The intercom buzzed again. “Michael—I know you said not to kachiao^*1 you, but—”

“So why the hell did you?” Michael raised his voice angrily.

“I just got an-nah-der call…the meeting with gahmen^*2 people postpone, lah.”

“The Monetary Authority meeting?” Michael tried to clarify.

“Yah lah.”

“Until what time?”

“Postpone, postpone, lor! They never say.”

“What the fuck?”

“And your father-in-law’s office call again with an-nah-der message. Miss Chua said to read it aloud to you. Wait, ah! I get message. Okay, here it is: Please meet Mr. Leong at Pulau Club at 10:30 a.m. No more excuses.”

“Kan ni nah!” Michael swore, kicking his desk.

• • •

Anyone standing at the third hole of the Island Course at Pulau Club—quaintly referred to as the “old course”—would feel as if they were transported back to an earlier time. Carved out of natural virgin jungle in 1930, the undulating green hills gave way to tropical groves of casuarinas and tembusus on one side and the oasis-like Peirce Reservoir on the other. Not a hint of the densely packed skyscrapers that were modern Singapore could be seen from this vantage point. Harry Leong, dressed in his usual golfing outfit of short-sleeved white cotton shirt, khaki pants, and a faded blue Royal Air Force cap^*3 to protect his thinning silvery hair, was watching his golf buddy adjust a swing when his son-in-law came storming up the fairway.

“Oh—here he comes, looking blacker than the devil. Let’s have some fun with him, shall we?” Harry said to his friend. “Lovely day, isn’t it?” he called out.

“It might have been, had you not…” Michael began in a surly tone, before catching sight of the man standing next to his father-in-law. It was Hu Lee Shan, the minister of commerce, nattily dressed in a brightly striped Sligo golf shirt.

“Good morning, Mr. Teo,” the minister said jovially.

Forcing a smile, Michael said, “Good morning, sir.” Bloody hell! No wonder he was able to sabotage my meeting so quickly. He’s golfing with the friggin’ boss of the boss of the Monetary Authority!

“Thank you for meeting me on such short notice,” Harry continued politely. “Now, I’ll get right to the point: this matter over the silly magazine story.”

“I’m sorry, Dad. It was never my intention for your name to get mentioned,” Michael began.

“Oh I don’t care about my name. I mean, who am I in the grand scheme of things, right? I’m a public servant—people can print any sort of nonsense they want about me. It’s all much ado about nothing in my opinion, but, you see, other names were mentioned in that article. Other people who are touchy about such things. Like my wife and my mother-in-law. That side of the family. You know how we mustn’t ever upset Astrid’s grandmother, or Uncle Alfred.”

“Heh heh heh—no one should ever upset Alfred Shang,” chuckled the minister.

Michael wanted to roll his eyes. What was the big deal about Alfred Shang that made every man so bo lam pa^*4 in his presence? “I really had no idea that reporter was going to go digging. It was only supposed to be a flattering stor—”