Kitty looked over the schedule of fees and burst out laughing. “You’ve got to be joking!”

Corinna’s expression turned grave. She knew the moment had arrived for the hard sell. “Mrs. Tai, let me ask you something. What do you really want out of life? Because this is where I see your life heading: You’ll keep flying around Asia for the next few years, going to galas and benefits and whatnot, getting your picture in the magazines. Over time, you might strike up friendships with other rich Mainlanders or the gweilo^*6 wives of men stationed here with three-year contracts at some foreign bank or private equity firm. You might even be invited to join the boards of inconsequential charities started by these bored expat wives. Your in-box will be filled with invitations for cocktails at the Chopard boutique or art openings in Sheung Wan. Sure, you may occasionally be invited to one of Pascal Pang’s parties, but the real Hong Kong will always be closed to you. You will never be asked to join the best clubs or attend the most exclusive parties in the best houses—and I’m not talking about Sonny Chin’s mansion on Bowen Road. Your children will never get into the best schools and have playdates with children from the top families. You will never get to know any of the people who move the economy, who have the ear of the top politicians in Beijing, who affect culture. People who truly matter in Asia. How much is that worth to you?”

Kitty remained silent.

“Here, let me show you a few pictures,” Corinna said, placing an iPad on the table. As she began to scroll through an album of images, Kitty recognized a few of the city’s top social figures posing casually with Corinna in private settings. Here was Corinna at breakfast on board the plane of a certain Mainland tycoon who now lived in Singapore, at the graduation of Leo Ming’s son from St. George’s School in Vancouver, in the delivery room at Matilda Hospital holding a famous Hong Kong socialite’s newborn baby.

“These are people you can introduce me to?”

“These are my clients.”

Kitty’s perfectly mascaraed eyes suddenly widened. “Ada Poon? She’s one of your clients?”

Corinna smiled. “Let me show you a picture of what she looked like before I began working with her. For your eyes only.”

“Oh my God—look at that outfit! And those teeth!” Kitty cackled.

“Yes, Dr. Chan did some of his best work ever on her teeth, didn’t he? Did you know that before she became the third Mrs. Francis Poon, she worked in the Chanel boutique on Canton Road in Kowloon? That’s how she met Francis—he came in looking for a little something for his wife, but left with a little something for himself.”

“How interesting. I thought she came from a good Hong Kong family.”

Corinna chose her words carefully. “I can tell you about Ada’s past because it’s a well-known fact. But you see, practically anyone can rise up in Hong Kong society. It’s all about perception, really. And the careful reinvention of personal history. We will refocus your image. Anyone can be forgiven. Anything can be forgotten.”