“No, no, you can’t!” shrieked the Minister of Trade and Industry, her red tudung falling over her face. More ministers rushed to the stage, unabashed in their grief. Mahathir was bathed in uncommon hugs. Their beloved leader, their visionary, the authoritarian tyrant who had fashioned a mandate for Malaysia was finally going to leave after 22 years in power as Prime Minister.

Thousands celebrated. In bars, in restaurants, in mamak stalls, in homes and in the privacy of bedrooms, ordinary Malaysians thanked their gods for the unthinkable. Some were saddened, most were stunned. A Malaysia without Mahathir. It was unimaginable, it was uncertain. It was utter folly.

Anwar was still in jail, inching through his sentence. His back had deteriorated; his spine would suffer lifelong consequences from having to sleep on concrete. The world condemned the Malaysian government for its draconian actions. Mahathir retaliated by blaming George Soros and the Western media for twisting truths.

“You are jealous of our success, our fundamentals are strong,” he infamously retorted.

Yet, KL continued to thrive, the city was alive with intangible possibility. It was this that armed Marina that night when she stepped into Frangipani, her hand on a man who had booked her for the night. She was no longer the same person who had left the same club in a Black Maria a year ago. No longer a streetwalker, but now a high-class escort, she lived in a different world. When she walked up the stairs into the doorway, the crowd of boys and men parted to let her through, and the music and the flaming lights swept her away.

Omar was working late the day it happened. He had just returned from Sudan and he was jetlagged and tired, but there were documents, plans that needed to be finalised. The television was on in his office and the news came on. A teary Mahathir came on the screen and said that he was going to resign as Chairperson of the Barisan National, the ruling coalition that had governed the country since Independence, and as Prime Minister of Malaysia. It was also the final day of the UMNO General Assembly and traffic would be bad near the Putra World Trade Centre, so he decided to finish the paperwork and head home after 8pm.

As if on cue, his handphone rang.

“You see the news? Bloody hell!” Fairman was shouting into his ear.

“Yeah. This is absolutely insane,” Omar said and paused. “Are we going to be all right?”

They were about to sign million-dollar contracts and Mahathir leaving could pose problems. It could cause jitters with their foreign partners, and as a Bumiputera company, they had the ease of contracts, not just because they were Malay, but because both their fathers had made sure that their sons got a fair share of the spoils.

“I’ll get those contracts signed as soon as possible.”

“Yes please, or we’re fucked.”