Chapter 11
11
By the time Renee got up from her desk to head home, it was ten o’clock, her room an island of light in the darkness of the office. Her neck ached, her shoulders were stiff, and every time she thought of her exchange with her brother, she felt dirty and gross and ashamed.
So instead of thinking, she put plans in motion. By the next morning her lawyer had confirmed receipt of instructions to draft a formal letter to Jason, and she had a crisis PR consultant on board. The PR consultant set up a press search and a Google Alert, and would let her know as soon as any pictures were released.
Jason hadn’t responded to her text asking to speak, which was no surprise. It had been meant as an opening volley, a chance for Jason to do the decent thing. But he’d never taken any of the chances she’d given him during their relationship, so why would he start now?
What made no sense was why Jason had decided to sell Renee’s pictures to her brother. He was hardly hurting for money. And he’d dumped her, so it couldn’t be about revenge.
Su Khoon must have offered a huge sum, combined with some light blackmail by way of incentive—threats to leak gossip about Jason’s secret relationship with a Singaporean heiress, for example. Even something as unobjectionable as that would go down like a lead balloon with his audience, and there might be worse skeletons in Jason’s closet. She knew he’d been something of a party animal at college.
But all of this was speculation, and not about to make any difference to her position. Having done what she could to protect herself, Renee tried not to worry about it. She didn’t even know if Su Khoon had the images he claimed. She should have demanded proof, but she’d been so sickened all she could think of was getting him out of her space.
It was unlikely he’d been making empty threats. That would be too easy for her to discredit. But possibly he was more reluctant than he let on to pull the trigger on publishing the photos. It wasn’t like disseminating revenge porn of his sister would make him look good in Dad’s eyes—though that assumed she would be able to persuade their father Su Khoon was behind it.
The genius of the threat was its shittiness. Renee wouldn’t have believed her brother capable of it until he’d said it. She should have recorded the conversation. She ought to know by now that no matter how low her expectations of her family were, they would find some way to disappoint her.
At least the biggest splash any photos were likely to make was in Singapore. Renee didn’t have a public profile anywhere else—certainly no one in the UK would be interested. She was trying to build Virtu up in its other markets, though, and having nudes in public circulation wouldn’t help there, given Asian standards for female virtue. But that was what the crisis PR consultant was for—to help her bury the pictures, to the extent she could.
Of course, if it was known Jason Tsai was involved, it would be a much bigger deal. But that was why Renee wasn’t worried about Su Khoon getting any video footage out of Jason. There was only one video, so far as she knew, and Jason was identifiable in it.
She was very ready for the weekend when it came. She felt too fragile about the whole affair to want to tell Nathalie about it—not that Renee could talk about something like this in Ket Siong’s presence, anyway. But hanging out with Nathalie always made her feel better, no matter what else was going on in her life.
It would be good to see Ket Siong, too. The prospect made her chest feel bubbly, as though she’d swallowed a bottle of sparkling water.
Possibly Nathalie had a point about her having a crush.
“Well, maybe that’s what I want,” Renee said defiantly to her reflection in the mirror, while she was putting her face on. “A nice crush on a nice guy. It’s not going anywhere, it’s not doing anything, except distracting me from all the shit I don’t want to think about.” She set her eyeliner pencil down on the dressing table with slightly more force than necessary. “Perfect, if you ask me.”
Her possible tiny inconsequential crush did mean that Renee spent so long getting ready that she was too late to take public transport to the National Gallery and had to jump in a cab. She was wearing a deep brown velvet dress, belted at the waist, and pointy-toed gold slippers, each topped with a row of black satin bows.
She checked herself again in her compact while the cab set off. She looked fresh and natural. Not at all like she was trying too hard, even if the casual tumble of her hair had taken half an hour to achieve.
Nathalie agreed. “Those shoes are too cute,” she said, hugging Renee.
Ket Siong made no comment on Renee’s outfit, only looked at her. It was hard to read his expression. He turned away just as Renee was starting to blush.
“Shall we go in?” he said.
Renee could feel Nathalie’s eyes boring into her.
“Sure. How much do I owe you for the ticket?” she said to Ket Siong, as they were waved through into the gallery.
Ket Siong shook his head, which Renee had been prepared for.
“I’ll get lunch, then,” she said, before remembering they hadn’t talked about going for a meal. “You want to come for lunch after? Nathalie and I are going for Japanese. The restaurant’s a bit fusion-y, but good.”
Ket Siong hesitated. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“You wouldn’t be intruding. Seriously, come. I think Nathalie booked for three anyway.” Renee knew this for a fact, because she had insisted, over Nathalie’s protests.
