The Red Pole of Macau (5 page)

“That wasn’t necessary.”

“I figured the more you know, the better.”

“Yes, that is normally true.”

“And, Ava, as for Simon, he’ll get past this.”

“Michael, I don’t care about Simon,” she said. “I care about you.”

She slept badly, a dream she couldn’t get away from waking her and then grabbing her again the moment she closed her eyes. She was with Uncle in some Chinese city that was all dust, smoke, and exhaust fumes, and they were being chased down, running for their lives. He was moving slowly, limping when he wasn’t hopping on one leg. She felt the urge to run and had to hold back, though her energy was bursting. He kept telling her to leave, that he’d make it on his own. Every time she was at that point she’d wake, get up to pee and drink a glass of water, and then crawl back into bed hoping that the dream was over, only to have it return. Same city, different location, more thugs.

Dreams were common for her, but not dreams about Uncle. Usually it was her father who dominated her nighttime subconscious, in a recurring dream that had her desperately trying to connect with him and never succeeding. She wondered if keeping her presence in Hong Kong a secret had triggered Uncle’s intrusion into her sleep.

At seven she finally gave up and hauled herself out of bed. It was already light outside, the sun glinting through a light layer of clouds. She knew Victoria Park would be a zoo, but she needed to clear her head. She put on her running gear, stuck money for the
mtr
into her pocket, and headed downstairs.

The park was awful, both the inner and outer tracks so crowded that she could barely walk at a brisk pace, let alone run. So she gave in and walked around the park’s perimeter, taking in the multitude of tai chi practitioners, the old men with their birdcages, the badminton players, and at the southern end a throng who had come to exercise to the music of ABBA under the direction of one male and one female instructor, who loomed above them on a stage.

It was just past nine when she left the park and walked back to the
mtr
station. Hong Kong rush hour was in full bloom and an unbroken stream of people jostled on the station stairs in both directions. Ava knew what it would be like on the train, and the idea of being hemmed in so tightly that she wouldn’t be able to move her arms held no appeal for her. She figured it would take her about thirty minutes to run back to the hotel, and without further thought she headed down Gloucester Road.

Before the Mandarin Oriental became her hotel of choice, she had often stayed at the Grand Hyatt, near the old Star Ferry terminal. It was only a ten-minute jaunt from there to the park, and the route took her along Causeway Bay, past the Hong Kong Yacht Club, the noon cannon, and the typhoon shelter, which was perpetually filled with sampans that in turn were filled with floating families. She retraced those steps, enjoying the morning air.

When she got back to the hotel, she took a shower and got dressed for business. She turned on her cellphone and listened to messages from Uncle and her father. Uncle wanted her to phone him. Her father was concerned about how things were going.

She swore quietly as she closed the phone. She didn’t want to talk to Uncle just yet. She wanted to get the meeting behind her. Besides, she knew that if she did phone him the fact that she was in Hong Kong would emerge. She just couldn’t lie to him and found it almost impossible to say no to him. When she told this to Derek one time, he had just smiled and said she had the same effect on him.

She thought about calling her father before going to meet Michael, and then pushed the idea aside. She had nothing to tell him. She turned on her computer to take a quick look at where the meeting was scheduled, the City of Dreams. Five minutes later she was still reading, and her reluctance to go to Macau had almost vanished.

The first thing that had caught her attention were the names Ho and Packer, except the names were Lawrence Ho, not Stanley, and James Packer, not Kerry. James was the son of the late Australian tycoon; he was in his early forties and already ranked as one of the wealthiest men in Australia. Lawrence was still in his early thirties — one of Stanley Ho’s seventeen children from various wives — and had enough money, or access to it, to partner with Packer on the City of Dreams development. Ava knew of Ho through friends in Toronto. A Canadian citizen, he had been partly raised in the city and attended the University of Toronto. He had returned to Hong Kong to pursue his business interests but still came to Canada on a regular basis.

