Chapter 29
AT THE SHATTERED New York City Office of Technology and Innovation, plywood covered the windows, but there were still shards of glass in the gutter and on the sidewalk. Yellow police caution tape crisscrossed the plywood.
Maggie Chin and I were across the street in the lobby of a bank that Maggie assured me was a serious, if not well-known, player in international finance.
I probably could’ve figured that out from the parade of nationalities walking past us as well as the luxury details: the marble columns lining the lobby, the great reproductions of Renoir and Van Gogh hanging on the walls, not to mention the sophisticated yet unobtrusive security system.
We were waiting for the manager, who’d been told we were here.
After confirming with Detective Nelson that she’d not yet seen the bank’s security footage, we decided to try our luck.
I took a moment to turn and look out the tall, narrow windows that stretched two and a half stories, which allowed sunlight to streak through the lobby in an interesting and calming way.
The windows also gave us a great view of the Office of Technology.
I heard the click-click of a woman’s high heels moving at a fast pace. I turned to see an Asian woman in her thirties marching toward us. She was dressed in a designer skirt and blouse, and was clearly assessing Maggie as she approached the two of us.
The woman held out her hand. “I’m Hua Tan, manager of this branch.
I was told the police needed to talk to me,” she said.
“I swear, I haven’t stabbed anyone in more than six months.
” She smiled as I shook her hand and added, “Please call me Sarah.” It was a leap to go from the name Hua Tan to Sarah, but the bank manager ignored my confused expression.
Maggie and I introduced ourselves and explained that we were only interested in collecting exterior security camera footage, as part of our effort to solve the bombing of the city office.
Sarah immediately agreed to help and led us to the interior of the bank, where a web of narrow hallways showed what the real working conditions were like.
Tiny single-person offices with no windows lined one of the hallways.
I could make out Japanese, Italian, and French as we followed the manager down the narrow hallway.
She brought us to a security office filled with computers and video screens, then turned to Maggie and said something in what was likely Mandarin.
Maggie sheepishly admitted she didn’t speak the language. “I only speak English and Spanish. I was raised in the US.”
Sarah said, “Me too. Roanoke, Virginia. But my parents and grandparents spoke Mandarin around the house.”
“My parents took the opposite approach. They insisted we only speak English.”
“I guess a lot of immigrant families feel that way. It’s not wrong or right. It depends on where you came from and if you felt any sort of discrimination.”
A middle-aged Asian man came into the room. Sarah explained to him who we were and what we wanted.
“Don’t they need a warrant or something?” the man asked as he sat down at one of the terminals.
Sarah’s voice had an edge to it as she said, “Don’t be an ass, Darren. They’re looking into the bombing that killed the young woman across the street. I’m not going to slow down their investigation.”
The man looked like he was used to being berated by the manager. She told him what video feeds to bring up and he worked the keyboard.
I eavesdropped shamelessly as Sarah chatted to Maggie about how her grandfather had escaped China following Chairman Mao’s rise to power. I listened with interest.
She said, “My grandfather saw too many of his family members die. Either from starvation during the Great Leap Forward or from outright persecution. His siblings were sent to a reeducation camp and he never saw them again. He went first to Vietnam, then Cambodia, and finally he found a job as an interpreter for the US Navy.”
Though Sarah didn’t go into a lot of detail, I was fascinated by the hardships her grandfather had endured.
I looked over to Maggie, who shrugged and said, “My father was teaching chemistry at the university. He saw what the government was doing to anyone who didn’t fall in line.
Thankfully he and my mom got out before Tiananmen Square.
They moved around a little bit but settled in New York City, where I was born. ”
“A chemistry professor?” Sarah asked. “Are they happy with your career choice? My parents were disappointed I didn’t go into medicine. They think what I do here is a little demeaning.”
Maggie laughed. “My parents are so proud of their adopted country that they were ecstatic when I told them I was going into the Army. Then to get a job with the ATF after my military service just thrilled them. They feel like they are personally contributing to the safety and security of the United States.”
I thought of my grandfather’s stories about leaving Ireland and moving to the United States.
His ride on a Lockheed Constellation from Shannon to New York might’ve happened earlier but didn’t sound nearly as harrowing as these families’ stories.
I decided I’d keep my family’s trek from the old country to myself.