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  “So can I have your number?” Jake asked. “I did forfeit my boxers after all.”

  Kate laughed. Nice teeth, great smile, he thought.

  They exchanged numbers and Kate finished the conversation with, “You’d better call.”

  “I will,” Jake answered, doing a final check of his personal inventory—phone, keys, wallet. Preparing for his walk of shame, he took a quick peek into his wallet and cringed at the emptiness. “Where are we?”

  “What?”

  “What’s your address?”

  “1750 P Street. The Commodore.”

  It was a fifteen-block walk home, but he wasn’t about to ask for money for a cab. He gave Kate another kiss, this time on the mouth, bad breath and all.

  Kate shut the door and smiled. She liked him. He was charming. He was strong and serious, yet shy and sweet. He had potential.

  Her parents were going to hate him. ***

  The nausea came on like a locomotive. Wei Ling flung herself from her perch on the top bunk and landed on the thin carpet with a light thud. She doubled over, grabbed her stomach with both hands, and stomped her way to the community bathroom at the end of the hall. The tight confines of the sleeping quarters assured that Wei Ling’s departure didn’t go unnoticed by her three roommates. But it was five in the morning, sleep was at a premium, and the alarm wasn’t set to start screaming for another half an hour.

  Shi Shi Wong slept in the bunk under Wei Ling and the light aluminum frame of the two-story bed made every movement of either occupant a shared one. Through a half-closed eye, Shi Shi watched Wei Ling bend over and dart from the room. It wasn’t uncommon behavior. The food served by the sweatshop kitchen haunted all the ladies from time to time. Shi Shi tossed and turned for twenty minutes before slipping on her bright green flip-flops and going to check on her bunkmate.

  Wei Ling was curled in the fetal position, clutching her stomach on the floor in front of the toilet in the first stall. The remains of last night’s sesame noodles painted the floor between her body and the intended porcelain target. The longest strands of her hair mixed with the nastiness on the dirty tile floor. Shi Shi pulled her bunkmate up by the armpits and half-walked, half-dragged her friend to the shower stalls on the opposite end on the room. She fetched a wet hand towel and pressed the cool cloth to Wei Ling’s face and neck.

  The foreman in charge of the morning headcount came up two seamstresses short in workgroup B. He demanded an explanation, and when no one volunteered information, he started swinging. When he reached the third girl, he closed his hand and landed a full-speed punch to the side of her head, sending her ninety-pound frame flying off the wooden seat onto the floor. Chinese curses flowed from the foreman’s mouth and he ordered everyone to get to work before stomping off in the direction of the seamstresses’ quarters. Every girl knew what was next.

  Wei Ling was sweating profusely, and Shi Shi Wong was trying to coax her out of bed when the foreman stormed through the door.

  “It’s six-thirty, you lazy pieces of shit. Get your asses to work.”

  Shi Shi looked up and risked her face. “She’s sick. She needs to see a doctor.”

  The foreman looked at Wei Ling and back to Shi Shi. “You have five minutes to report to your work area,” he said without sympathy.

  On cue, Wei Ling sent a shower of vomit onto the foreman’s opened-toe sandals. The foreman’s need to cleanse himself overpowered his urge to use the girls as punching bags, and he limped to the shower to wash his foot. He yelled over his shoulder down the hall to Shi Shi. “Take her to the main building, have Chow Ying call the doctor, and get to work. You have four minutes.” ***

  The large room on the first floor of the administrative building served as Chang Industries’ doctor’s office, sickbay, and hospital. The four-bed room was well equipped. It had to be. Employees who were injured or too sick to work cost the company money. There was no time to be sick, not on Chang Industries’ dime.

  The doctor strolled in, black bag in hand, thirty minutes after he received the call on his boat. Wei Ling was on the bed in the far corner, half asleep. She had thrown up two more times after blasting the foreman’s foot and was feeling as bad as she looked.

