* * *
*1 A slight exaggeration, but this island—known affectionately as “Briland” to the locals—is home to twelve billionaires (at last count, and depending on who’s counting).
*2 Cantonese for “elder sister,” often used as a term of familiarity for household help in the way that “boy” is sometimes used, as in Sonny Boy or Johnny Boy.
*3 Malay for “palace.” In this instance, Alfred is referring to Istana in Singapore, the official residence of the president.
*4 The Security and Intelligence Division, Singapore’s equivalent of America’s CIA or Britain’s MI5, is so secretive that most people don’t even know it exists. But yes, that man eating fish ball on a stick outside NTUC FairPrice could be the Singaporean James Bond, and you wouldn’t even know it.
PART ONE
The only thing I like about rich people is their money.
—NANCY ASTOR, VISCOUNTESS ASTOR
CHAPTER ONE
DAVOS, SWITZERLAND
Edison Cheng stared up at the soaring honeycomb-structured ceiling in the vast white auditorium, feeling on top of the world. I’m here. I’m finally here! After years of Olympic-level networking, Eddie had at long last made it—he had been invited to attend the annual meeting of the World Economic Forum in Davos. Strictly by invitation only,*1 this prestigious event was the most elite schmoozefest on the planet.
Every January, the world’s most important heads of state, politicians, philanthropists, CEOs, tech leaders, thought leaders, social activists, social entrepreneurs, and, of course, movie stars*2 would descend upon this secluded ski resort high in the Swiss Alps in their private jets, check in to their luxurious hotels, put on their $5,000 ski jackets and ski boots, and engage in meaningful dialogues about such urgent issues as global warming and rising inequality.
And now Eddie was part of this ultraexclusive club. As the recently appointed senior executive vice chairman of Private Banking (Global) for the Liechtenburg Group, he now found himself standing in the middle of the futuristic auditorium at the Congress Centre, breathing in the rarefied air and catching slivers of his own reflection in the thin chrome leg of an auditorium chair. He was wearing his new bespoke Sartoria Ripense suit, which had been outfitted with an inner lining of ten-ply cashmere so that he never had to wear a ski jacket over it. His new Corthay squirrel suede chukkas had special rubber soles, so he would never slip on the slick Alpine streets. On his wrist was his newest horological acquisition—a rose gold A. Lange & Söhne Richard Lange “Pour le Mérite,” peeking out the precise amount from his sleeve cuff so other watchophiles would see what he was wearing. But most important of all was what he wore over this sartorial splendor—a black lanyard at the end of which was attached a white plastic badge with his name printed in the middle: Edison Cheng.
Eddie fondled the slick plastic badge as if it were a jewel-encrusted amulet, personally bestowed on him by the God of Davos. This badge distinguished him from all the pee-ons at the conference. He wasn’t some PR hack, journalist, or one of the common attendees. This white plastic badge with the blue line at the bottom meant that he was an official delegate.
Eddie glanced around the room at all the clusters of people in hushed conversations, trying to see which dictator, despot, or director he could recognize and connect with. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a tall Chinese man wearing a bright orange ski parka peeking in through the auditorium’s side door, seemingly a little lost. Wait a minute, I know that guy. Isn’t that Charlie Wu?
“Oy—Charlie!” Eddie yelled, a little too loudly, as he rushed over toward Charlie. Wait till he sees my official delegate badge!
Charlie beamed at him in recognition. “Eddie Cheng! Did you just get in from Hong Kong?”
“I came from Milan, actually. I was at the men’s fall fashion shows—front-row seat at Etro.”
“Wow. I guess being one of Hong Kong Tattle’s Best Dressed Men is serious work, isn’t it?” Charlie quipped.
“Actually, I made it into the Best Dressed Hall of Fame last year,” Eddie replied earnestly. He gave Charlie a quick once-over, noticing that he was wearing khaki pants with cargo pockets and a navy blue pullover under his bright orange parka. What a pity—he used to be so fashionable when he was younger, and now he’s dressed like every other tech-geek nobody. “Where’s your badge, Charlie?” Eddie asked, flashing his own proudly.
“Oh yes, we’re supposed to wear them at all times, aren’t we? Thanks for reminding me—it’s somewhere buried in my messenger bag.” Charlie dug around for a few seconds before fishing out his badge, and Eddie glanced at it, his curiosity morphing into shocked dismay. Charlie was holding an all-white badge affixed with a shiny holographic sticker. Fucky fuck, this was the most coveted badge! The one they only gave to world leaders! The only other person he had seen so far wearing that badge was Bill Clinton! How the fuck did Charlie get one? All he did was run Asia’s biggest tech company!
Trying to mask his envy, Eddie blurted, “Hey, are you attending my panel—Apocalypse Asia: How to Secure Your Assets When the China Bubble Really Bursts?”
“I’m actually on my way to give a talk to IGWEL.*3 What time do you go on?”
“Two o’clock. What’s your talk about?” Eddie asked, thinking that he could somehow tag along with Charlie.
“I don’t have anything prepared, really. I think Angela Merkel and some of the Scandinavians just wanted to pick my brain.”
Just then, Charlie’s executive assistant, Alice, walked up to join them.
“Alice, look who I found! I knew we’d bump into someone from back home sooner or later,” Charlie said.
“Mr. Cheng, so nice to see you here. Charlie—could I have a quick word?”
“Sure.”
Alice glanced at Eddie, who looked only too eager for her to continue while he was standing right there. “Er…would you mind coming with me for a moment?” she said diplomatically