The Scottish Banker of Surabaya - By Ian Hamilton Page 0,22
what I expected,” he said.
“How’s that?”
“I expected someone older, someone Vietnamese. You aren’t Vietnamese, are you.”
“Well, I’m older than I look, and no, I’m not Vietnamese. I’m Chinese. Why should that surprise you?”
“They don’t trust many people who aren’t Vietnamese.”
“Maybe I’m their only hope to get their money back, or maybe after what Lam did to them they’ve had to reassess who they should be trusting.”
“I would think it’s most likely that you’re their only hope,” Lac said, lowering himself slowly onto a chair.
Ava sat down as well. “Anyway, again, thanks for coming.”
“I didn’t want to, but this is better than you showing up at my office. There’s been enough trouble there, and with my family, because of this. I’m lucky to still have a job.”
Questions popped into Ava’s head but she caught herself, telling herself not to rush. Lac was nervous enough already. “Let’s order some food and then we can chat,” she said. “Is there anything in particular you like or don’t like?”
“I like chicken feet.”
“Duck webs?”
“Those too.”
Ava filled out the dim sum menu and held it aloft for a server to take, mark, and carry off to the kitchen. “I added har gow, eggplants stuffed with fish paste, and deep-fried octopus.”
“Great,” he said, with no enthusiasm.
“Where did you go to school?” Ava asked.
“York.”
“So did I. What year?”
“1990.”
“Ah, I was a few years behind you.”
“No kidding,” he said, and then looked directly at her for the first time. “Tell me, just what kind of company do you work for? And what makes you think you can find Lam and, if you do, that you can get some money back?”
“My company is based in Hong Kong,” she said, pleased that he wanted to get down to business. “We’ve been doing this kind of thing for more than ten years. People who lose money and can’t get it back through traditional methods turn to us. Our client base is mainly Asian. We have a surprisingly high success rate.”
“You said on the phone you know where Lam is. Do you really?”
“Yes.”
“It won’t matter. I don’t think he has any money,” Lac said.
“Someone does. The money went somewhere.”
“And you’ll find it?”
Ava shrugged. “You got in trouble at work?”
“A client put money into the fund.”
“And with your family?”
“One of my uncles.”
“What is his name?”
“Louis Lac.”
The name sounded familiar. Ava pulled out her notebook and checked the entries from the Vietnamese restaurant. There he was, more than two million dollars out of pocket. “Your uncle is now a client of mine. He was one of those who hired us.”
The har gow arrived at the table and Joey plunged in. Ava waited until he had chewed most of his first dumpling. “How do you know Lam?”
“We were at school, at York, together. We graduated the same year and worked at the Commonwealth Bank for a few years before going in separate directions. We always kept in touch. There was a group of us, all Vietnamese, who did that. It was a good network until Lam fucked it up.”
Ava extracted a har gow from the steamer and slathered it with chili sauce. “So you weren’t the only one who referred people to Lam’s fund.”
“No, but I’m the only one who got hit with a baseball bat.”
“That was unnecessary,” she said. “People can get overly emotional when it comes to money.”
The other dishes began to arrive. While Lac dove into the chicken feet, Ava asked, “What kind of man was Lam?”
Lac paused. “I thought — I thought he was a good man, at least a decent man. He was an accountant, like us, and he took his job seriously. Until this shit happened I would have trusted him with my own money.”
“But you didn’t?”
“I didn’t have enough to buy into the fund.”
“Lucky you,” she said, and then regretted it. Nothing he had said warranted sarcasm. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.”
“I’ve heard worse. I used to like visiting with my uncle, but not anymore. And Bobby Ng and I were friends for years. Not anymore. Lam ruined it all.”
“And you thought he was a good guy.”
“Yeah. And deep down, I still do.”
“Why is that?”
“If you meet him, you’ll find out,” Lac said.
“What does that mean?”
“Lam is so small his father tried to get him to be a jockey. And he’s as timid as he is tiny. In school he was the guy who was always trying to please everyone else, to be everyone’s friend. I kind of felt sorry for him until I got to know him a