; the slower pace made it easier for her to stoop slightly and match Tài's height.

Hoa was adept at subtly praising Tài’s strengths, never coming across as insincere or like a sycophant. Knowing he was knowledgeable about real estate and investment, she would ask questions about housing, market fluctuations, and the stock market, inviting him to explain things—even though she was already well-versed in these matters herself. She would gaze at him with wide-eyed admiration for his deep knowledge, while playfully laughing at her own supposed ignorance.

Tài felt gratified by Hoa’s admiration, believing himself to be truly wise and superior to others. Although she knew Tài was not handsome, Hoa never let him feel that she noticed his flaws; she acted as if she were blind to his slightly bulging eyes or the way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down whenever he swallowed. On the contrary, she would often admire his long, close-set ears, complimenting him on his auspicious physiognomy.

 
But the most important thing was that, when sleeping with Hoa, Tài realized nothing else in the world could compare. He had slept with many beautiful, sexy women whose bodies were hotter and more alluring than Hoa’s. Yet those encounters had been mere transactions—strictly business—or, in the lucky instance he slept with Lệ, he knew it was only because she was dead drunk and had no idea who she was with.

Hoa’s tenderness and attentiveness in bed made Tài feel as though he had returned to his youth—a time of dreams and longing to lie beside a beautiful woman—a fantasy he was now finally living out. She indulged him, giving him intense, novel sensations he had never known before. He craved her constantly, feeling as though he were twenty again, brimming with youthful vigor and never tiring of her. To him, Hoa was like a drug; once hooked, he constantly yearned for more, unable to go without her.

During the first three months of their affair, Hoa never mentioned money or made any demands. She acted as though she had finally met a man worthy of her—as if she were sleeping with Tai purely out of love, needing nothing else. Only after seeing that Tài was utterly captivated—unable to tear himself away from her—did she gradually and subtly bring up the jewelry she used to own: exquisite pieces she had been forced to sell cheaply to friends.

She told Tài about an emerald necklace she had bought years ago for twenty thousand dollars, only to sell it for a mere eight thousand when she was in need. Hoa shook her head:
 
"I cherished that necklace so much; it had such a unique green hue—I could never find another one like it!"
 
Tài said nothing, but the following night, before they went to bed, he opened a box containing a large, stunning, lush-green emerald necklace and carefully fastened it around Hoa’s neck. Hoa fell silent, moved to the point of rapid blinking—though, in her mind, she was calculating the value of such a massive necklace. It had to be worth at least thirty thousand dollars. Having made this mental estimate, she kept blinking while wrapping her arms around Tài’s neck and planting a scorching kiss on him.
 
That night, Tài was delighted to find Hoa more passionate than he had ever seen her before. After all, what was a necklace costing tens of thousands compared to the satisfaction of pleasing Hoa and receiving the sensations he craved—a need as intense as that of a true drug addict who simply cannot go without his fix?

Hoa was careful not to give Tài the impression that she was demanding jewelry. She merely dropped a subtle hint before the gala, remarking that the pink gown she planned to wear wouldn't match her green necklace—suggesting it would actually look better to leave her neck bare. The very next day, Tài bought a strand of black pearls for her to try on with the dress for the upcoming ball!

 
Chapter 15
 
Hoa did the mental math. Although the jewelry Tài had bought her was plentiful, the total cost was actually a drop in the bucket. After he gifted her an emerald bracelet and a black pearl necklace, it became a routine for him to buy her jewelry before every formal ball. The diamond ring on her finger cost nearly forty thousand dollars; the platinum and diamond earrings, over fifty thousand; the jade bracelet, over twenty thousand; plus a few other pieces—yet to Hoa, it still didn't amount to much.

She smirked; it probably totaled three hundred thousand at most—hardly a fortune! Back when business was booming—with money pouring in like water from car accident settlements, sometimes one or two hundred thousand a month—she had bought nearly a million dollars' worth of jewelry!
 
