34. Your Plans, Postgraduation
YOUR PLANS, POSTGRADUATION
BEFORE
“You’re sure you don’t want me to go with you?”
I smile at Lucas, knowing how he feels about my father. “I don’t even want to go.”
“Which is why I’m offering to go with you.” He squeezes my hand and it’s tempting, of course it’s tempting, but Lucas has so much going on right now.
We all do.
Brody has been grinding out LSAT practice, making proper use of the personalized platform I built him. He jokes that instead of filling out so many applications, he and I ought to go into business together, sell LSAT prep.
I’m juggling research, two preprints, tutoring, and prepping for my summer internship.
But Lucas is (as usual) the busiest of the three of us.
After turning down Eluva, he’s spent half a year balancing full-time development alongside classes and seemingly endless investor pitching.
Besides my piddling contribution and Lucas’s savings, Brody also committed to investing an obscene-for-a-twenty-year-old amount, and Lucas got verbal angel-level funding agreements from two well-known investors.
He has three meetings lined up this week, because word is out and Lucas is the hot property of the moment.
Am I really going to distract him from what might be the most important few days of his life because I want my emotional support boyfriend there?
“I’m not a toddler who needs my blankie. I’ve got this.”
I finger my grandmother’s jade necklace, trying to stave off the feeling of dread I can’t quite displace.
Because it is . . . unusual for my father to request a meeting.
We haven’t seen each other since Brody’s birthday run-in, and he’s only called twice during that time.
There have been more (earned) bonuses and a couple of sporadic messages, but this is the first time he’s requested a meeting since before the split.
“Last chance,” Lucas tells me, handing me another origami star he’s folded. The origami-ness has been on overdrive these past few days, a telltale sign that the stress is getting to him.
“Final decision.” I take the star and drop a light kiss on his lips. “Back before you know it.”
An hour later, in front of the overly ornate entrance of the Langham Huntington, Pasadena’s only five-star hotel, I find myself second-guessing every major and minor decision.
It had seemed smart to walk. It’s only a mile and a half from campus, but wearing my reserved-for-interviews slacks and shirt and business casual shoes means I’m uncomfortable and sweating by the time I arrive, having had over half an hour to catastrophize and stew in what-ifs.
No one stops me as I head toward the elevator to the $5,000-a-night super-necessary two-floor penthouse suite.
I knock on the intricately carved wooden door while my mind spirals.
Amber lets me in. She’s been my father’s primary assistant for a year now. Like several of her predecessors, she’s dressed and stylized in a way that makes it difficult for me to tell: Is Amber just the assistant? Or is she also the girlfriend? Assistant with benefits?
She certainly treats me like there’s a power differential she’s in control of. She makes a production out of checking her watch, even though I’m technically one minute early.
“He’s so looking forward to seeing you.” She looks Chinese but has a British accent, so that’s fun. I can’t think of two languages better suited for deliberate condescension.
She steps forward as if she’s about to hug me, and I take an automatic step back.
“Lorelai’s never been particularly affectionate,” my dad says from the other room.
He’s wearing Moncler chino shorts, a Prada polo, Chanel socks, and Louis Vuitton moccasins.
Even though there was a time when I might have helped him pick out these pieces, all I see now is the dishwasher I could have replaced, Aurora’s laptop, the dance lessons I could have arranged for Wren and Harper.
The closer I’ve come to graduation, a potential job offer, the ability to support my family myself . . . the more I’ve allowed myself to admit just how much I resent this man. The simmering anger is an almost tangible thing, often unwelcome and increasingly unavoidable.
I steel myself and take a deep breath, knowing he’s about to gesture for me to come closer, to kiss his cheek.
“I’ll prepare the tea,” Amber announces, leaving just as I edge closer to my father, trying not to breathe in his cardamom-scented cologne. The one I’ve forgotten the brand name of, but which I helped him pick years ago, when he insisted that every gentleman needed his own signature scent.
“It’s time to finalize your plans, postgraduation.”
Never mind that we haven’t spoken of specific plans since he lived with us, back when I was still in middle school.
“Neither Jane nor Amanda was able to produce a son.”
I bite my tongue to keep from asking whether this means I have another new half sister or if his swimmers are finally waning.
“Some of our recent ventures have also underdelivered.” He pauses, as if expecting me to add insight, but the truth is I no longer follow news about my father’s company.
I did when I was younger, but my father thrives on drama, not only in his private life but also in his investments.
He’s a thrill-seeker, believing the largest rewards are correlated with men (yes, men) willing to take the boldest risks.
He was worth tens of millions, but he wanted to be worth a hundred million.
He was worth a hundred million, but only billionaire status would do.
He was never satisfied, was always after the next high.
When he first left, I kept up with the news, waiting for him to have a dramatic change of heart. And there were certainly times, especially during the first part of high school when employment options had been limited and my mother’s tears endless, that I thought about groveling.
But in the past year or so, I’ve realized . . . I don’t need him.
If my internship goes well enough, if I stack up on classes just right, I can graduate in three years. Even with a less-than-Eluva-level offer I’ll be able to pay for rent and my sisters’ extracurriculars. Braces for Harper and Wren, if necessary, won’t feel financially apocalyptic.
Though my father’s clearly disappointed with my ongoing silence, his only outward tell is that he shifts back instead of forward, splaying his legs farther as I pick a seat across from him.
“It won’t be announced until the end of the month, but we’re merging with Huang Enterprises.”
