Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
I brush down my ridiculous suit, pretending not to feel Shang’s curious gaze boring a hole into my forehead. Within moments, Shang’s family spills into the conference room. I stand at the doorway, my mouth pressed into a thin smile, and remind myself to give each of them a firm handshake as they stream inside.
“Welcome,” I say, and I notice how Shang’s uncles and aunts and cousins barely spare me a glance. Even as they shake my hand, their eyes roam over my shoulder, probably searching the room for Zhou. I tell myself to stand taller.
Shang’s family is an intimidating bunch. There are three uncles, four aunties, and—apart from Shang—four cousins present, and most of them are dressed in a style I can only describe as “old money.” There is nothing overly ostentatious, and yet there is very clear luxury in their outfits, their hairstyles, and even the women’s makeup.
One of the uncles says, “And where is Mr. Hua?”
Here goes nothing. Praying that my voice comes out even, I say, “It’s Ms. Hua, actually.”
Conversations pause. Eyes turn to lock on me. I can practically hear breaths stopping mid-inhale. I wrestle my mouth into a smile. “Hello, welcome to Facai Capital. I’m so glad to finally meet you after all the correspondence that Shang and I have exchanged over email. I’m Hua Zhou, one of the partners of this firm.”
The silence stretches on for a painful few seconds before someone says, “We’re happy to be here.”
The one who spoke is a middle-aged woman with a kind smile. I find myself returning the smile before realizing it. “Thank you, Ms.…?”
“Ah, you can call me Auntie Jiayi. I am Shang’s mother, also a shareholder in the firm.”
“Auntie Jiayi,” I say obediently. “Very nice to meet you. Please, take a seat,” I add to everyone.
“Have a latte,” Shang says to his family. “I made them.”
He makes a point of not looking in my direction. It takes all my willpower not to dig a hole right then and there and disappear into it. How could I possibly have mistaken him for an intern? He couldn’t possibly be less intern-y. Focus. Let all that stuff about Shang go. You can’t afford to lose sight of the real purpose of this meeting.
Right.
I must remember that I’m in control here. These people are here because they’re hoping to sell their company to me.
Somehow, though my legs feel like jelly, I manage to walk back to the head of the table without tripping. I lower myself into the seat. I fold my hands and place them on the table. Is that something a managing partner would do? I consider unfolding them, but choose to leave them as they are. I open my mouth, ready to launch into my greetings, but someone says, “There must’ve been a mistake. Can we possibly speak to the man in charge of this firm?”
The speaker is a man who looks like he’s in his late twenties. He wears a navy blue suit, with his hair slicked back and a huge gold Rolex gleaming on his left wrist. The older man sitting to his left, presumably his father based on the similarities in their faces, boasts an even larger Rolex on his wrist.
I smile inwardly. I’ve been feeling uncertain of how to behave the way Baba would at an acquisitions meeting, but casual workplace sexism? Ah, this I know how to handle. I’ve been facing it as far back as high school, when my fellow female friends and I often found ourselves vastly outnumbered by boys in our STEM classes. And there is nothing as hateful as nerd boys who find themselves being bested in calculus by their female counterparts. I can almost hear the click as the mask falls into place. I am not Mulan right now. I am Zhou, managing partner of this company. Old-school finance bro.
When I speak, my voice comes out loud, clear, and calm. “And you are?”
“James Li,” the man says. He gestures to the older man wearing the Rolex. “And this is my dad, Hong.”
“James, Mr. Hong, nice to meet you,” I say in the same tone of voice, which is calm and yet firm. “The person in charge of this place is me, and I look forward to us working together very closely.” Without giving them a chance to protest, I continue, “And now shall we commence?” Baba has countless tactics to steer business conversations in the direction he wants, and he does it so seamlessly that most people don’t realize that they are being steered.
Mushu snaps her fingers at Gerald, and he rushes about, handing everyone a booklet we’ve prepared for this very meeting. Meanwhile, Mushu herself turns on the large TV behind my seat and it switches on to our presentation.
I know that the presentation is flawless: When I was working up the corporate ladder as an associate, one of the many tasks I was in charge of was creating sophisticated presentations for shareholders, complete with financial models and analyses of the ventures we were looking at acquiring. I’ve assisted Baba in numerous meetings to raise funds for new acquisitions, and I know exactly what people want to hear and can anticipate the questions they might have.
But what I haven’t experienced in a long time is the hostility I am now sensing from the majority of the Li family. As I take them through my analysis and forecast, the waves of hostility coming from these people are so palpable that I can almost smell them, like a heavy stench that everyone is pretending not to notice.
