Crazy Rich Asians

Eleanor took out a faded manila envelope, the same envelope she had been given by the investigator in Shenzhen. She placed three pieces of paper on the coffee table. One was a copy of Rachel’s original birth certificate. The next was a 1992 press clipping about the jailing of a man named Zhou Fang Min, after he had ordered illegal cost-cutting measures that led to a construction accident that killed seventy-four workers in Shenzhen (HUO PENG CONDO TRAGEDY UPDATE: MONSTER JAILED AT LAST! the headline screamed). The third was a notice of a reward from the Zhou family, for the safe return of a baby named Zhou An Mei, who had been kidnapped by her mother, Kerry Ching, in 1981.

Nick and Rachel took a few steps toward the table and stared at the papers in astonishment.

“What the hell did you do, Mum? You had Rachel’s family investigated?” Nick kicked over the coffee table.

Nick’s grandmother shook her head as she sipped her tea. “Imagine wanting to marry a girl from such a family! So disgraceful! Really, Nicky, what would Gong Gong say if he was alive? Madri, this tea needs a little more sugar.”

Nick was livid. “Ah Ma, it’s taken me about twenty years, but I finally understand why Dad moved to Sydney! He can’t stand being around you!”

Su Yi put down her teacup, stunned by what her favorite grandson had just said.

Rachel grabbed at Nick’s wrist urgently. He would never forget the look of devastation on her face. “I think … need air,” she muttered, before collapsing into the wicker tea cart.

14 64 Pak Tin Street

HONG KONG

The apartment was not the love nest Astrid had imagined — the living room was tiny, with a green vinyl sofa, three wooden dining-room chairs, and bright blue plastic buckets full of toys taking up one side of the room. Only the muffled sounds of a neighbor practicing “Ballade pour Adeline” on the electric keyboard filled the silence. Astrid stood in the middle of the cramped space, wondering how her life had come to this. How did it get to the point where her husband had resorted to fleeing to this sad romper room?

“I can’t believe you got your dad’s men to track me down,” Michael muttered contemptuously, sitting down on the sofa and stretching his arms out along its back.

“My father had nothing to do with this. Can’t you give me a little credit for having my own resources?” Astrid said.

“Great. You win,” Michael said.

“So this is where you’ve been coming. Is this where your mistress lives?” Astrid finally ventured to ask.

“Yes,” Michael said flatly.

Astrid was silent for a while. She picked up a little stuffed elephant from one of the buckets and gave it a squeeze. The elephant made a muffled electronic roar. “And these are your son’s toys?”

Michael hesitated for a moment. “Yes,” he finally answered.

“BASTARD!” Astrid screamed, throwing the elephant at him with all her might. The elephant bounced off his chest, and Astrid sank to the floor, trembling as her body was racked with violent sobs. “I don’t … care … who you fuck … but how could you do this … to our son?” She sputtered through her tears.

Michael leaned forward, burying his head in his hands. He couldn’t stand seeing her like this. As badly as he wanted out of the marriage, he couldn’t take hurting her anymore. Things had spiraled out of control, and it was time to come clean. He got up from the sofa and crouched down beside her.

“Listen to me, Astrid,” he began, placing an arm on her shoulder. Astrid jerked backward and pushed his arm away.

“Listen to me. The boy isn’t my son, Astrid.”

Astrid looked up at him, not quite registering what he meant.

Michael looked Astrid directly in the eyes and said, “That’s not my son, and there is no mistress.”

Astrid’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? I know there was a woman here. I even recognize her.”

“You recognize her because she’s my cousin. Jasmine Ng — her mother is my auntie, and the little boy is her son.”

“So … who have you been having an affair with?” Astrid asked, more confused than ever.

“Don’t you get it? It’s all been an act, Astrid. The text messages, the presents, everything! It’s all fake.”

“Fake?” Astrid whispered in shock.

“Yes, I faked everything. Well, except the dinner at Petrus. I took Jasmine as a treat — her husband has been working in Dubai and she’s had a hard time managing on her own.”

“I can’t believe this …” Astrid said, her voice trailing off in astonishment.

“I’m sorry, Astrid. It was a stupid idea, but I didn’t think I had any other choice.”

“Any other choice? What do you mean?”

“I thought it would be far better for you to want to leave me than for me to divorce you. I would rather be labeled the cheating bastard with an illegitimate son, so that you could … your family could save face,” Michael said rather dejectedly.