“We have a joint enterprise with D’Argent in Xinjian.”
“Man, I’d love to sell some of our wines over in China.”
Lee seems amused. “But your father is advocating more tariffs on Chinese imports. That’s not the best way to encourage China to welcome American goods.”
“That’s just to correct the trade imbalance. It’s not fair that we buy more from China than you do from us.”
“What’s capitalism without a free economy? We’re just giving the American consumer what they want. And if you’re able to produce more of what the Chinese want, they’ll happily buy from you.”
“Tariffs can actually backfire and do the opposite of increasing exports to China,” I parrot what my economics instructor, Mr. Parker, once said. “If other countries produce the same thing, China may start to buy from them. Once they get in the habit of doing so, they may not come back.”
Everyone stares at me. From the look on Sierra’s face, I must have bugs crawling out of my head. Eric looks dumbfounded. And Tony Lee...again, I can’t quite tell what he’s thinking. The guy should become a professional poker player.
“What, you go to business school or something?” Eric asks. From the derision in his tone, I gather it’s a rhetorical question.
“We just started the topic of international trade in my economics class,” I reply. I suppose it is absurd for me to offer up anything in the company of men who know a helluva lot more about business and the economy than me.
“That’s quaint.” Eric looks to Tony. “My dad believes in the tough love approach. He’s not going to be a wuss like our opponent.”
“What is this?” Sierra asks as she pokes at the second appetizer, seared scallop on a bed of risotto, which I think is some kind of rice, and drizzled with pesto.
“You never had scallops before?”
She scrunches her face and pushes the plate away. “I’m not a fan of seafood. But I’ll take another shot of tequila.”
I’ve never had scallops before but give it a try.
O.M.G.
I never knew a piece of meat could be so buttery. It’s actually more amazing than lobster to me. Or maybe it’s cause I’ve never had lobster prepared like this. And the rice thing beneath the scallop is so rich and creamy, making the dish otherworldly.
In my gastric euphoria, I must look like a fool because Lee is staring at me.
“It’s really good,” I explain and quickly busy myself with my plate. I wish he’d stop staring at me like that.
The main course is something I’m more familiar with—filet mignon. Not that I’ve had a lot of filet mignon in my life, but my adoptive father, Maurice—or “Mo”—was a pretty mean griller. I’d actually take his ribs, smothered in his homemade rub, over just about anything.
I drink some of the red wine that’s paired with the steak. I’m guessing it’s a really good wine, but I can’t tell the difference and it’s a little too peppery for my taste.
Since the topic of trade had turned a little too political for comfort, the talk turned to safer topics like travel.
“That resort your family developed in Con Dao is pretty sweet,” Eric remarks. He looks startled, then smiles over at Sierra. I suspect she’s playing footsies under the table.
“Different part of the family. My father’s cousin.”
“Would that be the father of Benjamin Lee?”
“Yes.”
“How close are you to the mafia Lees?”
Wine in hand, Tony sits back in his chair. “What are you talking about?”
Eric’s arm subtlety moves up and down, like he’s stroking a pet dog beneath the table. He leans in toward Tony.
“My father’s oppo team did some investigating. Got to make sure we know who we’re dealing with in business.”
“What is an ‘oppo team’?”