“Then I’m afraid there’s really no way to get you a royal title within a month.”
“Well then, you’re out of a job! I’m not going to pay your retainer anymore. In fact, I’m stopping payment on everything right now. The Nigel Barker photo-shoot fees, all the money you’ve spent decorating my house, everything.”
“Kitty, stop being unreasonable. That’s close to a hundred million dollars. You know I’ll be on the hook for all those bills if you don’t pay them,” Oliver sputtered in alarm.
“Exactly. So get me that title! What’s higher-ranking than a countess? A duchess? A princess? An empress? I don’t care if you need to bribe Prince Bibimbap of Korea, I just want Colette to have to curtsy to me the next time I encounter her. I want to wipe the floor with her face!” Kitty screamed.
“Kitty, please calm down. Kitty?” Oliver realized she had hung up on him. A wave of fear suddenly passed through his body. Kitty was one client he could not risk losing. His monthly retainer from her was the one thing that kept the wolves at bay.
Unbeknownst to the Youngs, the Shangs, or the rest of the world, Oliver’s family had fallen on hard times, ever since Barings went bust in 1995. Most of the T’sien portfolio had been invested with the storied investment firm in London that were bankers to Britain’s most aristocratic families, including the queen. But after the firm went bankrupt—ironically due to a rogue trader based in Singapore—the T’siens along with every Barings investor had been wiped out.
What remained in the other T’sien accounts was a pittance, about ten million, and all that went into maintaining his grandmother Rosemary’s lifestyle. It was her money rightfully, and she was entitled to live out her last years in comfort, but it meant that there would be barely anything left for her five children. The T’siens had been one of Singapore’s largest landowners in the 1900s, but there was only one property left now—his grandmother’s sprawling bungalow on Dalvey Road that was maybe worth thirty-five million, forty if the market ever recovered. Split five ways between her children, that meant his father would only inherit six or seven million at the most if the house was ever sold. Far, far less than what his parents were now in debt for.
For years, they had taken out loan after loan, and Oliver had spent his youth living the life of a rich man’s son, sent abroad to the best schools money could buy—from Le Rosey to Oxford. But after the Barings crash, he found himself in the unthinkable position of having to work for a living. Oliver had always existed among the world’s point-one percent crowd, and very few people understood the special hell of having to live in a world where every single person around you was staggeringly rich but you were not.
No one knew the degrees of subterfuge he took to keep up appearances for the sake of his family and career. There were the ballooning interest payments on all their bank loans. There were ten credit cards that he had to play Russian roulette with month after month. There were the mortgages on his parents’ hutong in Beijing, his flat in London, and the condo in Singapore. Last year had been the worst, when his mother had been forced to sell off the legendary T’sien jade brooch along with other family heirlooms in order to pay for unexpected medical expenses. The bills kept coming, and they were endless. And now Kitty was threatening to renege on her gargantuan decorating bills—bills he had signed off on. If he couldn’t work a miracle and get Kitty her title, he knew his whole life, his family, his career, his reputation—all would come crashing down.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TYERSALL PARK, SINGAPORE
Walking in to lunch the next day, Nick and Rachel found that the dining room had been transformed into a makeshift situation room. Rolling bulletin boards had been placed around the room, and the dining table was lined with stacks of documents and various brochures, and seven or eight young staffers huddled over spreadsheets on their laptops.
Ah Ling entered with another package that had just arrived and noticed the baffled couple. “Oh, Nicky, lunch is being served on the terrace today.”
“Um…who are these people?” Nick whispered.
“They’re from Uncle Harry’s office. They’re helping out with all the house offers,” Ah Ling responded, giving Nick a look that clearly registered her disapproval.
Nick and Rachel went out to the terrace to find a much smaller gathering of relatives. The Aakaras had flown back to Bangkok earlier in the morning, while most of the Chengs had left the day before. The only out-of-town guests that remained were Alix and Alistair, since they were both shareholders in the property.
While Nick and Rachel stood by the buffet table arrayed with different dishes, Victoria spoke up as she looked over a prospectus. “This offer from the Far East people is an insult! Two point five billion, paid out over five years. Do they think we fell off the turnip truck yesterday?”
“Let’s not even bother responding,” Alix declared. She looked up as Nick and Rachel sat down at the wrought-iron table with their lunch plates. “Nicky, do you have any idea what time your father will be here? We have so much to go over with him.”
“Dad’s back in Sydney.”
“What? When did he leave?”
“Last night. Didn’t he tell you he was heading home?”
“Yes, but we assumed he would have changed his plans now that the offers are flooding in. Ugggh! That irresponsible boy! We’re in the midst of a bidding war, and he knows we can’t make any moves without him,” Felicity huffed.
“Dad’s become quite set in his ways, and he really missed the coffee from this café he goes to every morning in Rose Bay,” Nick tried explaining.
“There are billions of dollars at stake here and he’s complaining about the coffee? As if Folgers Crystals here aren’t good enough for him!” Victoria scoffed.
Rachel jumped into the conversation. “Some people really can’t function without their coffee. In New York, I have to grab my usual cup at Joe Coffee on the way to work or I won’t be able to get through the morning.”
“I’ll never understand you coffee people.” Victoria tut-tutted as she carefully stirred her cup of tea made from GFBOP* Orthodox leaves she had flown in every month from a special reserve estate in Tanzania.
“Call your father. Tell him we’re in the middle of a heated bidding war and the house could be sold before the end of the week,” Felicity ordered.
Nick looked at his aunts in surprise. “Are you all really intending on selling Tyersall Park that quickly?”
“We need to close the deal while the wok is sizzling! It’s almost Chinese New Year, and everyone is feeling particularly prosperous and bold right now. Do you know that our top bid now exceeds three billion?” Alix excitedly reported.