She had sold off almost everything after losing heavily at Las Vegas, but this time, with the pieces Tài bought her, she was wiser; she stashed them all in a safe deposit box, only bringing out the real items for special occasions while wearing fakes the rest of the time. Wearing a mix of real and fake pieces, yet dressed so magnificently, everyone assumed it was all genuine! Keeping the valuables safe in the deposit box gave her peace of mind; she was determined to hold onto them—never selling again—as a secure nest egg.

But the jewelry only accounted for a few hundred thousand; if she wanted to fleece Tài for a few million dollars, she needed a different scheme! She ran two rotating savings clubs—*hụi*—worth half a million dollars each, with Tài making monthly payments to her. She told him that bank interest rates were too low these days, and since she was pooling money with the wives of local plastic surgeons, dentists, and lawyers, there was no risk of anyone defaulting.
 
Tài gritted his teeth and paid the dues, not daring to utter a single complaint. The moment he showed the slightest hesitation, Hoa’s attitude would shift instantly that very night. She, who had been burning with passion just nights before, was now like an iceberg—ice-cold to the touch; the affectionate intimacy Tài had grown addicted to was suddenly gone.
 
After more than six months with Tài, Hoa was certain he was hopelessly captivated by her and couldn't break free; she knew she needed to press her advantage—fast and hard. She suggested to Tài that he buy a vacation home in Santa Barbara:
 
"It’s boring staying in Orange County all the time; wouldn't it be convenient to have a getaway home up there for weekend trips? Besides, real estate prices only skyrocket—there’s no risk of losing money! A realtor friend of mine told me about a beautiful house in Santa Barbara worth two million; the owner is desperate to sell, so if we offer one and a half million, we could probably get it."
 
Seeing Tài hesitate, Hoa played her trump card:
 
"The house we live in now is in both your name and your wife's; if something happened to you, where would I end up? Out on the street?"

Hoa covered her face and wept:
 
"We’re supposed to be together for the long haul, yet you take such good care of your wife while completely neglecting me!"
 
Mentioning Tài’s wife was usually taboo, but Hoa felt she had no choice. Tài’s wife lived in a separate house in Garden Grove; he had hired a widow from Vietnam to live there and look after her day and night. Few people knew about his wife’s situation, as Tài went to great lengths to keep it a secret.

His wife was bedridden and unable to walk; her limbs were permanently contracted due to severe burns sustained over a decade ago. The accident occurred when another driver ran a red light and T-boned her car. She had been driving a Ford model with a fuel tank located under the chassis—a design prone to rupturing and exploding upon side-impact collisions.
 
The car burst into flames, trapping Tài’s wife inside and severely burning most of her body; firefighters had to use a cutting tool to extract her from the wreckage. She was rushed to the hospital and hovered between life and death several times due to the severity of her injuries and third-degree burns covering over 80% of her body. Thanks to advanced medical technology and cutting-edge treatment at UCLA, her life was saved, but she was left permanently disabled and in need of round-the-clock care.

It was at this time that a lawsuit was launched against Ford Motor Company regarding a vehicle defect that made the fuel tank prone to explosion during side-impact collisions. Prior to the accident involving Tài’s wife, four other drivers had suffered similar fates; most had died, and the only survivor was left with disabilities comparable to hers. The New York-based law firm Gregg, White & Stevens—renowned for handling product liability cases—contacted Tài to have his wife join the nationwide class-action lawsuit against Ford.
 
With both Tài’s wife and another severely disabled victim testifying at the trial, the jury found Ford negligent in the vehicle's design and awarded Tài’s wife $5 million in damages. After the law firm deducted its 40% fee, she received $3 million in compensation for her permanent disability.

 
With the substantial sum gained from the lawsuit, Tài felt no need to keep the noodle shop on Brookhurst Street. Although the restaurant was busy, it generated only a comfortable income—hardly wealth. He sold the shop for over three hundred thousand dollars and, combining that with the three million dollars his wife had received in the settlement, ventured into real estate.
 
He bought and sold apartment complexes, built shopping centers for lease, and purchased desert-adjacent land to hold until developers expanded into the area—reselling it for four or five times the purchase price. Before long, Tài had become one of the wealthiest and most successful figures in the Bolsa area. What irked him most, however, was that despite his real estate fortune, the moniker "Tài Bún", Tài the Noodle Man, stuck; whenever people mentioned him, they added the nickname with a mocking undertone, implying his wealth came merely from selling noodles.

