As we walked to the building, the bright July sunlight shone through the translucent reservoir on the tower’s top, throwing water highlights at the building and the landscaped lawn around it.
“Pretty,” Arabella said.
Cornelius had gone back to the office. It was just me, Leon, and Arabella. I checked my phone for the twentieth time. Still nothing from Alessandro.
“We agreed,” I said. “Let me do the talking.”
“I said okay.” My sister rolled her eyes.
“Remember the Magellan case?”
Leon grinned.
“How many times are you going to keep bringing that up?” Arabella growled. “Just the questions as I wrote them and we won’t have a problem. Promise.”
“I’m just saying. You also said okay then, and it ended with you on the conference table holding the CEO by his throat.”
“I’m not going to hold Stephen by his throat. He’s too pretty for that.”
I would regret this, I just knew it.
An Asian woman met us at the door. She was in her forties, impeccably dressed in white, with a conservative haircut, dark lipstick, and spare silver jewelry. She smiled at us. “Prime Baylor, welcome. Mr. Jiang is expecting you. This way, please.”
She led us through a lobby that had more in common with a luxury hotel than a corporate headquarters. A massive fountain cascaded from the wall over a waterfall of mossy rocks. Everything was either white or blue, the lines ergonomic, the floor and walls pristine, and the employees of House Jiang glided through this ultramodern environment as if they were swimming.
“This is what the inside of a drowned iPhone would look like,” Leon murmured as we waited by a glass elevator.
I stepped on his foot and checked my phone again. Nothing.
So far everything about this building supported the conclusions my sister drew from the background check of Stephen Jiang. The Jiang family was conservative, conscious of their image, and dedicated to expanding their business. They did not feud. They bought their opponents and absorbed their companies. She could find no record of them ever being a combat House. They had no active lawsuits, bankruptcies, or criminal records, except for Henry, Stephen’s younger brother, who got a DUI in college for smoking pot in a parked car with the keys in the ignition. He was the black sheep of the family, currently away in Beijing studying computer science of all things.
Stephen’s office was on the second floor. Our guide led us through a wide hallway past a white desk shaped like an upside-down flower petal. The two women at the desk rose as she passed. Ahead of us the white wall split with a whisper, sliding out and back. Beyond it lay a luxurious space, too large to call an office. The white floor gleamed. On our right was a lounge area with white couches arranged in a circle around a crystal table facing the tinted floor-to-ceiling window. On our left stood a translucent blue desk shaped like a cresting ocean wave with three chairs in front of it. Behind the desk the entire wall was glass and beyond it was water.
The reservoir didn’t just top the building. It ran straight down through, with the structure encircling this water core.
Stephen Jiang stood pondering the water, his back to us. His black suit fit him like a glove.
The older woman bowed to the back of his head, smiled at us, and withdrew. The doors slid shut behind her, their seal so tight, it looked like a solid wall.
Stephen turned. He really was a shockingly handsome man. His gaze slid over me, to Leon, and then to Arabella. My sister pretended to be disinterested, as if this were an errand we had to check off before moving on to more important matters.
“Welcome,” Stephen said. “I have a meeting in half an hour, so we’ll have to keep the small talk to a minimum. Please ask your questions.”
He motioned us to the chairs in front of the desk and sat down. I took out my tablet with the list of Arabella’s questions.
“Some of these are routine for our background check. Please answer to the best of your ability.”
Stephen nodded and made a proceed gesture with his right hand.
“Is your name Stephen Jiang?”
“Yes.”
“Are you also known as JiÄng Chéng Fèng?”
He blinked. “Yes.”
“Is your father Marcus Jiang also known as JiÄng Yuán Zé?”
“Yes.”
“Is your mother Ann Jiang also known as ZhÄng Pèi FÄng?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have two siblings?”
“Yes.”
“Is your brother named Henry Jiang, also known as JiÄng Chéng Rùi?”