  The doctor was American and competent. He had graduated from NYU before attending UCLA medical school. He was in his mid-forties, with sharp looks and a serious, but kind, bedside manner. He lived on Saipan as the physician for both Chang Industries and the local hospital. He could have worked anywhere, but after his first month on the island, he found himself unable to leave. The snorkeling, fishing, and sunsets were addictive. Living near the beach had spoiled him. He vowed never to return to the rush of a big city. He had spent twenty years of his life in downtown New York and LA. and had endured enough smog and congestion to last a lifetime.

  The doctor asked Wei Ling a few questions and Lee Chang needlessly translated them into English. Wei Ling answered honestly. He took her pulse and blood pressure, and felt the glands on her neck. He tapped her stomach and asked what she had eaten in the last twenty-four hours.

  “Are any of the other girls ill?” the doctor asked Lee Chang.

  Lee Chang looked at Chow Ying and re-asked the doctor’s question.

  “Not that I know of,” Chow Ying answered. “Everyone else reported to work on time.”

  Lee Chang and his new main henchman watched the doctor finish the cursory examination in silence.

  The doctor went to the huge storage room and unlocked the door. He turned on the light and dug through the shelves of medical equipment and medication. Wei Ling could hear the soft clanking of glass and the squeaking of the metal shelves. The doctor reappeared with a small box, sat down on the stool at the side of Wei Ling’s bed, and told her what to do.

  The initial pregnancy test read positive. A second test was administered and the results came up negative. The doctor drew blood and marked the small glass vial with Wei Ling’s name. He would take the blood to the hospital and settle the “pregnant, not-pregnant” confusion once and for all. His instincts told him the girl was pregnant. The blood test would confirm what Wei Ling already knew. She was as regular as clockwork and had missed her period by ten days and counting. There was nothing to do but pray for a miracle.

  The doctor told Wei Ling to get some sleep and ordered a day of rest. Lee Chang agreed to one day. She was expected back at work tomorrow.

  Lee Chang and Chow Ying finished wolfing down a lunch of stir-fried rice when the doctor called back with the official prognosis. Wei Ling was pregnant.

  Lee Chang went ballistic.

  Chang Industries’ seamstresses were kept on a tight leash. They were forbidden to fall in love, much less become pregnant. Trips off the company grounds were limited to groups of four, with a company-sponsored chaperone. But the workers were creative, a blind eye could be bought with the right favors, and once in a great while a seamstress showed up pregnant.

  Lee Chang would handle it as he always did. There would be a dock in pay and the seamstress would have an abortion whether she wanted one or not. The cost of the abortion would be added to the seamstress’s overall debt to the Chang family.

  Lee Chang and Chow Ying stormed into the infirmary. With a level of anger reserved for the most blatant company infractions, Lee Chang approached the side of the bed and violently shook Wei Ling from her light sleep.

  “Who is the father?”

  “What?” Wei Ling answered, still groggy.

  “Who is the father?”

  Wei Ling didn’t answer.

  Lee Chang slapped her on the face, his thumb catching the corner of her mouth, drawing blood. An immediate red impression of four fingers appeared on her otherwise unblemished skin.

  “You should know, you sent me,” Wei Ling said, breaking into tears.

  “Peter Winthrop? Is Mr. Winthrop the only man you have been with? If it’s one of the company guards, you had better tell me now. I’ll find out eventually anyway.”

  Wei Ling loo
ked up at Lee Chang’s face. A vein pulsed visible in his forehead. Her hatred for him was justified, and yet somehow she felt sorry for him. He was more than just cruel. He ruled with an iron fist because he wasn’t smart enough to rule with his head. He was a bastard, but he was also pathetic, hopelessly lost in a family of brilliant businessmen and politicians.

  “I didn’t sleep with Mr. Winthrop,” she said, tears of shame rolling down her face. “I slept with the other American.”

  “Senator Day?” Lee asked, looking first at Wei Ling and then at Chow Ying.

  The word “senator” caught Wei Ling by surprise. She looked at Lee Chang’s face, his anger now mixed with excitement.

  “I only knew his name was John.”