Tài continued to provide generously for his wife. In truth, the initial capital came from her settlement, and the early assets were registered in her name; only later, as the money multiplied, did he begin acquiring properties in his own name. When Hoa kept harping on the subject of the house, Tài initially tried to ignore it, but he found he couldn't simply dodge the issue or change the subject. He saw the logic in her argument: the house they lived in was jointly owned, so if anything happened to him, his two children—protective of their mother—would surely reclaim the property immediately and kick Hoa out onto the street.

Hoa spoke of spending a lifetime together, and Tài believed her instantly. Such passionate affection had to be true love; how could it be anything else? Besides, Tài was a shrewd man—he was the one who swindled others; who could possibly pull the wool over his eyes? He prided himself on his keen eye for character and his ability to judge and utilize people. Among the many business partners and employees he had dealt with, no one had ever dared to outsmart him.

Tài could not bring himself to file for divorce. They held too many assets in their joint names; dividing them up would mean a huge loss for him, leaving him with no capital to continue his business! Furthermore, Tài’s wife was bedridden and suffered from a host of complications in recent years—ranging from bloodstream infections that required repeated hospitalizations and nearly claimed her life, to pneumonia that kept her on a ventilator for months at a time.
 
Recently, she had even begun to develop sores on her groin and buttocks from lying down for so long. Doctors had told him that, at most, she had only another year or two to live. Once she passed away, Tài intended to make things official with Hoa, for he knew he could no longer bear to be apart from her. Hoa had promised to stay with him forever, and he believed her implicitly.

 
Chapter 16
 
The house Tài bought in Santa Barbara—registered in Hoa’s name—was valued at $1.5 million. When combined with everything else he had purchased for Hoa over time—contributions to two rotating savings clubs, chơi hụi, jewelry, and so on—the total came to around $3 million. Tài was stunned when he tallied the figures; he hadn't realized just how much he had spent since becoming involved with Hoa! At this rate, his fortune would soon vanish into thin air. But the money was still his, after all—or so he reassured himself. Hoa was in this for the long haul; once his wife passed away, he would make things official with Hoa. Their finances would be shared, so why worry?

Yet, deep down, Tài felt something was amiss. He trusted Hoa, but his assets needed to grow, not shrink. Having spent $3 million on her, he needed to earn more to recoup the loss—and the sooner, the better—just to be safe and secure. Tài reviewed the statements regarding his assets, monthly income, and expenses. Aside from investments funded by the settlement from his wife’s lawsuit, the most significant holding in his portfolio was the Thiên Long Company.
 
He had been entrusted with $28 million to invest and generate profit, with the returns to be split equally. Tài had established Thiên Long as a separate entity from the investments held jointly with his wife, ensuring the assets remained distinct. He had deployed the $28 million into real estate—purchasing an apartment complex in Santa Ana and a shopping center in Huntington Beach—while using the remaining funds to buy stocks and bonds.
Within just one year, the value of these investments had risen to nearly $30 million, not counting the monthly income generated from rental payments, stock dividends, and Treasury bond interest.
 
Tài felt as though he possessed the Midas touch; everything he laid his hands on turned to gold. Yet, of this two-million-dollar increase in value, his share was only half—one million USD—a paltry sum compared to the money he had spent on Hoa. Tài reflected on the Thien Long Company investment and felt a twinge of apprehension. A few days earlier, he had been instructed to merge Thien Long into a new conglomerate, which was itself controlled by yet another entity in a pyramid-style hierarchy. The ultimate parent company, which held all the cards, was based in the Caribbean, on the Cayman Islands.

Tài was told to contact the investment firm owned by Tuyến and his wife in Orange County, with Lawyer Quang handling the paperwork. He felt uneasy; the changes regarding the legal ownership of Thien Long were becoming a hassle. He had always operated independently—unentangled with others and flying under the radar. He had agreed to invest the 28 million USD in Thien Long solely because of the urgent pleas of his cousin, Nguyễn Hoàng Vượng, who worked at the Ministry of Trade in Hanoi.