“How are we going to do a debrief if Ket’s right there?” Nathalie had said.
“We won’t need a debrief,” said Renee patiently. “Because it’s not a date.”
Nathalie had grumbled, but done as she said.
Renee was vindicated; it didn’t feel like a date. She wasn’t getting to talk to Ket Siong much. The exhibition was popular and the gallery was bustling with people.
But it was nice—looking at art and gossiping discreetly with Nathalie about the other museumgoers. Renee felt herself relaxing, her shoulders coming down from around her ears.
It sucked about her brother and Jason, but they didn’t matter. She had friends, people she could trust and be herself with.
In time, she cast up before a painting of a man and a woman, executed with extraordinary tenderness and delicacy. Renee had been drawn to the picture for the richness of their dress—the colours leapt off the canvas—but she lingered, struck by the couple’s expressions. The man had a hand on the woman’s bodice; her hand rested lightly on his, her rings gleaming.
She’d lost track of the others in the crowd, but Ket Siong joined her now. Renee didn’t speak straight away. Ket Siong liked having time to process things.
“It’s the hands I love,” she said, after a while. “They’re so beautiful.”
But when she glanced away from the painting, Ket Siong was gazing at her.
There was that look in his eyes again—the same look as when Renee had first showed up. Except she was beginning to suspect the meaning of his expression wasn’t that hard to decipher.
Flustered, she ducked her head.
“I wonder where Nathalie’s got to,” she said. Her voice sounded hurried and artificial. She turned to scan the crowd, and looked right in the face of international pop idol Jason Tsai.
Jason was wearing a baseball cap, sunglasses, and a face mask, but she’d seen him in this getup enough times that it only made him more recognisable. She did not recognise the younger woman hanging off his arm.
He hadn’t spotted Renee yet. She had the advantage. And Renee wouldn’t have got where she was today if she’d ever wasted an advantage.
She marched over to Jason, grabbed his free arm, and said pleasantly:
“We can talk, or I can make a scene. I’ve got a friend standing by with her phone and you know I’ve got a Weibo account. You decide, Jason.”
Jason managed to suppress his yelp, but the girl didn’t. Nathalie magically emerged from the crowd, took in the scene in a glance, and—bless her—whipped out her phone. It looked like she was recording.
Renee said dramatically, raising her voice and taking care to enunciate, “You were cheating on me all along?” She added in Mandarin, for good measure, “I trusted you!”
“I’ll talk! I’ll talk,” said Jason. “Just, not here.” He looked at his horrified companion. “Cherry, babe, give me a moment, OK? I can explain everything, I promise.”
Renee was already turning away.
“Come on,” she said.
On a Saturday morning there was not, in fact, anywhere in the National Gallery quiet enough for the kind of conversation Renee was planning to have with Jason.
Renee’s mistake was turning her back on Jason as she con firmed this. She heard Nathalie shout, “Hey!” And then Jason shot past them, legging it for the exit.
His girl’s expression as she watched her date leave her in the dust was a picture. It would have been funny if Renee wasn’t so busy kicking herself. Stupid, stupid —
“Jason!” she shouted.
Jason didn’t look back. They were on level two, a grand flight of stairs away from the ground floor entrance. He was heading down the stairs when Ket Siong barrelled past Renee, slid down the railing, and flung himself on Jason, knocking him off his feet.
Jason went down with a screech. The two men rolled down the stairs, catching up on a landing, Jason swearing all the way.
By the time Renee got to them, Ket Siong had Jason’s arms pinned and a knee on Jason’s back, holding him down.
“Oh my God, are you OK?” said Renee.
People were hurrying past them, giving them alarmed glances. Nathalie tripped down the stairs with her phone held aloft.
“Perfect!” she said brightly. “I think I caught all of that.” She smiled at a disapproving middle-aged white couple passing by. “We’re making a film. Amazing what you can do with phones nowadays.”
“No, I am not OK!” said Jason, his voice strained. “Who the hell is this guy? Get him off me!”
He bucked. Ket Siong shoved him down again.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” said Renee. She looked at Ket Siong.
Ket Siong’s hair was mussed and he was breathing fast, but he was otherwise remarkably composed for someone who’d just pulled a move out of a Jackie Chan film. “I’m fine.”
“You won’t be when I sue you for assault!” snarled Jason.
Renee didn’t see what Ket Siong did, but Jason squeaked and shut up. She bent down to look him in the face.
