“Who’s that?” Nick asked Roxanne.

“Richie Yang,” Roxanne replied, before adding in a whisper, “one of Colette’s suitors, who’s based in Beijing.”

“He’s rather dressed up for tonight.”

“Oh, he is always very fashionable. Noblest Magazine ranked him the best-dressed man in China, and his father is ranked the fourth richest man in China by The Heron Wealth Report, with a net worth of US$15.3 billion.”

A short, slight man in his early fifties emerged from the armored SUV. His face had a slightly punched-in look, something that his neatly trimmed Errol Flynn mustache only served to accentuate. “Is that Colette’s father?” Nick asked.

“Yes, that is Mr. Bing.”

“What’s he ranked?” Nick asked in jest. He found these rankings to be rather ridiculous and more often than not wildly inaccurate.

“Mr. Bing is ranked fifth richest, but The Heron is wrong. At current share prices, Mr. Bing should be ranked higher than Richie’s father. Fortune Asia has it correct—it ranks Mr. Bing at number three,” Roxanne said earnestly.

“What an outrage. I should write a letter to The Heron Wealth Report to protest the error,” Nick joked.

“Oh no need, sir, we already have,” Roxanne replied.

Mr. Bing helped a woman with shoulder-length bouffant hair, dark-tinted sunglasses, and a blue surgical mask over her face out of the car.

“That’s Mrs. Bing,” Roxanne whispered.

“I figured. Is she ill?”

“No, she is just an extreme germaphobe. This is why she spends most of her time on the Big Island of Hawaii, where she thinks the air is freshest, and why this estate has a state-of-the-art air-purifying system.”

Everyone watched as Colette gave her parents polite half hugs, after which the maid bearing the chest of hot towels prostrated herself in front of them as if she were offering gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Colette’s parents, who wore matching navy blue cashmere Hermès tracksuits, took the steaming towels and began wiping their hands and faces methodically. Mrs. Bing then stretched out her hands, and another maid rushed up and squirted hand sanitizer onto her eager palms. After they had finished, Wolseley offered his greetings, and then Colette gestured for the group to approach.

“Papa, Mama, meet my friends. You know Carlton, of course. This is his sister, Rachel, and her husband, Nicholas Young. They live in New York, but Nicholas is from Singapore.”

“Carlton Bao! How is your father doing these days?” Colette’s father said as he clapped him on the back, before turning to Nick and Rachel. “Jack Bing,” he said, shaking their hands vigorously. He eyed Rachel with much interest, saying in Mandarin, “You look unmistakably like your brother.” Colette’s mother, by contrast, did not extend her hands but nodded quickly as she peered at them from behind her surgical mask and Fendi sunglasses.

“Richie’s plane was parked next to ours when we landed,” Jack Bing said to his daughter.

“I just flew in from Chile,” Richie explained.

“I insisted he join us for dinner,” Colette’s father said.

“Of course, of course,” Colette said.