Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
E ver since I can remember, Baba and I have always had a special bond. When I was upset or scared or sick as a child, I would ask for Mama, wanting nothing more than to lie in her embrace and feel her soft hands stroking my hot forehead. And even now, I’m still very close to Ma, still see her as the source of comfort and love.
My connection with Baba, on the other hand, is something different. We are, at our cores, the same person—our sense of humor, the way we see the world and digest information, and the way we interact with other people are so similar that my mother often describes us as two parts of the same soul. She often says this with an exasperated smile when Baba and I are caught in cahoots yet again, like the time we both separately kept sneaking into the kitchen to steal slices of the crispy roast pork belly she was letting rest, until there were only two little pieces left before dinner.
Even our special bond, however, does not mean that Baba and I see eye to eye on everything. Unfortunately, Wutai Gold is one of the few things we do not see eye to eye on.
“What about the fact that their customer base is rapidly aging?” I say now. I realize dimly that I’m more than halfway through my first glass of whiskey and can feel the amber liquid burning a hole in my empty stomach. Breakfast was a bottle of green juice I’d grabbed out of the fridge before rushing out of the house, and that was over four hours ago. I need to stop sipping the whiskey; otherwise I’m going to be too tipsy for this conversation. With some effort, I place my glass down and will myself to focus on the tablet screen, on which I’ve pulled up a list of reasons not to buy out Wutai Gold.
“The product is of such high quality,” Baba replies, taking a deep inhale of his whiskey. A slow smile spreads across his face and he shakes his head. “Ah, what a scent.”
“Ba, focus,” I scold, but I can’t help meeting his smile. Baba has the best smile in the whole of the Bay Area. Once, when I was back visiting from college, he got a speeding ticket. After a friendly chat, the officer let him off with a warning and said, “That smile will get you out of trouble every time, sir!” People have told me that I have a similar smile, but mine is nowhere near as irresistible as his. He’s basically Asian Santa.
“Mulan, it’s like I always told you, quality shines through. This is true whiskey, lovingly crafted. It’s only a matter of getting the product out there. Once people find out about it, it’ll fly off the shelves.”
“Actually, it’s no longer about the product anymore. It’s about its presence on the market. It’s why junk food sells. The product isn’t good, everyone knows it isn’t good—heck, it’s even called junk, for goodness’ sake. The most important thing is market presence. And Wutai Gold doesn’t have it, Ba.”
He looks at me, and I could swear he’s trying not to smile. His eyes are twinkling with obvious affection. “You’re right that marketing is very important, and so far, Wutai Gold hasn’t spent much on it at all. It’s part of my strategy to increase its worth. We’re going to do some restructuring. We also have special expertise when it comes to publicity and marketing, something Wutai Gold doesn’t have, so we’ll be adding definite value there.”
“Speaking of value, their company is way overvalued.”
“I thought you might have something to say about that.”
“Their numbers are stupidly optimistic and I have no idea what they’re basing them on, because their sales numbers have been falling steadily.”
“Yes,” he agrees, “they are on the more optimistic side. I believe they are basing the numbers off the company’s potential.”
I release a long, frustrated sigh. “Yes, the whiskey is delicious, I’ll give you that. But aside from that, I don’t see any potential here.” Am I being too harsh? I check myself, going over every word I’ve said. It’s a habit of mine, watching myself, monitoring, making sure I don’t put a foot wrong and disappoint my parents.
“Ah, that’s why I asked to have this conversation with you. You’re right. The quality of the whiskey alone isn’t enough to sell me on the company as a whole. The real reason why I believe so much in Wutai Gold is because of the people running it.”
I roll my eyes. It’s a childish move, I know, but argh , seriously! “Ba, the fact that it’s a family-run company is a con, not a pro.”
Baba merely raises an eyebrow and gives me a long, meaningful look.
I throw my hands up. “Yes, I know you hired me because I’m your daughter and—”
“Whoa,” Baba says, and for the first time, a flash of anger ignites in his eyes. “No, Mulan. Do you really think I hired you because you are my daughter?”
For a moment, neither of us speaks. I lick my lips. They feel dry all of a sudden. “Well, I mean…”
“Mulan, the fact that you are my daughter worked against you. I didn’t want people to think you got hired here because of that. And I knew you’d get better offers elsewhere.”
I open my mouth, but no words come out.
“I hired you despite the fact that you’re my daughter, not because of it. I hired you because you graduated top ten in your class. From Princeton, let’s not forget! I hired you because you are the brightest mind I’ve come across in the last few decades. I hired you because you work hard.” His expression softens, almost turning sad. “I know you are the first one in the office every morning and the last one out every night. When was the last time you went on a date?”
“Hey! I go on dates.”
He gives me a look. “When was the last time they actually turned into a relationship?”
“Is it my fault that men in finance have such fragile egos?” I shoot back.
He laughs. “We do, don’t we? I don’t like men in finance. I see the way your hard work and success make them feel threatened.”
I have no idea what to say. Baba sees all that?
“I see how much you give to this company, Mulan. I don’t want you to ever think that you were hired because you are family.”
There’s a massive lump in my throat that keeps me from speaking, so in the end, all I do is nod.
“Now, Mushu, on the other hand…” he says dryly.
I laugh through unshed tears. I take a deep breath and give myself a mental shake. I need to focus on the matter at hand. “Thanks, Ba. I know, the only family you’ve hired are Mushu and me. Everyone else we employ is unrelated to us. But Wutai Gold is a true family company. I mean, everyone from the board of directors to the sales associates is all family. It’s a mess.”