“Let’s try this again,” she said. “You’ve got a few options here. You could have a sensible conversation with me. Or I could post that video we just took, with me accusing you of cheating on me. Or—here’s an even better idea—I could ring the police and report you for distributing revenge porn. That would probably go viral, don’t you think?”
A number of different expressions chased themselves across Jason’s face in rapid succession.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said sulkily. “If you’re going to physically assault me, fine, I’ll do whatever you want. It’s not like I’ve got a choice. But get your bodyguard off me. He’s hurting my back.”
They took Jason outside, to the terrace by the grand portico entrance to the museum, overlooking Trafalgar Square.
The square was busy with tourists, as always, clambering over the lions around Nelson’s Column and taking selfies in front of the fountains and the giant crochet dodo currently occupying the fourth plinth. There was a group of climate change protestors in one corner of the square, chanting slogans and handing out flyers. On the terrace, a busker with a guitar sang throaty renditions of songs from the early noughties. It wasn’t exactly private, but one could be reasonably confident of not being overheard.
Renee made sure Jason had his back to the stone balustrade lining the terrace. If he tried to break free again, he’d have to get past her—and Ket Siong, who was hovering just out of hearing distance, positioned to intercept any attempt at escape.
His expression was inscrutable. Renee had no idea what he was thinking, but she couldn’t afford to care about that right now.
Nathalie was standing farther along the terrace, chatting affably with Jason’s date. The girl looked worried, but she would have needed to be several years older and possessed of significant strength of mind in order to disentangle herself from a Nathalie determined to hang onto her.
Jason opened his mouth, but Renee got in first.
“You’re a disgusting piece of shit,” she said. “I didn’t think dumping me the day after you arrived was the nicest thing you’ve ever done. But selling my pictures to my brother? That’s low, Jason.”
Jason’s forehead wrinkled. “Selling… you mean photos of us have been leaked?”
It wasn’t convincing. He’d never been a good actor.
“Photos of me, you mean,” said Renee. “Did my brother say he wouldn’t tell me? I told you about my family. You should’ve known it was a bad idea to trust him.”
“Look,” said Jason, “I don’t know what your brother’s told you, but I haven’t sold any pictures to anyone. I’m the last person in the world who’d want a scandal.
“That’s the only reason I ran,” he added. “I’m not here for drama.”
He leaned back, looking pleased with himself, as if he thought she might actually buy that explanation of his behaviour.
Well. Renee hadn’t dated him for his brains.
She was struggling to remember why, exactly, she had dated him—or agreed when he’d asked for nudes. But it had seemed a natural enough thing to do in a long-distance relationship. She’d even been flattered. She knew how many girls there were out there who would fall over themselves to send Jason anything he wanted.
“That’s what makes it so stupid on your part,” said Renee. “It’s not like you needed the money. And I have images of you, too. With audio, remember? That was your idea.
“Nobody cares about me outside of Singapore. Hell, even in Singapore, who’s Renee Goh? Some rich guy’s daughter who sells clothes. But a sex tape of Jason Tsai?” Renee crossed her arms. “That’s going to draw some interest.”
Jason blanched. “You wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t have, before my brother started threatening to publish the photos you gave him,” said Renee. “What have I got to lose? The public might as well know who those photos were for.”
“I didn’t know he was going to—I would never have agreed if he wasn’t your brother, Renee,” said Jason. “You’ve got to believe me.”
Renee felt a thrill of grim satisfaction, not unlike the exhilaration of nailing a deal, or having a breakthrough on a knotty point of design—the kind of inspiration that brought a piece or collection together. That this particular thrill was tainted by feeling like she was wading through mud was to be expected. This was what dealing with her family was like. She would have to get used to it, if she was going to take on Chahaya.
“I thought it was about protecting you,” said Jason. “Your brother said he was worried. He’d heard rumours, someone told him I’ve got a bad reputation. Total bullshit, obviously, but that’s what families do, right? They worry. I had no idea he was going to—he told you he’s going to publish them?”
“So he did threaten you,” said Renee. “I figured he must have gotten dirt on you.”
Jason was at least smart enough not to confirm this, or to attempt a denial that would be as good as confirmation.
“I haven’t sent him the images yet,” he said. “Part of me must have sensed he was shady.”
Renee stiffened, the back of her neck prickling. A chill ran down her spine. “He doesn’t have the photos? Are you telling the truth? You’re going to suffer if you lie to me now, Jason. I’m not kidding.”
Jason’s eyes skidded away from her. It took Renee a moment to clock that he was looking behind her.
At Ket Siong. Who was glaring at Jason, as much as to say, I will murder you if you make a single wrong move.