What the hell is their problem? Sure, they may be taken aback by the fact that “Zhou” has turned out to be a young woman, but at the end of the day, business is business. Could these people be so sexist that they can’t see what’s right in front of them: that by offering to buy them out, I am, in fact, saving their failing company?
Still, I soldier on, presenting slide after slide to show them why Facai Capital is the right home for Wutai Gold. I look each of them in the eye as I talk, and I am surprised to find that the only people who aren’t openly glaring at me are Shang and Auntie Jiayi, so I end up directing most of the presentation at them. Well, I wouldn’t describe the way Shang is looking at me as friendly , exactly, but at least he looks like he’s paying genuine attention to the presentation. When I finish, Mushu claps enthusiastically. Gerald follows suit.
“Woo-hoo, awesome job, Boss!” Mushu says. Then, sensing the frigid atmosphere in the room, she quickly stops clapping and nudges Gerald, who stuffs his hands in his pockets like he just got caught doing something bad.
“Thank you,” Shang says. His voice is clipped, neutral.
I drag my gaze from his handsome granite face.
“That was the best presentation I have ever seen,” Auntie Jiayi says warmly.
Hong snorts. “Oh? And how many presentations of financial analysis and projections have you sat through, Jiayi?”
Pink blooms on Jiayi’s cheeks and she lowers her head, her lips pursed.
“My mother’s read more on the theory of finance than you could ever know, Uncle Hong,” Shang says.
“Reading Rich Dad Poor Dad hardly counts as learning the theory of finance. No offense, Auntie Jiayi,” James says. What a prick .
A muscle pulses visibly on the side of Shang’s jaw as he leans forward, about to say something, but his mother places a hand on his arm, and I catch sight of the invisible connection between mother and son. Shang sits back in his seat, taking a breath before transferring his attention to me.
“My mom’s right, that was an impressive presentation, thank you,” he says, and though he said it a bit stiffly, there’s also grudging admiration on his face.
A warm glow spreads across my body, relaxing my muscles. I’ve done it. I managed to carry the presentation through.
“But we can’t possibly sell the company to you,” James says.
“Why not?” I say, my face remaining impassive. It’s the only way I’ve learned to deal with misogyny in the finance industry. Keep calm and come across as innocuous, and ask them to explain until they inevitably out themselves.
James laughs, and it’s not a nice laugh, more of a snigger. “Well, obviously you don’t know what our brand stands for.”
“Well, I did do a lot of research into the history of Wutai Gold before approaching Shang for a potential investment opportunity, but perhaps you can tell me what the brand stands for.”
James looks at me with an incredulous expression, as though he can’t believe how slow I’m being. “It’s a whiskey company.”
I nod, giving him an expectant smile. “Yes, I am aware of that.”
“And we’ve been known as the drink of choice of the man’s man.”
“Ah, yes, of course.”
“And when our consumers find out that we’ve sold the company to a woman…” James shrugs and raises his hands. “I’m sure you can see why that would be a problem.”
There it is. Sooner or later, people give themselves away. I reach deep down inside me, locate another mask, and give James the sweetest expression I can. “Hmm, no, I’m still not seeing the problem. But what I do see is the value our company can add to yours, a company that I’m sorry to point out has a shrinking profit margin every quarter. By my projections, you will be in the red by quarter three of next year.”
James’s expression goes from smug to angry. “What? You can’t say that.”
God, if only I could tell him, You need to attend more of these meetings, because people have said much worse than that. Instead, I turn to Shang and say, “Do you disagree with my projections?”
“I don’t disagree, no,” Shang says. “It’s a fair assessment.”
“This is preposterous,” his uncle Hong says. “We came here expecting to meet with a man who was interested in buying our company because he saw value in it, not someone who comes in here telling us that our company isn’t doing well!”
“I apolo—” I say, stopping myself in time as I recall Mushu’s rules to being a finance bro. With some effort, I swallow the apology. “I did not mean to offend. But I’m hoping that the numbers make it clear what we bring to the—”
Another uncle talks over me: “You are much too young to be Zhou, my dear girl.”
“Uncle Jing—” Shang says, but Uncle Jing ignores him and continues speaking. “Shang says you grew up on a farm in China!”
Uh-oh. Here we go. As long as we’re discussing numbers, I’m in my territory, but now I’m about to venture into a subject I know next to nothing about. I channel my inner Baba once more. “Yes, I did. I moved here when I was a teenager.”