The development had opened in 2009 and was the largest in Macau. There were four soaring towers sheathed in steel and glass, one home to a Hard Rock Hotel, one to a Crown
Towers Hotel, and two towers for the Grand Hyatt, all of them connected to a central podium about three storeys high that looked like a massive glimmering flying saucer. The numbers associated with the complex were impressive: more than 2,200 hotel rooms, more than 200 stores, and, at 420,000 square feet, more than double the gaming space of the MGM Grand, the largest casino in Las Vegas.

This sure isn’t the Macau I remember
, Ava thought as she closed her computer and packed her notebook into her bag. She headed downstairs to meet Michael.

He was already in the hotel lobby, talking on his cellphone. He waved her over. He seemed as nervous as he had been the day before, and that worried her. Looking unsure wasn’t a good negotiating tactic.

“We’ll take a taxi to the Macau jetfoil terminal,” he said, closing the phone. “Parking is brutal around there.”

“Where’s Simon?”

“Waiting for us at the terminal. He’s already bought our tickets.”

It was only a five-minute cab ride, but they had to wait in line at the terminal for another five minutes before they could disembark. Simon was at the gate, briefcase in hand, dressed in a blue pinstripe suit, white shirt, and red Hermès tie. Except for the blond hair he actually looked like a conservative businessman. Michael looked dashing in a pair of grey slacks with a blue blazer, white shirt, and light blue Gucci tie. Ava wasn’t accustomed to travelling in such well-dressed company, and said so.

Simon stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. He had evidently forgotten about his rudeness the night before, or else didn’t want to acknowledge it. “You look good,” he said. “Maybe that’ll distract them.”

She wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic. “Thanks, and I can promise it won’t,” she said.

He had bought them three seats in first class, which was almost empty. Most of the hydrofoil was filled with gamblers making a day trip to Macau.
And gamblers don’t spend money on unnecessary frills
, Ava thought.

Once they had sat down, Simon pulled some papers from his briefcase. “You’ve seen the contract?” he asked.

“Yes, we went over it in detail yesterday,” she said.

“And what do you think?”

“You seem to be within your rights to request the money back.”

“But . . . ?”

She could sense he was ready to argue with her. “But nothing. You seem to be within your rights.”

“How do you want to handle the meeting?” Michael asked.

“It’s your meeting, not mine,” she said. “I’d prefer to be an observer until we see what it is they really want and can figure out what is actually going on. Who normally talks to them?”

“Initially we communicated through David Chi. It wasn’t until we saw the site that we actually met them, and then, as I said, we had one more meeting after that to sign the agreement. For the first six months or so we kept routing messages through David, but then he began to distance himself. Simon and I have both had a few phone conversations with Wu — progress reports, or, more accurately, non-progress reports. And then, of course, David disappeared entirely. So it’s been basically me and Wu on the phone. This will be our first face-to-face since we signed.”

“Is Kao Lok going to be there?”

“So I was told.”

The sea was choppy, the jetfoil bouncing up and down as it roared over sixty-five kilometres of water towards Macau. She’d never been in one that didn’t bounce — it was only a matter of degree, and on this day the degree was severe. Ava was thankful it was only a one-hour trip.

“Only one of you should speak,” she said. “It’s important that there be only one voice. My experience is that if both of you try to talk, there could be contradictions, however unintentional or slight, and you don’t want to give them any opening to create confusion or doubt. So, one voice.”

“Simon, do you want to do it?” Michael asked.

He shook his head. “No, you.”

Michael looked uncertain. Ava hoped he was a better actor when the lights came on. She said, “Now, when you’re speaking to them, speak directly to Kao Lok. It is his business, and this is your business. Treat him as your equal. Even if Wu asks questions, direct your comments to Kao.”

“Wu has done all the talking so far.”

“That doesn’t matter. You talk to Kao.”

“Okay. How do you want me to approach things?”

“Above all, we really need to understand what’s gone wrong here. Why hasn’t the project proceeded? What happened to the other investors? What are the chances of bringing more people on board? Are they agreeable to the idea of our bringing others in? Keep asking questions.”

“I’ve been trying to do that on the phone, Ava, and all Wu ever says is that if we want the mall to be built then we have to put up the money they say we committed to.”

