The Crazy Rich Asians Trilogy

* * *

* Mandarin for “Oh my God!”

5

PULAU CLUB

SINGAPORE

Michael was huddled in his office preparing for a big presentation with his head venture partner and his chief technology adviser when his phone buzzed with a text message from Astrid:

WIFEY: Mum called—she’s having a meltdown about the magazine article.

MT: Big shocker.

WIFEY: My dad’s requested that you meet him at Pulau club at 10:30 a.m.

MT: Sorry, I’ll be in a meeting then.

WIFEY: You’re going to have to face him sooner or later.

MT: I know, but I’m busy right now. Some of us HAVE TO WORK FOR A LIVING.

WIFEY: I’m just passing along the message.

MT: Tell him I have a very important meeting with the Monetary Authority of Singapore this AM. My assistant will call his assistant to set up another time to meet.

WIFEY: Okay. Good luck at your meeting.

Several minutes later, Michael’s executive assistant, Krystal, buzzed on the intercom. “Michael, ah? I just receive call from your father-in-law’s seck-ree-teh-ry Miss Chua. He wants you to meet him at Pulau Club in half an hour.”

Michael rolled his eyes in frustration. “I already know about this, Krystal. It’s been dealt with. Now, no more interruptions, please. We only have an hour left before our big pitch.”

He turned back to his partners. “Sorry, guys. Now, where were we? Yes, we can reinforce that our new finance-data app is a quarter of a second faster than Bloomberg’s terminals—”

The intercom buzzed again. “Michael—I know you said not to kachiao*1 you, but—”

“So why the hell did you?” Michael raised his voice angrily.

“I just got an-nah-der call…the meeting with gahmen*2 people postpone, lah.”

“The Monetary Authority meeting?” Michael tried to clarify.

“Yah lah.”

“Until what time?”

“Postpone, postpone, lor! They never say.”

“What the fuck?”

“And your father-in-law’s office call again with an-nah-der message. Miss Chua said to read it aloud to you. Wait, ah! I get message. Okay, here it is: Please meet Mr. Leong at Pulau Club at 10:30 a.m. No more excuses.”

“Kan ni nah!” Michael swore, kicking his desk.

• • •

Anyone standing at the third hole of the Island Course at Pulau Club—quaintly referred to as the “old course”—would feel as if they were transported back to an earlier time. Carved out of natural virgin jungle in 1930, the undulating green hills gave way to tropical groves of casuarinas and tembusus on one side and the oasis-like Peirce Reservoir on the other. Not a hint of the densely packed skyscrapers that were modern Singapore could be seen from this vantage point. Harry Leong, dressed in his usual golfing outfit of short-sleeved white cotton shirt, khaki pants, and a faded blue Royal Air Force cap*3 to protect his thinning silvery hair, was watching his golf buddy adjust a swing when his son-in-law came storming up the fairway.