They all look at me dubiously. Uncle Hong brandishes his phone and says, “Aha, over here, you say: ‘Back home in Yunnan, my family has a large farm that sounds very much like your family’s ranch here. We owned all sorts of animals and grew most of our crops. My fondest memories are of chopping wood and herding cattle. I could ride a horse before I learned how to walk, and the pigs and goats were my friends growing up. One day soon, I hope to visit your family ranch. Perhaps we could even have a bit of a race on horseback’?”
It’s a struggle to keep my expression even. “Yes,” I say finally, “I do miss the simple life.” This makes me want to laugh. Baba does, in fact, often say that he misses the simple life , though I’ve never thought to ask him exactly what kind of life he’s referring to.
“You say you herd cattle back in China,” Uncle Hong says.
“Um, yes, indeed, that is one of the many things I had to do back home in China.”
“You talk quite a bit about butchering the new year pig with the other villagers,” Uncle Jing says.
Ew. What? The thought of my gentle, bespectacled father butchering a whole pig is a disturbing one. “Y-yes, that is something we do every year, yup.”
“Butchering the new year pig is always done by men of the village,” Uncle Hong says, “while women are busy cleaning and preparing the meats.”
Silence clings to the air for barely a second before my instincts kick in. I raise my chin and smile. “You’re right, of course. But my family has always raised me to defy traditional gender roles and expectations, which is why I’m sitting here before you, as one of the youngest, most accomplished managing partners of this firm.” The uncertainty and wobbliness leave me and I charge forward. “I had to work twice as hard to prove myself back home in my village and I’ve had to do the same here in the finance industry, and I can prove to you that once we acquire your company, we will be working night and day to make sure it turns into the massive success story it deserves to be.”
“It’s already a massive success story,” James says.
I level a calculated, polite smile at him. “Well, I would love to go over the numbers with you to show just how much you are missing out on and what we can achieve together.”
“Ah!” one of the aunties exclaims. “I sense romance! I don’t see a wedding ring.…”
The blood drains from my face. No way I heard the auntie correctly. Surely this cannot be happening at a business meeting, for god’s sake? “Uh—”
“How old are you, Zhou?” the auntie says.
“Um, twenty-eight?” Belatedly, I wonder why my answer came out as a question.
“Wah, good age gap. James here is thirty years old. He is a rooster, which means you are dragon, very good pairing.”
“Oh, uh…” What the hell am I supposed to say to that? I don’t even dare look at James. Never mind my cheeks, my entire face feels singed with embarrassment.
“Tsk,” one of the other aunties says, “what rubbish. She will make better match with Ryan, he is a rat, they complement each other perfectly.”
A young man, probably the Ryan in question, tilts his head back and groans, “Not again, Ma.”
“Ryan did not even go to Ivy League,” James’s mother says. “I think Zhou can do better than that, can’t you, Zhou? My James here went to Brown.”
Ryan’s mother’s chest swells to about twice its original size, but before I can make what would no doubt be a caustic retort, Uncle Jing says, “Jamie, don’t interrupt meeting with your womanly gossip.”
I’m burning with even more embarrassment at having witnessed Uncle Jing publicly chastise his wife in such a horrible, sexist way. But the auntie, probably used to him being brusque toward her, doesn’t seem to mind. With a shrug, she says, “We will talk more later about making a good match for you.”
“She does have impressive credentials,” one of the cousins says, and they all follow his gaze to the TV screen, which is now showing a large photo of me.
Next to the photo is my bio, detailing my graduating with honors from Princeton, and highlighting the biggest acquisitions I’ve spearheaded since joining Facai Capital, each one over a hundred million dollars’ worth of investments. I steal a glance at Mushu, who winks in return. Good old Mushu. I can always count on her to come through for me, no matter how ridiculous the situation. Growing up, the two of us were always as thick as thieves. Neither of us has any siblings, so we became sisters to each other in a way, and when I went to Princeton, Mushu chose to go to Rutgers, which meant we spent many a weekend in New York City painting the town red. I focus now on the strength that being near Mushu lends me. I can do this, I can carry this meeting through.
“Very impressive résumé,” Auntie Jiayi says.
“Yes, you make very good daughter-in-law,” Auntie Jamie says.
“Um, thanks,” I say, “but let’s circle back to the numbers. Ah, yes, here we are. This is your company’s financials sheet, which includes your historical and capital structure. As you can see, there are things we can do to cut down costs—”
“No cost cutting,” Uncle Hong says immediately.
Shang clears his throat. “Ah, what my uncle meant is we are hesitant to take cost-cutting measures because we don’t want the quality of our product to suffer. Wutai Gold is a smaller whiskey company compared to what’s out there, and what we have over our competitors is a reputation for quality.”
