“Her arm is broken. The subject bent it until it snapped.” Sloane reported the incident as objectively as she could, regarding Derek with a cool, impersonal stare. “Thankfully, she got out of the car before he could kill her. She’s heavily sedated right now. But after you get my father’s statement, I want to pick her up and bring her home, where she can be comfortable.”
“Shit,” Derek muttered under his breath.
“She saw her abductor,” Sloane continued, her gaze shifting back to Tony. “In addition, I’m convinced that my father saw the mobster who ordered their apartment break-in—and who killed Cai Wen. So after this meeting, I’d suggest you call in a sketch artist. That way, we can put names to faces. I have a strong feeling you’ll recognize these thugs.”
“Done,” Tony replied.
With that, Sloane gestured to her father, nodding for him to do what he had to.
He took her cue, producing the empty Rothberg file, the fortune cookie, and the ominous message that had been inside it.
“It’ll be fine now,” she reassured him quietly. “Tell them everything.”
Cindy Liu was an up-and-coming architect with enough talent to have graduated from Cornell University’s Coll
ege of Architecture, Art and Planning at the top of her class. She’d done the same again two years later, earning her master’s in architecture. From there, she’d been snapped up by Crawley & Foster, one of Manhattan’s most prestigious architectural firms. She’d worked there for three years, learning and absorbing every nuance of the business, and making enough contacts to assure herself some clients. Then, she’d followed her dream and gone out on her own.
Her powerful A Sook in Hong Kong, Johnny Liu, had funded her new business, no questions asked. He’d been her guardian angel all her life, and she adored him—not only because he was her uncle or because he’d orchestrated her move to America to ensure she had the best education and future, but also because the two of them had shared a special bond since her childhood.
Johnny Liu had been blessed with only one child before his wife died. Given that fact, along with his wealth, he had spoiled his daughter from the time she was small, and she’d grown up to be a wild, reckless teenager. Her life had ended tragically several years after Cindy—Jiao was her given name—had come to America.
Cindy’s own parents were very different from her A Sook, as were her siblings. They were traditional, content to stay within the confines of their village and their people. Her father, although Johnny Liu’s brother, had none of Johnny’s initiative, nor did he see any reason for Cindy, as a female, to reach beyond Loong Doo, much less to leave China to further her education and broaden her horizons.
Cindy saw life differently. She admired her A Sook, and often traveled with him from Hong Kong to Macao and back, watching him conduct business as he earned his fortune. She wanted the same for herself.
She’d been drawing since she could hold a crayon, and pencil sketching since not too many years after that. She always thought she’d be an artist, but her interests took a detour along the way, influenced by her structured, engineering-oriented mind and her photographic memory. So architecture seemed the perfect way to go, a marriage between her technical and creative sides.
Her true talents were in the design and creation of interior space, the very direction she pursued. Fortunately, in good times or bad, there were always a select few among New York’s affluent who were adding wings to their homes or redesigning their existing living space. Consequently, there was no shortage of work in New York City for architects as talented as she.
Cindy lived on the Upper West Side of Manhattan with her amah, Peggy Sun, a close family friend and paid companion who’d accompanied Cindy to the United States when Cindy was fifteen. That was when Johnny Liu had ensured his niece a place in an exclusive private high school, and her new life had begun.
Nearly fifteen years later, Peggy was still her faithful companion—more like an older sister than an amah, since Cindy was nearing thirty. The two women had a great deal in common. Peggy, like Cindy, was a gifted artist with a keen eye for detail. She could capture and replicate almost anything on canvas. And Cindy’s uncle had fostered those talents by funding Peggy’s enrollment in fine arts programs that enhanced her skills.
Cindy knew that her A Sook had invested in Peggy so that she could be a professional asset to Cindy. And she was grateful, especially now that she was striking out on her own. Peggy’s instincts for fine art rounded out Cindy’s structural and conceptual skills, and her knowledge of art history and stylistic nuances helped Cindy pick out just the right design elements for each client.
They made a great team. Between that and the business savvy Cindy had in common with her uncle, her fledgling business was off to a fine start.
Still, knowing her A Sook as well as she did, Cindy had always suspected that he had more specific reasons—a larger plan—for training Peggy so extensively.
The phone call she now received from him confirmed it.
Her heart was broken when he told her his medical prognosis. He wasn’t just ill, as he’d led her to believe. He was dying. But he wanted no tears shed. What he wanted was to get his life in order. He needed Cindy’s assistance, and Peggy’s as well. He needed their combined talents and expertise.
There was never a question of what their answer would be.
Up until now, Cindy had pushed many ethical boundaries, but she’d never crossed the line into criminal. It hadn’t been necessary. But the conversation with her A Sook changed all that. She’d do anything for him. Plus, the undertaking would be challenging, exciting, and—most of all—vindicating.
So she met with his New York representative, Xiao Long, who explained the details of the individual roles she and Peggy would play.
It was a brilliant plan. Risky, yes, but what was life without risk? Cindy had learned that at her A Sook’s knee. Big stakes meant big payoffs—if you had the guts. Well, Cindy had the guts and the motivation. So did Peggy, who was on board with no coercion necessary.
The requisite phone calls were made. And the ball was in Cindy’s court.
Her job was two-part—personal and professional. The combination would be tricky. She’d have to walk a very fine line.
It was critical that this first meeting went precisely as planned.
She spent extra time getting dressed and applying her makeup that morning. She chose a stylish black pantsuit—conservatively trendy, but fashioned by a less well known designer. Nothing that screamed money, like an Armani. She was portraying a budding professional, not the wealthy, spoiled niece of one of Hong Kong’s richest business tycoons. And she was portraying it to a man who knew money.