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.

Nick raised his eyebrows. “Who is it from, and how will they ensure that they will preserve the house?”

Felicity laughed. “Come on, Nicky, no one is going to preserve this house. The developers are only interested in the land—they are going to tear it all down.”

Nick looked at Felicity in horror. “Wait a minute—how can they tear down the house? Isn’t this a protected heritage property?”

Victoria shook her head. “If this was a Peranakan-style house, or a colonial Black and White, maybe it would have heritage protection, but this house is such a mishmash of styles. It was built by some Dutch architect that the sultan who originally owned the place brought in from Malaysia. It’s an architectural folly.”

“But of course, this is also what makes it so valuable. This is a freehold property with absolutely no heritage or zoning regulations. It’s every developer’s dream! Here, look at the leading proposal,” Alix said, handing Nick a glossy brochure.

Zion Estates

A LUXURY CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY

Imagine an exclusive gated community for high-net-worth families who share in the blessings of the Holy Spirit.

Ninety-nine splendid villas, inspired by the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, ranging from 5,000 to 15,000 square feet on half-acre lots will surround Galilee, a glorious artificial lagoon complete with the world’s tallest man-made waterfall supplied only with water imported from the River Jordan. At the heart of the community lies the Twelve Apostles, a unique twelve-hole golf course designed by our faithful brother Tiger Woods, and an exquisite clubhouse—the King David—which will boast a trinity of world-class restaurants operated by Michelin-starred chefs, along with Jericho, sure to become Singapore’s most decadent spa and state-of-the-art health club.

Come to Zion—live abundantly and be saved.

Nick looked up from the brochure in disbelief. “Are you seriously telling me that these people are the front-runners? A luxury Christian community?”

“Isn’t it inspired? It’s Rosalind Fung’s company—your mother goes to her Christian Fellowship Banquets at the Fullerton. They’ve offered us $3.3 billion, and they will throw in a villa for each of us!” Victoria said breathlessly.

Nick was barely able to hide his disgust. “Auntie Victoria, in case you’ve forgotten, Jesus served the poor.”

“Of course he did. What’s your point?”

Felicity chimed in. “Jesus said, ‘To grow rich is glorious.’ ”

“Actually, Deng Xiaoping, the late Communist leader of China, said that!” Nick shot back. He got up from the table abruptly and said to Rachel, “Let’s get out of here.”

As they got into Nick’s father’s vintage Jaguar XKE convertible and sped down the driveway, Nick turned to Rachel. “Sorry, I lost my appetite sitting there with my aunts. I just couldn’t stand listening to them one minute longer.”

“Trust me, I get it. Where are we going?”

“I thought I’d take you to my favorite restaurant for a proper lunch—Sun Yik Noodles. It’s a little café that’s been around since the 1930s.”

“Fantastic! I was just starting to get hungry.”

Within fifteen minutes they had arrived in the Chinatown neighborhood, and after parking the car, they strolled down Club Street with its picturesque old shop houses toward Ann Siang Road as Nick began to fill Rachel in on the place.

“It’s a total hole-in-the-wall, and they haven’t even changed the Formica tables since the fifties, I bet. But they have the best noodles in Singapore, and so everyone comes here. The former chief justice of the Supreme Court used to eat lunch here every day, because the noodles were so addictive. You’re gonna die when you taste these noodles. They are hand-pulled egg noodles, and they have this incredible, perfectly chewy texture to them. And they serve it with braised chicken that’s been simmering for hours in this garlicky gravy. Oh man, the gravy! I wanna see if you think you can possibly replicate it. We’re here after lunch rush, so we probably won’t have to wait too long for a ta—”