This, I know enough to comment on. “Didn’t you and Huang Lu have a falling out?” My memories here are hazy, but I remember dinners with the Huangs, vacationing together once.
“Uncle Huang,” my father corrects, a nice shorthand that tells me how far the reunion has progressed. “That was years ago. We’ve both conquered a lot of territory since.”
My father’s basically a real estate developer who got lucky before pivoting to tech and investment, but this is how he prefers to present himself: the fearless general.
“It’s time for you to do your part, for the family.”
I take a deep breath to calm myself. I remind myself that I need not only the cushion from my summer internship but also another entire year of tuition and rent from this man.
“What would you like me to do?”
“The Chinese media has been unkind about my recent ventures. If I’m not careful, they’ll spin our planned merger as a takeover.”
I don’t bother asking why my father cares. He never tells me the whole story. For all I know, this is a takeover he’s trying to spin as a merger. Also: interesting that in the same conversation it’s gone from a merger that’s definitive to one that’s merely planned.
“Tatum is a senior at Stanford. He qualified for the Olympics last year.”
It takes me a moment to connect the dots. Tatum Huang, the young boy I’d met at dinners, Huang Lu’s oldest son.
“Tatum’s already begun taking a more active role in his father’s company. This summer, you’ll turn down the Quantum Omega internship and take a formal position in mine.”
“I’ve already signed—”
My father holds out one imperious hand. “Tatum graduates next year. Lu and I have decided to announce your engagement first, to distract and soften the reporting around the eventual merger.”
I laugh. It’s neither attractive nor remotely ladylike. It feels ludicrous that despite the years my father has spent traveling and investing all over the world, he still thinks like a medieval emperor.
I also feel relieved. I knew he’d ask for something difficult, just this side of unreasonable, that I’d have to think through whether I’d really turn down my already-signed offer to toady up to my father for a summer.
But this? There is simply no way.
“No.” My father’s eyebrows rise and so I continue, steadying my voice the way he taught me to, vaguely amazed that those years-ago lessons still hold up. “I’m not getting engaged to help the optics of your merger.”
I don’t say that there’s probably no way Tatum Huang, Stanford Olympic swimmer, is going to agree.
“Tatum’s already agreed,” my father reveals, eerily responding to my unspoken thoughts.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not agreeing.”
I don’t explain myself because I know better than to come up with specific points my father could then take down, one at a time. And for the first time all night, I’m relieved I didn’t allow Lucas to join me. No way would he have been able to stay calm during a conversation like this.
From the side entryway, as if she’s been waiting for her cue, Amber comes in with a tea set and a folder of papers.
My father steeples his fingers, maintaining eye contact while he reveals, “I know you think you’re in some kind of relationship.”
Because no reply is the safest reply, the one that gives away the least information, I pour myself tea.
In the back of my mind, I’m thinking through ways to delay the internship, to argue that I can juggle both all summer.
Anything to extend the timeline and allow myself the option of a return offer from Quantum Omega, the possibility of independence.
“Peinan, my dear, you simply haven’t thought this through.
” He opens the folder Amber handed him a moment ago and takes out the top two sheets.
I have to stretch to reach for it, and it doesn’t take long to identify the two deeds: the apartment complex my sisters and mother live in as well as the one Lucas’s family resides in.
“Your mother’s place—it’s barely worth my lawyer’s time, and I could see leaving it be, given the shoddier location.
In comparison, your boyfriend’s place? It’s certainly not my normal renovation, and a larger project, meaning I could be persuaded to put off tearing it down, if properly distracted and incentivized. ”
“Tearing it down,” I repeat.
“It’s not like it’s worth anything, beyond location.”
I swallow and run calculations. Evictions don’t happen right away. Lucas’s mother’s job is steady. The twins are rising seniors as of this summer. It might be tight, or mean a few months at a hotel while the twins finish high school, but—
“Did I ever tell you I’ve recently become friends with Tsai Ji Lai?”
I try not to react. I might even succeed, though it’s hard to care about little things like poker faces at this particular moment. Lai is one of the two angel investors Lucas has secured. Verbal agreement, nothing more.
“Ji Lai often comes to me for advice. In fact, I suggested your friend’s little venture, meaning I know two of the three people young Lucas is set to meet.
” My father takes another piece of paper from the folder that shows exactly how much Tsai Ji Lai has committed, a number I only know because I’ve heard it from Lucas.
“I don’t have to tell you what could happen to your young man’s prospects.”
I’m sipping my tea, but I’m not fooling anyone. The cup is steady as I bring it to my lips, but cold comfort, that.
My father’s smooth voice continues; he’s actually enjoying this. “Ji Lai dropping out could be done quietly, or not. Ji Lai making it known why he left—”
I lick my lips. “He’s already vetted—”
“Vetted. As in potential. Compared to a relationship that’s already netted millions? Don’t be naive.”
I close my eyes. No point in maintaining a facade. “You truly believe an engagement will generate this much interest—”
“The engagement is a formality.” My father leans forward finally.
He pauses because this is what he’s been building toward.
“I’ve invested in you and your education.
One way or another, I’ve paid for the clothes on your back and the accumulated knowledge in your brain.
Any skills you have were funded by me. It’s time, now, to return my investment. ”
He pauses again and the only sound in the room comes from the ticking of an antique grandfather clock, an anachronism within a room of air-conditioning, laptops, and Wi-Fi.
“After your marriage, you and Tatum will lead Zhao-Huang together.”