Vượng was well aware of Tài’s capabilities and had been trying to reach him for years. On his last visit, Vượng had flown to California in person to press the issue, saying:

"I know you don't need this; you're already wealthy. But if you invest the large sum I’ve been entrusted to place in Orange County, I’ll receive a huge bonus and my career advancement will be guaranteed. Please, help me out!"

Tài was conflicted. He wanted nothing to do with the communist government in Hanoi—after all, he had been a refugee here since 1975. Yet, Tài was not involved in politics; his focus was strictly on making money and investing. The funds Vượng sent over supposedly came from a group within the Ministry of Commerce—where Vượng worked—that wanted to invest in Orange County real estate and needed a capable, trustworthy person to handle the task.

Tài eventually agreed to manage the investment, dealing solely with Vượng. Everything—from the transfer of funds and reports on Thien Long Company’s assets to details on investment allocations, income, expenses, and profits—went through Vượng; Tài had no need to know exactly which group in Hanoi was funneling the money into Orange County for him to invest. For over a year, things ran smoothly: Vượng happily informed Tài of his own promotion to a high-ranking position at the Ministry, also received a share of the profits, built a large house, bought a car, and preparing to send his two children to study in the U.S.

Tài was pleased to help his cousin while gaining extra business capital. However, he grew uneasy upon hearing Vượng’s news about merging Thien Long Company into a pyramid-style corporate conglomerate, though he didn't yet know how to handle the situation. He felt frustrated by the prospect of the merger paperwork, especially coming on the heels of the significant funds he had already spent on Hoa—expenditures that had depleted his existing assets.

Tài snapped the pencil he was holding and tossed it into the wastebasket. The loud ringing of the telephone made him frown; why wouldn't anyone pick it up? Only on the third ring did the secretary in the outer office answer, then she poked her head into his room:

"Mr. Vượng is calling from Vietnam!"

Tài hurriedly picked up the receiver. It was 3:00 a.m. over there. What urgent matter could have prompted Vượng to call him?

He heard Vượng’s voice, breathless and frantic:

"Anh Tài! We’re in trouble! Everything’s ruined!"

 
° ° °
Three days earlier, five high-ranking officials held a secret meeting at a villa in Chapa. The house was situated in a forest, completely isolated from the outside world. Each man arrived separately, accompanied only by a driver and an aide. Upon arrival, their vehicles stopped at an outer building, and each official walked alone along a small gravel path to the main house, which stood right beside a stream. Once the fifth man arrived at the appointed time, the group—without exchanging a word—sat around a large round table in a sealed room. No one was aware of this gathering, as officially, all five men were currently on trips abroad!

The first man spoke up to open the meeting:

"Comrades, do you all clearly understand the reason for today's meeting?"

The other four nodded. The first man continued:

"The anti-corruption movement has spiraled out of our control. No one expected it to reach such a scale! If we aren't careful, this movement could gravely endanger the Party—potentially even leading to its destruction; this is no laughing matter! Do you agree, comrades?"

A small, slight man sitting near the window curled his lip:

"Of course! If *you* hadn't moved 300 million US dollars to a Swiss bank—only to have them catch wind of it—things wouldn't be this bad!"

The man sitting next to him frowned:

"Now is not the time for bickering or taking jabs at one another. You criticize others, yet you forget about the time *you* moved over 100 million to France for investment?"

The small man shot back immediately:

"True! But at least I never went so far as to have my three daughters and two grandsons take 200 million US dollars to the States to buy up land and real estate!"

The remaining two men, who had not yet spoken, raised their hands:

"Enough! Enough!" "Enough! Let's get to the point."

The first man, who was leading the meeting, continued:

"Previous anti-corruption drives went off without a hitch. But this time, I fear we won't get through it unless we sacrifice a high-ranking comrade. The press has been given too much leeway and is starting to make noise. We can rein them in later. But right now, to let this movement blow over, we need a major case—we might have to sacrifice a few dozen people. I propose a death sentence for a minister-level comrade, plus the death penalty for five others and life imprisonment for about ten. As for the rest, we need to hand down twenty-to-thirty-year sentences of hard labor to around twenty comrades. We have to show the public that we are absolutely determined to stamp out corruption!"

