Rachel approached the table, and the lady stood up and extended her hand. “I’m Bao Shaoyen. Welcome to my home.”

“I’m Rachel Chu. It’s a pleasure to be here.”

15

RIDOUT ROAD

SINGAPORE

When Astrid returned from Friday night dinner at Tyersall Park, Led Zeppelin was blasting at an eardrum-shattering level on the sound system in Michael’s study. She carried a sleepy Cassian upstairs to his bedroom and handed him over to his au pair. “How long has it been like this?” she asked.

“I only got home an hour ago, madame. It was Metallica then,” Ludivine dutifully reported. Astrid shut the door to Cassian’s bedroom firmly and went back downstairs. She peeked into the study and found Michael sitting in the dark in his Arne Jacobsen armchair. “Do you mind turning it down a little? Cassian’s sleeping and it’s past midnight.”

Michael turned off the stereo with one click and remained motionless in his chair. She could tell he had been drinking, and not wanting to pick a fight, she ventured cheerily, “You missed a good time tonight. Uncle Alfred suddenly had a mad craving for durians, so we all dashed off to 717 Trading on Upper Serangoon Road to get some. I wish you could have been there—everybody knows you pick the best durians!”

Michael snorted derisively. “If you think I’m going to sit there and make idle conversation with Uncle Alfred and your father about durians…”

Astrid came into the room, turned on a lamp, and sat down on the ottoman facing him. “Listen, you can’t keep avoiding my father like this. Sooner or later you’re going to have to make peace with him.”

“Why should I make peace when he was the one who started the war?”

“What war? We’ve been over this so many times, and I’ve told you I know for a fact that my father did not buy your company. But let’s say for argument’s sake that he did. What difference would that make at this point? You took that money and quadrupled it. You’ve already proven to everyone—to my father, to my family, to the world—what a genius you are. Can’t you be happy with that?”

“You weren’t there that morning on the golf course. You didn’t hear the things your father said to me, the contempt in his voice. He has looked down on me from the very beginning, and he will never stop.”

Astrid sighed. “My father looks down on everyone. Even his own children. That’s just the way he is, and if you haven’t figured that out by now, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I want you to stop going to Friday night dinner. I want you to stop seeing your parents every damn week,” Michael announced.

Astrid paused for a moment. “You know, I would do that if I thought it made any difference. I know you’ve been unhappy, Michael, but I also know that your unhappiness actually has very little to do with my family.”