“So ask Kao. Maybe he’ll be more receptive to an actual conversation.”

“And if he’s not?”

“Then we move on to Plan B, which is to say that we could be prepared to put in more money in exchange for a bigger share of the deal, and specifically an interest in the actual land.”

“And if they’re not interested?”

Then you’re involved with idiots
, she thought. “If we get to that point you need to make it clear that your bank is the one calling the shots, and that it is their demand, not yours.”

“That’s not completely untrue,” Michael said.

“Tell them that they haven’t lived up to the terms of the contract — through no fault of theirs, you’re sure — and even though you hate to walk away from such a promising investment, your bank isn’t leaving you any option. You need the deal restructured, with some hard guarantees built in, or you need your money back. I’d say that you’ve already breached several covenants and that the bank is going to recall the loan unless they see significant progress. Make the bank the bad guy as much as you can.”

“Simon, what do you think about this approach?” Michael said. His partner seemed distracted, his attention on the view through the window. His hand kept reaching for his head, rubbing the blond stubble. Then, almost violently, he separated his fingers and pulled them from the back of his head to the front, as if he were trying to plow furrows. “That fucking David Chi,” he said.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Are you going to be okay for the meeting?”

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about since last night. Yeah, I’ll be okay, unless Chi is there. If he is, I’m not sure I can restrain myself.”

Ava threw a worried glance at Michael. He simply said, “Chi won’t be there.”

Simon grunted. “I don’t think they care about whatever problems we have, or might have, with our bank.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Ava said. “You need to create the impression that they’ll have to deal with your bank if you can’t get your money back. Not many businessmen want a bank up their ass. Banks have more money and all the time in the world, and they’re completely cold-blooded.”

“What if they don’t buy it?”

“Spin it anyway, and then leave all your options open-ended. Don’t threaten them. And for God’s sake, don’t mention the word
lawyer
.”

“Just where do you think this will leave us?” Simon asked.

Ava hadn’t been sure he was listening. “We aren’t going to resolve anything today, so don’t go into the meeting expecting that will happen. As I said, what we need to do is find out as much as we can about the status of the project and what it is they really want.”

“So we can do what?”

“Figure out an exit strategy.”

“Compromise?” Simon said, making it sound like a dirty word.

Ava said, “Well, it may come down to that. I mean, you can’t just keep saying ‘Give us our money back’ and have them answering no and asking for more. Sooner or later there has to be some kind of negotiation, there has to be a middle ground somewhere. The only other option you have is to go legal, and depending on how determined they are, that could take years and cost you tons of money, and many more sleepless nights, with no guarantee at the end that you’ll win.”

Simon looked angry. Ava didn’t know if it was with her, his partner, or the situation. She waited for him to speak. Instead he turned his head and looked out at the sea again.

The jetfoil arrived on time at twelve thirty, and by twelve forty-five they had cleared Macau Customs and Immigration and were in a cab headed for the City of Dreams, about ten kilometres away. The driver avoided the old city, taking the Friendship Bridge to the northern edge of Taipa and then looping southeast past rows of small hotels and shops. When he made a right turn onto the Cotai Strip, Ava gasped. Skyscrapers flanked both sides of the street, filling seemingly every inch of land.

“This is like the strip in Las Vegas,” she said.

“On a lot less land,” Michael said.

They drove up the Strip past the Fairmont Raffles, the Hilton Conrad, the Sheraton, and the Shangri-La to their right. Across the street from the Shangri-La was a Four Seasons, and directly next to it was the Venetian Macau, an exact replica of the Venetian in Vegas. Ava had never seen such a concentration of luxury hotels, and that was before they got to the City of Dreams, at the very end of the Strip, its four towers and silver pod the climax.

“My God, I never imagined anything of this magnitude. So many five-star hotels,” she said.

“They just keep building them bigger and better,” Michael said. “The Crown Towers is supposed to be six stars.”

“And someone will build one with seven stars,” Simon said.

“Where is your lot?” she asked.

“Right there,” Michael said, pointing to a long, narrow finger of sand adjacent to the Venetian.