It wasn’t a face Renee had seen on Ket Siong before. Combined with the way he’d bulked up in the past decade, it was startlingly effective. She’d always been drawn to his gentleness, but seeing this side of him made him even more attractive. She turned back to Jason, unsettled.
“Where did you find that guy?” said Jason in a hushed voice. “You’ve never had security before.”
“I asked you a question,” said Renee.
Jason tore his gaze away from Ket Siong. “I, uh, I’m not lying. I agreed to think about it, but I haven’t done anything yet. It’s not like I wanted to do it,” he added, aggrieved. “It’s not who I am. You should know that, Renee.”
Renee stared at him. Incredibly, he seemed serious.
“I don’t know who you are,” she said. “I don’t know anything about you. I would have said you would never do anything like this.”
Jason coloured.
“If it’s not who you are,” said Renee, “why even do it? If you’d thought about it for one second, it must have been obvious the risk wasn’t worth it.”
Jason muttered, “I need the money.” At her disbelieving look, he added, “It’s true. You know my parents manage my money.”
“I thought you had a good relationship with them.”
“I do,” said Jason, injured. “A great relationship. But I’ve had some expenses recently. They’re not a big deal. We could afford it, wouldn’t even make a dent. But Mom wouldn’t understand…”
“What was it? Gambling, hookers, drugs?” said Renee.
All of the above, probably. Renee had bought into Jason’s clean-shaven image, duped along with his fans. She’d been so charmed by the fact he was a mama’s boy, spoke to his parents every day, shared—Renee thought—everything with them.
“You know what, I don’t want to know,” she said, stuffing down her feelings about having been made a fool of at least three times over. She’d deal with them some other time. “How much does it come to?”
Jason hesitated. “Why do you want to know?”
He wasn’t that dense. This was him pushing for an explicit assurance about where this was going.
That, Renee was happy to give him. “I’m going to make you an offer. How much do you need?”
She winced inwardly when he named the amount. Jason’s overall estate might not notice money like that, but Renee would. She didn’t have much spare liquidity. Everything went into the business. Extracting the sum Jason wanted would set back her plans for Virtu by years. So much for her dreams of a London store.
But if she beat Su Khoon at his game—if she won Chahaya—that would no longer matter. She’d be able to raise all the capital she needed for Virtu, then.
“I don’t have that much money,” she said. “But I can give you—” She named a figure that was around sixty percent of the sum.
Jason frowned. “Your brother…”
“Wouldn’t have offered more than that, because he’s not an idiot,” said Renee. Su Khoon wasn’t wholly in control of his own money, either—especially, she imagined, after his cryptocurrency losses. Dad would be keeping an eye on him. There was only so far he would’ve been able to go.
She had a flash of insight. “That’s why you haven’t sent him the photos yet. You’ve been trying to get more money out of him.”
Jason’s expression confirmed this. Renee moved on before he could start up with denials.
“I have something extra to sweeten the deal,” she said. “Give me the images, delete any copies you have, and I’ll delete my copies of our video. Your face is perfectly clear in it, if you don’t remember.”
This time it was Jason who winced. But he said, “If I accept your offer, that still leaves me in the red. Don’t get me wrong, Renee, I want to help—”
“And I want to help you,” said Renee. “It shouldn’t be too hard to cover the remainder. Tell your parents you paid for a fan’s cancer treatment or something. But I can’t go any higher. Even giving you that much is going to hurt Virtu.”
Jason’s lip curled. “Of course, Virtu. That’s always been the most important thing to you.”
“Virtu has never fucked me over the way you were planning to,” said Renee sweetly. “Are you taking the offer or not? There are other ways I can raise capital. I’m not going to be struggling to find buyers for my material.”
Jason flushed a dark red. “If this is how you do business with everyone…”
Renee should have been less angry, more coaxing. Jason, like any man, had always responded better to being humoured than having his hand forced.
But she was running out of patience. There was a throbbing ache behind her temples. She hadn’t had breakfast that morning, which was normal for her, but proved a bad idea today: she was feeling light-headed and wobbly.
“This is not how I do business ,” said Renee. “This is me doing my best to deal with a shit situation, brought on by you and my fucking brother and my stupid belief that I could trust my boyfriend. I’ve made you the best offer I can. If you want to reject it, go ahead. But you should remember, Jason. I don’t only have that video. I have your mother’s phone number.”
She wasn’t proud of that last line. If she’d had the foresight to eat some granola and yoghurt that morning, maybe she wouldn’t have said it. But it sealed the deal.
“Fine,” said Jason, his lips white with fury. “I accept.”