“On one condition,” Cornelius said. “You will call me if you need my help.”
“I will.”
He smiled again. “I will hold you to it.”
We walked down the path. I checked my phone. Alessandro hadn’t texted.
Was he hurt? Maybe he was dead. Who knew what kind of nightmare Linus dragged him into?
I texted him. Are you alive?
No answer.
I clenched my teeth and headed to the bench where my sister and cousin waited for us.
Like all water mages, the Jiangs preferred to be as close to a waterway as possible. They would’ve built in the water if the city let them, but Houston had strict regulations concerning its waters, so House Jiang had to settle for a beautiful spot on Riverway Drive a couple hundred yards from the Buffalo Bayou. Inspired by the Aqua Tower of Chicago, their headquarters rose from the landscape to twelve floors crowned with an enormous water reservoir built with blue high-resistance plastic. Wavelike slabs of pale blue concrete stretched from the tower flowing in and out of huge blue windows, giving the building an undulating quality. The overall effect was of spines of pale rock protruding from a blue stream.
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 Jiāng Chéng Fèng?”
He blinked. “Yes.”
“Is your father Marcus Jiang also known as Jiāng Yuán Zé?”
“Yes.”
“Is your mother Ann Jiang also known as Zhāng Pèi Fāng?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have two siblings?”
“Yes.”
“Is your brother named Henry Jiang, also known as Jiāng Chéng Rùi?”
“Yes.”
“Is your sister named Alison, also known as Jiāng Chéng Xīn?”
“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.