The small, slight man challenged him:

"But which comrade do you choose? Everyone in every ministry is one of our own. The only requirement is that they aren't a close relative or family member."

The first man replied:

"I choose the Ministry of Trade. Đỗ Gia Thủ has no ties to anyone here. Plus, he’s been too blatant lately about moving money to California for investments."

The other four men nodded. Đỗ Gia Thủ had no familial connections to any of them, and his business dealings had actually caused financial losses for some members of the group. His crimes warranted death. Execution was the only option.

 
Chapter 17
 
Quang pulled out a cigarette, put it to his lips, and lit it. Tài watched the smoke curl upward and frowned. He detested the smell of tobacco, but this meeting was too important; he couldn't let his aversion to Quang’s smoking derail the proceedings. Tài, Tuyến, and Quang had arranged to meet at the Hilton Hotel to discuss investment matters—a meeting taking place one month after Tài had received a call from Vượng, who was phoning from Hà nội.

Tài had asked Vượng:

"Why did you say everything has fallen apart? Why is the situation so dire?"

Vượng spoke breathlessly:

"Đỗ Gia Thủ has been arrested! Our entire group—over ten of us—was detained by the police yesterday afternoon. I had just returned from Tuyên Quang, so they didn't know I was back. But police cars have just arrived and surrounded my house. There’s no escape for me now!"

Vượng’s voice choked up, as if he were on the verge of tears:

"If anything happens to me, please help my two children studying in Chicago. Please set aside my share of the money for them... Oh God! They’re breaking down my door and storming in!"

The line went dead. Tài was stunned, unable to believe what he had just heard. Vượng and the entire corrupt circle surrounding Đỗ Gia Thủ—the Minister of Trade—had been arrested amidst the anti-corruption drive that was sweeping through Việt nam like a tsunami. Tài had heard rumors about the crackdown, but he never expected Đỗ Gia Thủ to be made a scapegoat.
 
He recalled Vượng boasting about Đỗ Gia Thủ’s immense power and how he was supposedly untouchable—only to see him sacrificed to buy safety for even bigger fish within the government. What would become of the investment funds this group had poured into Thien Long, the company Tài managed? And what about the pyramid-style corporate conglomerates that Tuyến and Quang were pushing to set up?

A whirlwind of questions raced through Tài’s mind. He had dealt solely with Vượng; all transactions and financial settlements had gone through him. He knew only vaguely about Vượng’s group—led by a man named Đỗ Gia Thủ—but had never actually met or spoken to the leader himself. Now that the entire group had been arrested, who would contact him regarding the Thiên Long company investment? Or would no one contact him at all, leaving the company’s thirty-million-dollar value to fall into his hands? Tài shook his head. It couldn't be that easy! Such rare strokes of luck simply didn't happen in real life. He would have to take things slowly and see how the situation unfolded.

Tài kept a close watch on news regarding the trial of Đỗ Gia Thủ and the corruption ring within the Ministry of Trade, gathering information from the press and trusted contacts he knew within the Hà nội's government. The consensus was that Đỗ Gia Thủ had no way out this time; a death sentence—intended to serve as an example—was all but certain. It was unclear how many others in his circle would face the executioner alongside him. Yet, everyone agreed that the embezzled funds—amounting to over a hundred million US dollars—had already been spirited abroad, largely to the United States, making recovery by the state highly unlikely.

A month had passed since Vượng’s call. The corruption trial concluded swiftly; never before had a major case involving so many arrests proceeded with such speed. Đỗ Gia Thủ, his younger brother Đỗ Kỳ Tứ, and three others—including Vượng—were sentenced to death. Some received life imprisonment, while the rest were handed sentences ranging from twenty to thirty years. The verdicts were considered harsh, yet they succeeded in significantly calming the wave of public outcry against corruption.
 
