The morning sun glistened on the South China Sea as the plane descended onto the man-made island that was Hong Kong’s airport.
She found Uncle at the rear of the Wing lounge, reclining in a Balzac armchair. He wasn’t any taller than Ava and was nearly as lean. From a distance he looked almost like a child swallowed up in the chair. He was more than seventy, she knew, but his skin was still smooth, with only the faintest traces of lines around his eyes and on his forehead. His close-cropped black hair was streaked with just a touch of grey. Uncle was dressed as usual in a simple black suit and a crisp white shirt buttoned to the collar. His monochromatic style was part convenience, part camouflage. It made him easy to overlook — just an elegantly dressed old man, except to those who knew.
Uncle had been Ava’s partner and mentor for more than ten years. They recovered bad debts for a living. Ava was a forensic accountant with degrees from York University, in Toronto, and Babson College, just outside of Boston. Before joining forces with Uncle, Ava had worked for a prestigious Toronto firm, but she had found the bureaucracy that came with working in a large corporation stifling. She had left and set up her own small business, catering mainly to her mother’s friends. When one of her clients was stiffed by a Chinese importer, Ava decided to collect the debt herself. In the process she met Uncle, who was chasing the same importer for a different customer. When their combined efforts proved successful, Uncle had suggested that Ava partner with him.
Uncle’s reputation brought a wide range of clients to the table. What he lacked was Ava’s accounting skills and the softer touch she could bring to the recovery process. Their customers were typically Asian, normally desperate, and often irrational by the time they signed up with Ava and Uncle. Their businesses were at stake, their families were being threatened by economic ruin, and they had already exhausted all the conventional methods of retrieving stolen funds. Uncle’s mantra was “People always do the right thing for the wrong reason.” Ava had become particularly adept at finding the wrong reason that would convince her targets to do the right thing, which in their case was return the money to its rightful owner. Ava and Uncle took thirty percent of everything they recovered.
When she spotted Uncle in the lounge, she glanced around to see if Sonny was with him. There was no sign of Uncle’s driver-cum-bodyguard. He was as big as Ava and Uncle put together, and more vicious than anyone she had ever known. He had travelled with them in the past, most often to China, where a show of strength was never misplaced. Ava assumed that Uncle wasn’t expecting to need protection in the Philippines.
She quietly approached his chair. His eyes were closed, and she thought he was sleeping until he said, “Ava, is that you?”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“I thought so. I could smell that Annick Goutal perfume you like so much,” he said, his eyes opening and a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You look beautiful, as always.”
“Thank you.”
“But the clothes — ” he said, motioning to her black Giordano T-shirt and Adidas track pants. “You need to change. They are going to meet us at the airport and take us directly to Ordonez’s office.”
“I figured as much. I have everything I need here,” she said, picking up her Shanghai Tang “Double Happiness” bag. “I’ll take a shower and put on something suitable.”
Ava walked into the lounge’s private change rooms. She showered quickly, put on a fresh bra and panties and a pink Brooks Brothers shirt with a modified Italian collar, then debated whether to wear a skirt or slacks. She didn’t know anything about Ordonez or Chang other than what she had read online in Guyana. To be on the safe side she opted for the trousers. A conservative look would never be seriously misinterpreted by powerful men.
She brushed her hair back and fixed it with her favourite ivory chignon pin. Then she applied some mascara and a touch of red lipstick. The last thing she did was slip her Cartier Tank Francaise watch onto her wrist. It had cost a small fortune, but she’d never regretted purchasing it. She loved its look and thought it established the perfect balance between serious and successful.
As she walked from the ladies’ room back across the lounge, she could feel all eyes turn in her direction. Her pace was measured, never hurried, and she held herself erect, confident of her time and place.
Uncle was standing near his chair, in conversation with a man who looked about his age but was six inches taller and at least a hundred pounds heavier. His head was completely bald and he had a large, round face with jowls that trembled when he spoke. He wore a Burberry plaid shirt and slacks that rode too high over his belly. She could see a diamond-encrusted Rolex on his wrist, an enormous jade and diamond ring on his wedding-band finger, and a ruby ring on his pinkie. The contrast between the two men couldn’t have been more striking. Yet as she watched them, she could see that the larger man was trying to make an impression on Uncle. She could read his desire to please in his body language, his rapid speech. Uncle was just listening, nodding every so often.
When he saw her, Uncle dismissed the man with a little wave of his hand and walked directly over to Ava. The man seemed startled to see her. Then he stared, his face impassive.
“I feel like some noodles,” Uncle said, touching her elbow to guide her towards the restaurant.
They both ordered noodles with har gow, traditional shrimp dumplings. There was a delicious aroma in the air that Ava couldn’t identify. “Snow pea tips fried in garlic,” Uncle said when she asked. “It is too early to eat them. They attack my bowels.”
As usual, he ate far more quickly than she did. She always wondered if his table manners were an indication of his true internal state, a contrast to the calm, placid exterior he showed to the world. “Who was that man you were talking to?” she asked when he had finished eating.
The question seemed to catch him off guard, and he closed his eyes briefly before answering. “He worked for me in Fanling years ago. Now he runs Mong Kok,” he said. Before she could ask more, the boarding call came for the flight and Uncle slid out of his chair.