“I completely agree,” I say. “What I was about to say is that there are things we can do to cut down costs, but my proposed strategy is to focus on expanding the market.”
“That’s ridiculous,” James says. “How do you expand a market? This isn’t some fairy tale where you can just magically conjure up more customers.”
“How about you let her finish talking?” Shang says.
“I’m glad you asked,” I say to James the Asshat. “There are a few ways of expanding the market. One way is expanding the distribution, looking at foreign markets…China, for example, has an ever-increasing whiskey fan base, and the market is nowhere near as saturated as the US or UK. Another potential market is Southeast Asia, especially Indonesia. It’s the—”
“Soon-to-be fourth-largest market in the world,” Shang says at the same time that I say the same exact words.
There is a pause as we both stare at each other. Ugh, why does he have to be so gorgeous? Those dark brown eyes of his look as deep and rich as chocolate, and when he speaks once more, I’m momentarily distracted by the shape of his lips and how utterly kissable they look. Shang says, with grudging admiration, “Good to know you keep up with the global market.”
Is that a compliment or is that condescension? I can’t quite tell.
“Going worldwide?” James says, his eyes so wide they look like they’re about to pop right out. “That’s—”
“That’s what we’ve always talked about doing, but never ventured into,” Shang says.
“Because we’re already bleeding money!” James snaps.
“Well, Facai Capital is well connected in the import/export sector. Many of our partners are exporters of fine goods, so we would of course be cutting the most favorable export deals for the companies we invest in.” God, I hope that sounded as reassuring as it did in my head.
The Li family turn to one another and burst into an animated argument about the pros and cons of going global. I study them as they debate. This is, so far, one of the most perplexing meetings I’ve ever attended. Usually, by the time a company gets to the stage where they’re meeting face-to-face with me and Baba, it’s because they’ve come to an agreement that selling would be the best decision for them. But now, the only thing that’s clear is that the stakeholders of Wutai Gold are massively divided on their stance. James obviously is very much against selling, though I have a feeling James doesn’t quite understand the business as much as he’d like us to think. Uncle Hong, James’s father, and a few of the other uncles and aunts seem to be on James’s side. The other three cousins, Ryan, Thomas, and Christopher, seem undecided, and the only one who seems to actually be open to the idea of selling is Shang.
Furthermore, in every board of directors, there has to be a clear leader. From Baba’s emails, I would’ve guessed that the leader here would be Shang, but now that I’m meeting everyone in person, it becomes a lot less obvious who’s in charge. I instinctively sense that Shang is perhaps the one who has been the most hands-on with the business, the person who knows the actual ins and outs of it. But the others, like James and Uncle Hong, seem to have a lot to say about the company, which makes it nearly impossible for me to deduce who I should be directing my questions or suggestions to.
This is why I hate family-run businesses. And it also begs the question: If Baba had been able to attend this meeting himself, would he end it still as keen on going forward as he was before the meeting?
After a few minutes, sensing that the argument is now going around in circles, I call out, “Exporting the goods is just one of many ways of increasing the market. It’s an option we can explore down the road. But there are also things we can do within the domestic market.” Shang meets my eye, his expression unreadable, and I try to ignore the way my insides twist at his look. “I have noticed that currently, your market is very, very limited. It’s niche, so to speak. Your audience comprises solely older men in the fifty-five to seventy-five age bracket.”
“The real men,” Uncle Hong grunts.
“Sure,” I say, “but this market is, unfortunately, rapidly shrinking.”
“They’re dying,” Mushu says dryly. Heads swivel to stare at her, and she shrugs and says, “What? I’m just saying. They old.”
“Um, Mushu is right,” I say. “Not that they’re all dying, of course, but, ah, they are aging, and as people age, they don’t drink as robustly as they used to, so. This is the main reason why your sales numbers are falling.”
“And how are you going to solve that?” James says.
“Well, here at Facai Capital, we have a wide range of companies that we’re invested in. Many of them are marketing and publicity specialists, they have an extensive social media outreach—”
“Social media!” huffs Uncle Hong.
I falter. “Ah, yes…Facebook, YouTube…”
“Hah!” Uncle Jing snorts.
“What am I missing?” I say.
Shang clears his throat. “Our family is very traditional. G-one—that’s my uncles’ generation—thinks we should only stick to conventional advertising. Magazines, billboards, and so on.”
For a second, all I can do is stare blankly at him. “May I ask why?”