“Yes.”
“Is your sister named Alison, also known as JiÄng Chéng XÄ«n?”
“What is the point of this?”
“Please answer the questions. The faster we get through this, the sooner we will leave.”
“Yes.”
“Did you graduate summa cum laude from Harvard Business School at twenty?”
“Yes.”
“Are you a Prime aquakinetic?”
“Yes.”
“Are you twenty-four years old?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been working for the family since you were fifteen years old?”
“Yes.”
“Did you assume your first executive post at eighteen?”
“Yes.”
“Is your family originally from Suzhou?”
“Yes.”
“Did they once live by the Yangtze River?”
“Yes.”
“Did they used to trade in textiles?”
“Yes.”
His answers were monotone now. Stephen had surrendered to his fate. Just a little more.
“Did they do business in Shanghai?”
“Yes.”
“Did they move to Hong Kong as the result of a cultural revolution?”
“Yes.”
“Did they emigrate to the United States in 1947?”
“Yes.”
“Does Han Min die of poison in episode sixty-three?”
“Yes. Wait, no, she doesn’t die. Why would she die, she is the main character? I heal her with a Heavenly Celestial Pill . . .”
Stephen’s brain finally realized what was coming out of his mouth. He froze.
“Ha!” Arabella exclaimed.
I looked at her. She clamped her mouth shut.
Stephen reached for the intercom and pushed a button. “Cancel the Redford meeting. Hold all my calls.” He let go and stared at me. “How?”
“We watch the show.”
“Here, in Texas?”
“It’s available on the Viki streaming app,” I told him.
Stephen leaned back in his chair, his face betraying nothing. “Is it popular?”
“Very,” I said.
He locked his teeth. He probably wanted to swear and punch something, but we were right there.
“Are you here to blackmail me with this?”
“I am here to solve the murder of Felix Morton. I would appreciate your honesty.”
He gave me a sharp look. “And if I don’t answer, will my acting stunt be smeared all over the Herald?”
“Not by us.” I matched his stare. “I’m asking you about this because it doesn’t fit with the rest of your biography. It’s a mystery and I don’t like mysteries.”
He thought about it. “This doesn’t leave the room.”
“Agreed.”
“How much do you know about my brother?”
“Henry, JiÄng Chéng Rùi, twenty-one years old, studying computer science in Beijing, has a fondness for pot.”
Stephen grimaced. “I wish he was in Beijing studying computer science. My brother was approached by a studio when he was eighteen. He is Chen Rui.”
“Chen Rui, the actor?” I turned and looked at Arabella.
Chen Rui played Han Min’s love interest. She had to have known he was Henry. She would have looked at Henry’s picture and compared it with Chen Rui.
Arabella gave me a bright unrepentant smile. “Number 43 on the Top 100 Most Influential Celebrities in China list.”
Stephen sighed. “Yes.”
“Why are you hiding this?” I asked.
Stephen leaned back. “We don’t have enough time for me to explain it to you. Let’s just say that there are cultural and familial reasons for which my parents would greatly prefer that Henry was either at Beijing University or back here, helping to steer House Jiang’s corporate interests.”
“So how did you end up acting in the same drama?”
“My brother refuses to come home. Two years ago, my parents sent me over there with instructions to bring him home for a visit at any cost. He said he would come home for the Lunar New Year if I took a small role in the drama with him. He wanted me to understand his choices. So, I did it, it’s done, and I have no interest in continuing with it.”
“Did Henry come home?” I asked.
“Yes. And then he left again.”
Arabella raised her hand. “Question. Did you do any of the martial arts in the drama or was it CGI and wires?”
Stephen spared her a look that was part patience and part condescension. “I’m a Chinese American, so of course I spend all my free time in a secret monastery learning kung fu and practicing spiritual cultivation. Because one day a demon king shall descend onto Houston and only my Ninth Level Thunder Fist Punch will stand in his way.”