They walked to the gate and found long, disorganized lines of diminutive Filipino women carrying as much baggage as airline rules would allow. “It is that time of year,” Uncle said. “Flights to Asia and to Manila are cheap, so all the domestics and nannies travel home now.”
Ava knew the ritual. She and Marian had had a Filipina yaya, or nanny, until they went to Havergal College for high school. Every two or three years Yaya would buy a couple of balikbayans — boxes the size of small coffins — and load them with T-shirts, running shoes, and canned goods to carry back with her to the Philippines.
“How many are there in Hong Kong these days?” she asked.
“More than a hundred thousand, I think. On Sundays they go to Central or Victoria Park or to the Hong Kong Cultural Centre to socialize. I do not think Lourdes has missed a Sunday in ten years.”
“Amazing women.”
Uncle stared at the knot of people crowding around the boarding gate. “The Philippines would collapse economically without them. I read that there are about eight million overseas workers, and they remit money every month. If that is not the country’s largest source of income, I do not know what is.”
Uncle and Ava strolled past the lineup of people waiting impatiently to board the plane and showed their passports and first-class tickets to the Cathay Pacific attendant. When they boarded the plane, they were greeted by two attractive young flight attendants in cherry-red uniforms, who directed them to their seats. As Uncle settled into his, Ava noted that his feet just skimmed the floor.
As soon as the plane reached its flying altitude, Uncle eased his seat back. But before he could close his eyes, Ava asked, “Uncle, is Tommy Ordonez from Wuhan?”
“Not everyone we do business with is from Wuhan,” he said with a small smile. “He is from Qingdao.”
“And Ordonez is not his family name.”
“No, his real name is Chew Guang. He took the Filipino name after he started doing serious business in the islands. He is what they call a Chinoy, a Chinese using a Filipino name.”
Ava wasn’t surprised by the name change. All across Asia, in countries such as Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand, and the Philippines, economies were often controlled by resident Chinese. It created resentment among the indigenous populations, and in times of turbulence the Chinese were often targets of physical violence and looting. Changing their names was one way of trying to blend in, to disguise themselves from the xenophobes.
“Was he born in Qingdao?” Ava asked. She knew that Chinese people say they are from a particular city or province even if three generations removed.
“Yes, the eldest child in a family that includes two brothers and a sister. His father was an assistant brewmaster at the Tsing Tao brewery, and Chew apprenticed there when he was a young teenager. He was obviously smart and a very hard worker, because by the time he turned twenty-two he had been dispatched to the Philippines as an assistant brewmaster in his own right.”
“How long before he went out on his own?”
“About three years. He started at a small brewery with a brand he called Philippine Gold. The beer was not of the best quality but it was cheap, and cheap worked. Within five years Chew Guang had the number-one beer in the islands. It was around this time that he changed his name to Tommy Ordonez and began — with help from the local Chinese, most of whom also had Filipino names — to expand and diversify. Chang Wang joined him then.”
“And why did Chang keep his name?”
“He has no public visibility. He is the man behind the scenes, an operator, the key advisor, the one who helps Ordonez plot his business strategies and follow through on execution. He is a good man to have as a friend, and a monster when he is an enemy.”
“Apparently Ordonez’s brothers kept their family name as well.”
“There was no reason for them not to. They live in places where it does not matter. Philip, the one in Canada — the one who has the problems — is the youngest. The other one, David, lives in Hong Kong and is the point man for the Chinese market. He finds homes for their cheap booze and cigarettes.”
“From what I’ve read, the business isn’t just beer and cigarettes.”
“Not anymore. They own banks, trucking and cold storage operations, and the largest ocean freight business in the Philippines. But it is the beer and cigarettes that underpin it all. In China they have moved from exports to manufacturing, and that is where I helped — getting them the approvals to build cigarette factories and distilleries.”
“There is no home for those products in Canada.”
“Of course not. Canada, from what Chang told me, is a source of goods and raw materials that they can sell into Asian markets. They own two jade mines, a host of ginseng farms, and a quasi-legal abalone fishing operation, and they have bought thousands of acres of timber rights. They also own a trading operation that ships scrap metal, chicken feet, cheap cellphones, and a variety of chemicals to China. The Chews are not fussy about what they buy and sell.”
“But the problem they have involves real estate.”
“It does. They have been building up a real estate portfolio, mostly in and around Vancouver, where Philip lives. Mainly apartment buildings, shopping centres, that kind of thing.”
“It sounds like a very big business,” Ava said.
Uncle shrugged. “Ordonez is worth at least five billion U.S. dollars, but he and Chang still run the company as if it were a two-man show. They do not trust anyone other than themselves. Even Ordonez’s two brothers have limited authority, and now with their problems in Canada, that is not likely to change anytime soon. I asked Chang how they manage to keep on top of everything, and he laughed and said, ‘Fear.’ Ordonez is known inside the business as the Knife. Chang is the Sledgehammer.”
“Nice.”
“There is nothing nice about either of them,” Uncle said, closing his eyes. “But most businesses are not built by nice people. You need a combination of greed, drive, brains, and paranoia. Between them, Chang and Ordonez have those bases covered.”