“No, no, that’s not going to happen. I know it’s over. It has to be,” Rachel declared, her eyes moistening around the edges.

Peik Lin opened her mouth to say something, but then she stopped herself.

Rachel looked at her intently. “Just say it!”

Peik Lin put her tote bag down and perched on the velvet brocade settee in the entrance foyer. “I just think you need to give yourself some time before you make any final decisions about Nick. I mean, you’re going through so much right now.”

“It sounds like you’re on his side,” Rachel said.

“Rachel—what the fuck? I’m on your side! I want to see you happy, that’s all.”

Rachel said nothing for a moment. She sat down on the staircase and ran her fingers along the cold smooth marble. “I want to be happy, but every time I think about Nick, I just go right back to the most traumatic moment of my life.”

Trump, the fattest of the three Pekingese, waddled into the foyer. Rachel picked up the dog and placed him on her lap. “I guess that’s why I feel like I need to meet my father. I remember watching some talk show one night where adopted children finally got reunited with their birth parents. Every single one of these kids—all of them were adults at this point—talked about how they felt after meeting their birth parents. Even if they didn’t get along, even if their parents were nothing like what they expected, all of them somehow felt more whole after the experience.”

“Well, in less than four hours, you’ll be sitting face-to-face with your father,” Peik Lin said.

Rachel’s face clouded over. “You know, I’m dreading the drive up to that place. Dongguan Prison. Even the name sounds ominous.”

“I don’t think they want it to sound like it’s Canyon Ranch.”

“It’s supposed to be medium security, so I wonder if we’ll actually be in the same room together, or whether I’ll have to talk to him behind bars,” Rachel said.

“Are you sure you want to do this? We really don’t have to do this today, you know. I can just cancel the flight. It’s not like your father’s going anywhere,” Peik Lin said.

“No, I want to go. I want to get this over with,” Rachel said definitively. She ruffled the dog’s golden fur for a moment and stood up, smoothing out her skirt.

They made their way to the front door, where the metallic-gold BMW, already loaded with their luggage, awaited. Rachel and Peik Lin got into the back, and the chauffeur pulled down the sloping driveway toward the gilded electronic gates of Villa d’Oro. Just as the gates were opening, an SUV suddenly pulled up in front of them.

“Who’s the asshole blocking our way?” Peik Lin snapped.

Rachel looked out the windshield and saw a silver Land Rover with tinted windows. “Wait a minute …” she began, thinking she recognized the car. The driver’s door opened, and Nick jumped out. Rachel sighed, wondering what kind of stunt he was trying to pull now. Was he going to insist on coming along to Shenzhen with them?

Nick approached the car and rapped on the back window.

Rachel lowered the window slightly. “Nick, we have a plane to catch,” she said in frustration. “I appreciate that you want to help, but I really don’t want you to go to China.”

“I’m not going to China, Rachel. I’m bringing China to you,” Nick said, flashing a smile.

“Whaaaat?” Rachel said, glancing at the Land Rover, half expecting a man in an orange jumpsuit and shackles to emerge. Instead, the passenger door opened and a woman in a pale orange trench-coat dress with pixie-cut black hair stepped out. It was her mother.

Rachel flung open her car door and jumped out hastily. “What are you doing here? When did you arrive?” she said defensively in Mandarin to her mother.

“I just landed. Nick told me what happened. I told him we had to stop you from going to China, but he said he wasn’t going to get involved anymore. So I said I had to reach you before you tried to meet your father, and Nick chartered a private plane for me,” Kerry explained.

“I wish he hadn’t.” Rachel moaned in dismay. These rich people and their friggin’ planes!

“I’m glad he did. Nick has been so wonderful!” Kerry exclaimed.

“Great—why don’t you throw him a parade or take him out for oysters? I’m on my way to Shenzhen right now. I need to meet my father.”

“Please don’t go!” Kerry tried to grab hold of Rachel’s arm, but Rachel jerked back defensively.

“Because of you, I’ve had to wait twenty-nine years to meet my father. I’m not waiting another second!” Rachel shouted.

“Daughter, I know you didn’t want to see me, but I needed to tell you this myself: Zhou Fang Min is not your father.”

“I’m not listening to you anymore, Mom. I’m tired of all the lies. I’ve read the articles about my kidnapping, and Mr. Goh’s Chinese lawyers have already been in touch with my father. He’s very eager to meet me.” Rachel was adamant.

Kerry looked pleadingly into her daughter’s eyes. “Please believe me—you don’t want to meet him. Your father is not the man in Dongguan Prison. Your father is someone else, someone I truly loved.”

“Oh great, now you’re telling me I’m the illegitimate daughter of some other guy?” Rachel could feel the torrent of blood rushing into her head, and she felt as if she was back in that horrific drawing room in Cameron Highlands. Just when things were beginning to make sense to her, everything was turned upside down again. Rachel turned to Peik Lin and gave her a dazed look. “Could you ask your driver to step on his gas pedal and just run me over right now? Tell him to make it quick.”

19

The Star Trek House

SINGAPORE

Daisy Foo phoned Eleanor in a panic, telling her to come quickly, but Eleanor still could not believe her eyes when she entered the living room of Carol Tai’s mansion, the one everyone called the “Star Trek House.” Sister Gracie, the Taiwan-born Houston-based Pentecostal preacher who had just flown in at Carol’s request, circled around the lavishly appointed space as if in a trance, smashing up all the antique Chinese furniture and porcelain, while Carol and her husband sat in the middle of the room on the woven silk sofa, watching the destruction in a daze as two disciples of Sister Gracie’s prayed over them. Following behind the diminutive preacher with tightly permed gray hair was a full brigade of servants, some helping to break the objects she pointed at with her rosewood walking stick, others frantically sweeping up all the debris and putting it into giant black garbage bags.

“False idols! Satanic objects! Leave this house of peace,” Sister Gracie screamed, her voice echoing throughout the cavernous room. Priceless Ming vases were smashed, Qing dynasty scrolls were torn up, and gold-dipped Buddhas were toppled to the ground as Sister Gracie decreed every object bearing the depiction of an animal or a face to be satanic. Owls were satanic. Frogs were satanic. Grasshoppers were satanic. Lotus flowers, though not an animal and faceless, were also deemed satanic because of their association with Buddhist iconography. But there was none more evil than the devilish dragon.