Ever since his internships working for Wall Street’s masters of the universe while at Harvard Business School, Lee had developed a taste for Patek Philippe watches, Prada shoes, and $500 haircuts. The two junior associates flanking him, acolytes of their capitalist messiah, cut similarly refined figures.
“Please, have a seat.” Bill Carlson, the guest of honor, settled into a large armchair opposite Lee.
“Did you review my proposal?” Lee continued in his perfect American accent.
“The numbers are impressive.” Carlson casually adjusted his tie as he spoke. “But our lawyers say tigers are a CITES Appendix One protected animal. How can this possibly be legal?”
Lee projected confidence bordering on aggression. “It isn’t yet, but it will be by the time this venture would launch. Legalized trade in wildlife will be one of the top issues at the next international CITES convention. We’re currently working on securing the necessary votes to downlist tigers to Appendix Two and create a legal trade in tiger parts.”
“‘Securing the necessary votes?’ I assume you don’t mean bribing.”
“Lobbying.”
Carlson shifted uncomfortably at the gray of it all. He was eager to break into the Asian market. Emerging markets were where the action was, but there were also risks associated with venturing into uncharted territory. Western corporations operating in Asia had a history of getting themselves into trouble because Asian markets were “nontransparent business environments.” Deals could evaporate or be nullified, and the boundaries of the law could be difficult to triangulate.
Carlson had no interest in dancing anywhere near the fringe of the law and jeopardizing their $2 billion pharmaceutical empire. Moreover, according to the United States’ Lacey Act, any involvement in the trafficking of protected animals could land Carlson personally in federal prison. At least, that was what his associate’s due diligence had told him.
Carlson all but dismissed Lee. “The CITES convention is right around the corner. You better work fast if you’re going to have the slightest prayer of getting those votes.”
If Lee felt the urge to lash out at the impudent American, he hid it well. “As soon as the legislation goes through—and it will—we’ll be looking at a billion-dollar industry emerging overnight.”
Carlson’s associate, Beth, looked up from her portfolio brimming with due-diligence questions. “Official traditional Chinese medicine stopped advocating use of tigers in 1993. Are you sure there’s demand for this tiger wine?”
“People’s beliefs don’t change overnight. For a thousand years, my people have believed in the sacred power of the tiger.”
Beth glanced at her notes. “That’s jinbu, right? The idea that you are what you eat?”
“It is more than that,” Lee told her confidently. “The new rich are looking to spend their money. We are offering them both a status symbol and a health tonic.”
Carlson got it. “You are selling exclusivity.”
“Many Chinese are already spending their money on tiger wine—just on the black market,” Lee informed him. “When it becomes legal, demand is going to explode.”
“In a country that killed its last tiger thirty years ago. Which brings us to the supply issue. Even if you can, um, acquire the votes you need at CITES—and that’s a rather large if—how are you going to meet the demand? You’re talking about sourcing thousands of tigers.”