“So we’ll have to let some of them go, this is true. But I’ve been exchanging emails with the person running it and I believe in him. His vision, his passion…”
“Why emails?”
“There is beauty in writing long-form messages,” Baba says. “It’s an art that text messaging is slowly killing.”
“Okay, Ba. God, you are such a nerd.”
He brightens up, as though something has just hit him. “He reminds me of you, actually.”
“And that’s a good thing?” I tease.
“The best thing.”
“Oh, Ba.” I reach out and give his hand a squeeze. Then I frown. “Your hand’s really cold.”
“Don’t try to change the subject. I have set up a meeting with the Wutai Gold directors tomorrow and I’d like you to attend. Now, from what Shang has told me about his family, they don’t like dealing with women, but I’m hoping that once they meet with you, they’ll realize how silly they’ve been.”
“Of course.”
He holds up a finger. “There is a problem I haven’t mentioned.”
“Uh-oh. What is it?”
“Foreman and Byrde are also looking to acquire them.”
“Ba,” I groan. “Are you serious? Is this going to turn into an auction? You know we never go into auctions. We’re not big enough to compete with firms like Foreman and Byrde.”
“Don’t you think I know exactly our limitations?” he grumbles. “I’m hoping we can avoid an auction situation by getting ahead of the competition. We meet with them, we show them the value we bring to the table, we get along well with them on a personal level.…Surely they’ll see that we have much more to offer than Foreman and Byrde.”
“They’ll only outbid us, and that will be that. Waste of our time and energy. You always told me that time equals money. And why is Foreman and Byrde even trying to buy them out? Surely Wutai Gold is too small for them.” Even as I say this out loud, I know why. Richard Foreman’s college sweetheart, who happens to be my mom, dumped him for Baba. Mama and Baba ended up getting married right after college, something that Richard has never quite been able to forgive. Over the past decade or so, I’ve watched helplessly as Richard went out of his way to cut in on our buyouts, and now beating them has become not just a point of pride for Baba but a financial necessity as well.
“You know why,” Baba says with a shrug.
“I can’t believe your feud is all because he can’t get over Mom.”
“It’s romantic, isn’t it?” he says. “And your mom’s special. A once-in-a-lifetime kind of woman.”
“Oh, ew. Change of subject, please and thank you.”
“Well, something tells me that the people behind Wutai Gold aren’t just in it for the money,” Baba says.
I give him a flat look. “Ba, we’re literally in finance. Everything we do is for money. In fact, don’t let anyone hear you say it’s not just about the money; they’ll think you’re aging fast, old man.”
“Old man?” he laughs. “I’ll have you know I’m a young sprite. I can still touch my toes. Can you? When was the last time you exercised?”
“Like you said, I’m first in and last one out. When do you think I have time to exercise?”
“You need to have a better work-life balance. Look at me, look how limber I am.”
To my horror, my gray-haired father is climbing out of his seat and bending over to touch his toes. “Ba, people are looking.”
“Let them look! They’ll be inspired to do more stretches.”
“Okay, you’ve proven your point. You are basically a human rubber band, now will you please cut that out before you hurt yourself?”
“Hah, silly daughter, I— Oof! ” Whatever else he was about to say ends in a pained grunt. He tries to straighten up, but totters forward a couple of steps instead, still bent over. Before my brain can register what’s happening, Baba has collapsed onto the lush carpet.
It feels as though time has stopped moving. For a split second, I sit there, frozen, not quite understanding what’s just happened. My mind gibbers: Why is Baba lying on the floor? Then reality rushes back in, strong and fast as a roaring waterfall, and I leap up, my veins on fire. I practically pounce on him, turning him over so he’s on his back. He’s so pale, so incredibly, deathly pale. Shaking, I press a finger to the side of his neck. There’s still a pulse, although it feels so weak.
“Help,” I say. The word comes out weak at first, wobbly and unreal. I take a deep breath, then scream it out loud. “Help!”
Vaguely, I’m aware of people rushing into Baba’s office. Someone calls 911, and I register the caller’s voice loudly telling the phone operator our office address. Mushu is suddenly in front of me, crouched on the other side of Baba’s supine body. She rolls up her sleeves and begins administering CPR, and I think dazedly: Wow, Mushu knows CPR? Meanwhile, I’m useless, frozen at Baba’s side, clutching his hand. His cold, cold hand. I should’ve known something was wrong when I touched his hand earlier and found it cold. Isn’t it a sign that his heart isn’t functioning well enough to pump blood into his hands? Is it? Why am I thinking such stupid thoughts?
Then paramedics flood the office space. We are told to clear a space. I don’t react fast enough. Mushu has to pull me away, and when I feel Baba’s hand slipping out of mine, I cry out, “No, wait—” But my view is blocked by a paramedic, and I know there’s nothing I can do to help Baba but get out of the way of the professionals. I watch, leaning against Mushu for support, as the paramedics hook an oxygen mask onto Baba and cart him out of the office, and when they tell me I can join them in the ambulance, I almost weep with gratitude. He looks so small and helpless on the stretcher next to me. “Ba, it’s okay. It’ll be okay, I’ll close Wutai Gold for you, you can count on me, I promise.” Can he? The last thing I call out to Mushu before the doors close is “Call my mom!”