“Our brand is high-end, limited-edition whiskey,” Uncle Hong says with obvious pride. “We don’t pander to masses by hawking our product on social media.” The words social media are said with as much venom as I’ve ever heard anyone say them. The other uncles and aunts nod in agreement.
I’m starting to understand why their sales numbers, so full of potential in the early years of the company, have started to fall. I understand now why everything else in their company has stagnated. I also know exactly what this company needs to revitalize it. But what I can’t see, frustratingly, is a way of getting my ideas across without causing them offense. Because it feels right now like I’ve found myself in a minefield, and I’m completely unprepared for it because, again, all the companies I’ve had these sorts of meetings with before have been eager to sell, whereas for some strange reason I need to woo these people.
Then, as I try to decipher what my next step should be, James says, “I don’t think selling to you is the right move for us.”
My chest constricts. A tide of pure shock washes over me. Not since my well-meaning parents enrolled me in soccer have I felt this outmatched. No. I can’t lose this now, not when my father is lying in the hospital, clinging to the hope that I will carry this through for us, for our company, for our legacy. I watch with increasing despair as Uncle Hong nods and straightens, ready to leave the room, and the words rush out of my mouth without consulting my brain.
“I understand completely what your company stands for. Wutai Gold is the gentleman’s whiskey, and there is no other like it in the market,” I hear myself saying. “We don’t want to dilute the brand. We’ll prove to the audience that Wutai Gold is just as masculine as ever. That what is stands for is strength and…” My mind scrambles for the right word. What would Baba do? You are not Mulan right now, you are Zhou. Think like Zhou! “Audacity.”
Everyone stares at me, unblinking.
“Audacity?” James says, one eyebrow cocked like he’s about to say something disparaging.
“It means boldness,” I say, at the same time as Shang. Once again, there is a momentary pause as we lock eyes. Is it me or is there a hint of color in his cheeks? Stop reading my mind , I want to snap at him.
“I know what it means,” James grumbles.
“I like it,” Shang says, breaking eye contact with me. “It’s catchy.”
“Yes, but no offense,” James says in a tone that is clearly meant to offend, “you’re just not the kind of person we had in mind to run our family company.”
Shang leans forward, opening his mouth, but his mother places a hand on his arm.
“You mean a woman?” I say, making sure I seem completely unfazed by this. Despite myself, despite knowing that I am above this, that I’ve spent years dealing with chauvinists exactly like James, a sourness churns in my gut. Baba has spent decades of his life toiling away, building this company from the ground up, and it was painfully clear that he is passionate about acquiring Wutai Gold. And though his reasons might be a mystery to me, I’ll be damned before I let him down. “Don’t worry, I will prove to you that I can be just as manly as you are.”
James scoffs, and then his smirk disappears when he sees the seriousness of my expression. “And how exactly will you prove that?”
“My résumé should be en—” But even as I say this, I can see the smug look of victory spreading across James’s face.
Then Shang says, smoothly, without looking up, “How about we invite her to the ranch? We shouldn’t make any decisions before Zhou can actually come to the distillery and assess it for herself.”
Everyone stares at him, and he finally lifts his gaze to meet mine. He raises an eyebrow. “You did tell me you’re a better rancher than I.”
I did? I want to squeak. Baba, what have you done?
“That’s a great idea. A ranch isn’t a place for everyone,” Mushu says. “Especially not weak-willed, city-bred women.”
Welp. I’m not weak-willed—anyone who knows me well knows that—but I am very definitely city-bred. “Mushu,” I try to whisper without attracting anyone else’s attention, but it’s no use. Mushu has found her stride, and when that happens, there’s no stopping her.
“All right, it’s settled! We will come with you to your ranch, where Zhou will show that she is no sniveling, high-maintenance city girl, but a man’s man who is ready to grab the world in a chokehold and make it give your company the success it deserves,” Mushu crows.
Oh god. What Mushu just said is so sexist I don’t even know where to begin. But somehow, it’s working. The Li family looks astounded at first, but now over half of them are nodding along. What is happening?
James snorts again, but before he can say a word, Uncle Hong says, “Fine. We are supposed to go in a day’s time for our annual family trip anyway, so you can come with us then.”
I gape at him until my senses slam back into place and I snap my mouth shut. I did not really just get the green light for a visit to the Li family ranch and distillery, did I? I manage to eke out a “Great, thank you for the opportunity, I’m very much looking forward to it.”
Am I really looking forward to it? Heck no. Still, it feels like the sort of thing one might say at a time like this. As everyone shakes hands and files out of the conference room, I lock eyes with Mushu, who grins and winks back. What has my well-meaning cousin roped me into?