  Lee Chang’s heart beat faster. His throat became dry and he felt faint. He was delirious with possibilities. He may have been the low-man on the family totem pole, but he was cunning enough to see the opportunity lying in the bed in front of him.

  Lee Chang’s personality thawed, and Wei Ling heard him speak with compassion for the first time in her two years on the island. “It’s okay,” he said, touching the crying girl’s head. Wei Ling flinched and then pushed herself to the far side of the mattress.

  “Get some rest,” Lee Chang continued. “Everything will be fine.”

  Lee Chang stepped outside, pulled out a cigarette with shaking hands, and lit up. Chow Ying followed his boss through the door and pulled out his own almond-flavored brand of domestic Chinese smokes.

  The child of a U.S. Senator! Lee Chang couldn’t believe his luck. What an opportunity! To hell with blackmail for money. He had much bigger plans. The girl was his ticket off the island.

  Chapter 5

  Jake flipped the business card through his fingers with the skill of a street magician. He batted the pros and cons of what he was considering back and forth in his head like a tennis ball going over the net at Wimbledon. He shut his eyes and opened them a minute later, no wiser. He looked up and said a prayer both to God and his mother, asking for guidance. He waited another minute, still looking upward, but received no heavenly intervention. No parting clouds. No rays of light. He picked up his phone and called the number.

  No answer.

  He left a message on his father’s voicemail and hung up. The ball’s in your court, he thought. He didn’t expect a call back. He had stopped waiting by the phone when he was seven. “Expect nothing and you won’t be surprised when you receive nothing,” he had learned. Defense mechanisms come in many forms.

  The phone was still in Jake’s hand when it rang. For the first time in two decades, his father had returned his call. He looked up at the ceiling, and for a moment he thought he felt his mother’s presence. Miracles do happen.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  His father mustered up his friendliest greeting and before the conversation could stall, Jake laid his request on the table. “Say, any chance of getting a job at your company for the summer?”

  Peter Winthrop managed not to choke on the request. Without his normal, careful consideration, he answered. “Sure. How does tomorrow suit you?” ***

  The weekly Monday morning call was not a highlight for either Lee Chang or his father, the great C.F. Chang. Their conversation steered clear of friendly banter, family chitchat, and gossip, and when Lee did venture off topic, his father quickly brought him back to business. What was the weekly output of the facility per employee? What orders were next to be filled? How many units were shipped? Lee Chang had learned to answer the questions with precision. He knew the numbers of the business under his control. It was the one thing he absolutely had to know. He didn’t plan on being banished to Saipan forever. He once believed that knowing his corner of the family business was his best chance off the island. But no longer. Wei Ling and her not-so-immaculate conception were going to expedite his return to favorable-son status.

  C.F. Chang was the patriarch of the family and one of the most well-connected men in China. He prided himself on knowing everything that could affect his many businesses. He paid good money to smart people at home and abroad to keep him informed, and had no tolerance for surprises. With a billion dollars a year generated in manufacturing, defense, communications, and utilities, he couldn’t afford to be asleep behind the wheel. So between his own ambition, and that of those he hired, he never slept.

  The head of the family empire was not interested in listening to his son’s big announcement, and he grew impatient as Lee explained the visit from the U.S. Senator weeks ago. C.F. Chang already knew about the senator’s trip to the island, and he didn’t want to have the facts rehashed through his son’s warped perception. Confident his son couldn’t possibly tell him anything he wasn’t already aware of, C.F. Chang nearly missed the single biggest surprise of his adult life.

  Lee Chang held his breath as his father digested the news. A thousand miles away, C.F. Chang stared into the picture of his own father hanging on the far wall of his office in Beijing. Then he spoke. “Keep this quiet and keep that girl healthy.”

  Lee Chang smiled. For once, he and his father were on the same page. ***

  Jake took his turn going through the revolving door and walked across the lobby to the information desk. Peter Winthrop kept his one hundred fifty employees busy on the top two floors of International Plaza at the corner of Thirteenth and K streets. It was as nice an office as there was in Washington, sharing two blocks in either direction with a dozen of the most prestigious law firms in the country.