Upon hearing the news of Vượng’s execution, Tài felt a wave of emotion; nevertheless, he had already established a trust fund for Vượng’s two children—who were studying in Chicago—and transferred Vượng’s share of one million US dollars into the account, exactly as Vượng had requested. But who would inherit the remaining assets of the Thiên Long company? And how would the paper conglomerate’s ongoing investments be handled? Tài realized he needed to hold a meeting with Tuyến and Quang.

 
° ° °
Tuyến began:

- By now, both of you—Tài and Quang—surely understand the situation clearly. The task of investing and structuring the corporate network for this sum of over one hundred million US dollars was the work of Đỗ Gia Thủ’s group. Among the more than ten companies scattered across the US, Thien Long—managed by you, Tài—is the largest, accounting for a full third of the capital. The parent company based in the Cayman Islands lists two Americans as its heads, but those are actually aliases. Those two individuals are none other than Đỗ Gia Thủ and his younger brother, Đỗ Kỳ Tứ. Now that the trial in Việt nam has concluded and the ringleaders have been executed, we must resolve the investment and documentation issues for these companies to ensure everything is in order. Tài, do you have any thoughts on this?

Tài replied:

- I am only familiar with my own division, Thiên Long. I have no knowledge of the paperwork regarding the other companies. However, I do want to ask this: Thiên Long was structured to fall under the New York company, which in turn is a subsidiary of the Cayman Islands entity. But since Đỗ Gia Thủ and Đỗ Kỳ Tứ are dead, who controls the Cayman Islands company now?

Quang shook his head:

- The complications here are unimaginable! Because Đỗ Gia Thủ and Đỗ Kỳ Tứ used aliases to establish the Cayman Islands company, the legal reality is that—even though the men themselves were sentenced to death and died in Việt nam—those two aliases technically remain "alive" in the Cayman Islands, and the company continues to exist legally.

Tài pondered for a moment before speaking:

- It seems the only solution is to file for bankruptcy for both the Cayman Islands and New York companies. That way, we can eventually dissolve the entire corporate pyramid and finally resolve these documentation issues.

Tuyến nodded:

- I agree with you, Tài! To resolve the issue of ownership documentation, we need a way to file for bankruptcy for the pyramid's apex companies and redistribute their assets to the subsidiaries. Do you think that’s feasible, Quang?

Quang smiled:

"There’s no paperwork I can’t handle—it’s my specialty. But how exactly would we divide the assets?"

Tuyến glanced at Tài with a hint of wariness. Tài had a reputation for being cunning, and Tuyến had long been wary of him. Yet, the fortune—over a hundred million US dollars—was simply too vast to ignore. The opportunity had arrived, and it was one they couldn't pass up.

"Only the three of us know the origin of the hundred-plus million dollars invested in these companies. Now that Đỗ Gia Thủ, Đỗ Kỳ Tứ, and the entire leadership group are dead, no one else knows where the investment capital came from. I propose we split the money three ways once the paperwork is sorted out. What do you think, Tài?"

Tuyến only really needed to ask Tài; he had already discussed the plan with Quang, and the two had reached an agreement beforehand.

Tài looked at Tuyến and Quang. He had anticipated that Tuyến would make this proposal, and sure enough, he had. Great minds think alike. Tài smiled inwardly, though his expression remained inscrutable and pensive.

"Honestly, I only want the Thiên Long Company. If Quang can handle the paperwork to bankrupt the pyramid's apex companies and have Thiên Long’s assets revert to me, I’m fully on board with your plan."

Tuyến nodded. Thiên Long Company held an investment portfolio worth over 30 million US dollars—exactly one-third of the total sum. That was an excellent arrangement. He and Quang would split the remainder, netting roughly 35 million dollars each. Big players understood one another; a discrepancy of a few million dollars here or there didn't matter. He silently admired Tài. Knowledgeable and decisive, yet free from the greed that haggles over every last penny—it is no wonder Tai has achieved such great success in the business world of Orange County!

The three men stood up, shook hands, and prepared to leave. How beautiful the golden sunlight looked outside the Hilton in Anaheim! Especially knowing that, all of a sudden, they had each pocketed tens of millions of dollars—a windfall to ensure a comfortable life ahead.