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“Foreman and Byrde are also looking to acquire them.”
“Ba,” I groan. “Are you serious? Is this going to turn into an auction? You know we never go into auctions. We’re not big enough to compete with firms like Foreman and Byrde.”
“Don’t you think I know exactly our limitations?” he grumbles. “I’m hoping we can avoid an auction situation by getting ahead of the competition. We meet with them, we show them the value we bring to the table, we get along well with them on a personal level.…Surely they’ll see that we have much more to offer than Foreman and Byrde.”
“They’ll only outbid us, and that will be that. Waste of our time and energy. You always told me that time equals money. And why is Foreman and Byrde even trying to buy them out? Surely Wutai Gold is too small for them.” Even as I say this out loud, I know why. Richard Foreman’s college sweetheart, who happens to be my mom, dumped him for Baba. Mama and Baba ended up getting married right after college, something that Richard has never quite been able to forgive. Over the past decade or so, I’ve watched helplessly as Richard went out of his way to cut in on our buyouts, and now beating them has become not just a point of pride for Baba but a financial necessity as well.
“You know why,” Baba says with a shrug.
“I can’t believe your feud is all because he can’t get over Mom.”
“It’s romantic, isn’t it?” he says. “And your mom’s special. A once-in-a-lifetime kind of woman.”
“Oh, ew. Change of subject, please and thank you.”
“Well, something tells me that the people behind Wutai Gold aren’t just in it for the money,” Baba says.
I give him a flat look. “Ba, we’re literally in finance. Everything we do is for money. In fact, don’t let anyone hear you say it’s not just about the money; they’ll think you’re aging fast, old man.”
“Old man?” he laughs. “I’ll have you know I’m a young sprite. I can still touch my toes. Can you? When was the last time you exercised?”
“Like you said, I’m first in and last one out. When do you think I have time to exercise?”
“You need to have a better work-life balance. Look at me, look how limber I am.”
To my horror, my gray-haired father is climbing out of his seat and bending over to touch his toes. “Ba, people are looking.”
“Let them look! They’ll be inspired to do more stretches.”
“Okay, you’ve proven your point. You are basically a human rubber band, now will you please cut that out before you hurt yourself?”
“Hah, silly daughter, I—Oof!” Whatever else he was about to say ends in a pained grunt. He tries to straighten up, but totters forward a couple of steps instead, still bent over. Before my brain can register what’s happening, Baba has collapsed onto the lush carpet.
It feels as though time has stopped moving. For a split second, I sit there, frozen, not quite understanding what’s just happened. My mind gibbers:Why is Baba lying on the floor?Then reality rushes back in, strong and fast as a roaring waterfall, and I leap up, my veins on fire. I practically pounce on him, turning him over so he’s on his back. He’s so pale, so incredibly, deathly pale. Shaking, I press a finger to the side of his neck. There’s still a pulse, although it feels so weak.
“Help,” I say. The word comes out weak at first, wobbly and unreal. I take a deep breath, then scream it out loud. “Help!”
Vaguely, I’m aware of people rushing into Baba’s office. Someone calls 911, and I register the caller’s voice loudly telling the phone operator our office address. Mushu is suddenly in front of me, crouched on the other side of Baba’s supine body. She rolls up her sleeves and begins administering CPR, and I think dazedly:Wow, Mushu knows CPR?Meanwhile, I’m useless, frozen at Baba’s side, clutching his hand. His cold, cold hand. I should’ve known something was wrong when I touched his hand earlier and found it cold.Isn’t it a sign that his heart isn’t functioning well enough to pump blood into his hands? Is it? Why am I thinking such stupid thoughts?
Then paramedics flood the office space. We are told to clear a space. I don’t react fast enough. Mushu has to pull me away, and when I feel Baba’s hand slipping out of mine, I cry out, “No, wait—” But my view is blocked by a paramedic, and I know there’s nothing I can do to help Baba but get out of the way of the professionals. I watch, leaning against Mushu for support, as the paramedics hook an oxygen mask onto Baba and cart him out of the office, and when they tell me I can join them in the ambulance, I almost weep with gratitude. He looks so small and helpless on the stretcher next to me. “Ba, it’s okay. It’ll be okay, I’ll close Wutai Gold for you, you can count on me, I promise.”Can he?The last thing I call out to Mushu before the doors close is “Call my mom!”
CHAPTER THREE
My mother is a petite woman who does things like wear a dainty dragonfly pin on her sweater and cook at least three different dishes to accompany the rice at every dinner. In other words, on the surface, Ma seems to be the type of person who’d crumble at the news that her husband of thirty years has had a heart attack. But when Ma arrives at the hospital, she strides in with a puffed chest and a determined glare on her face, like she’s ready to take on the laws of the universe, and win.
I jump to my feet when I spot her. “Ma!” Tears rush into my eyes at the sight.
“Be strong for her,” Mushu mutters under her breath.
Right. Mushu’s right. I need to step up and be strong for my mother. My poor old mo—
“What is the diagnosis?” Ma says briskly. Her words come out clear, with only the slightest hint of a tremor.
“All they told me was that it was a heart attack,” I say. “They’re still working on him.”
Ma closes her eyes and seems to deflate slightly. Then she takes a deep breath and looks at me. “Are you okay?”
“I—” To my horror, huge, body-racking sobs rip out of me. So much for staying strong for Mama. I hide my face under my hands and feel Ma’s arms enveloping me.