  The wood-paneled elevators with their brass fixtures opened on the fourteenth floor and Jake stepped into his father’s world for the first time. An attractive blonde sat at the reception desk, under a formidable “Winthrop Enterprises” sign. She smiled eagerly as Jake approached.

  “I’m Jake Patrick. I am here for my first day of work,” he said without pride or pretension.

  “Yes, Mr. Patrick. Your father is expecting you,” the blue-eyed babe answered with a level of professionalism foreign to Jake. Another blonde receptionist was summoned and the son of the president and CEO followed his new, and equally attractive, host down the wide hall. The office was immaculate. No cheap carpeting, no cramped cubicles. Every seat had a view and everything was in its place. It looked like a place where serious people did real work.

  Jake was handed off again, this time to an older receptionist who rose from her chair to greet Jake with yet another ear-to-ear smile. Dark blonde hair fell to her shoulders, a model’s face with green eyes rested on a toned body. Sure, she was older, but Jake had little doubt that she had been a hottie in her day.

  “Hi Jake, I’m Marilyn Ford, your father’s personal assistant.”

  “Nice to meet you, Marilyn.”

  “Your father had to step out of the office on urgent business. He should be back in the afternoon. Until then, I am here to help you get settled. Your office is this way.”

  “I don’t need an office. A desk would be fine.”

  “Well, I guess you are getting both—an office with a desk,” Marilyn answered without room for negotiation. “You’ll like it. It has a nice view of McPherson Square.”

  Marilyn opened the desk drawer and grabbed a key ring that would make any janitor weak-kneed with envy. A bell attached to the key chain rang with every move she made, as if the sound of the jingling keys alone wasn’t loud enough to wake the dead.

  “Quite a set of keys,” Jake said innocently.

  “Somebody has to keep duplicates around here,” Marilyn answered. “People lose them and I’m the key master.”

  Marilyn backtracked halfway through the office floor that Jake had just covered, took a left and headed toward an isolated corner. The description of the office she gave Jake as they walked didn’t do the room justice. Jake stood at the doorway and watched Marilyn switch on the lights and open the blinds. Sun burst into the room transforming an already brilliant office into a masterpiece.

  “Good God,” Jake said.

  “Does this mean you like it?�
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  “It’ll do,” he answered poker-faced. It was far nicer than anything he imagined. The wooden bookcases, handmade desk, and deep leather chairs were overkill for Jake’s ambition. He was looking for a part-time job, not an extended stay in the oval office.

  “I thought you might find it acceptable,” Marilyn answered.

  “Are you sure this is okay? There must be a few people in the company eyeing this office.”

  “Of course there are. But until you leave, they are going to continue eyeing it from a distance.”

  Marilyn reached for the desk and picked up a piece of neatly typed paper. “Here are some phone numbers for you. The security desk on the first floor, the main reception desk, and some contact names in our legal, finance, and international departments. Numbers change around here from time to time, so you may get an updated list a couple of times a year. Feel free to move around, meet people, and ask questions. I also have your new email address, user ID, and password. The head of our IT team got here early this morning just for you. I will take you around to formally introduce you to everyone after you get settled in.”

  Jake’s small briefcase from Staples wouldn’t take long to unpack. The office was large enough to live in, and the leather binder that held his schedule wouldn’t fill a tenth of the desk space.

  “I was sorry to hear about your mother,” Marilyn said.

  Jake paused, surprised by the condolences. “Thank you.”

  “She was a sweet woman,” Marilyn added, staring out the window at the park below.

  “I didn’t know you knew her.”

  “I’ve been your father’s secretary for over twenty-five years,” Marilyn replied. “I’ve met just about everyone in your family. I attended your parents’s wedding.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to. I even changed you once, though I’m quite sure you were too young to remember. Your father brought you into work and when you soiled your diapers, my job duties were expanded to cover the crisis. I didn’t mind. You were a little angel.”