Ep 3

I shouldn’t take personal calls in the middle of a work event, but one

simply didn’t ignore a summons from Francis Lau.

I double-checked to make sure there were no emergencies requiring my

immediate attention before I slipped into the nearest restroom.

“Hello, Father.” The formal greeting rolled off my tongue easily after

almost twenty years of practice.

I used to call him Dad, but after Lau Jewels took off and we moved out

of our cramped two-bedroom into a Beacon Hill mansion, he insisted onbeing called Father instead. Apparently, it sounded more “sophisticated”

and “upper class.”

“Where are you?” His deep voice rumbled over the line. “Why is it so

echoey?”

“I’m at work. I snuck into a bathroom to take your call.” I leaned my

hip against the counter and felt compelled to add, “It’s a fundraiser for the

endangered piping plover.”

I smiled at his heavy sigh. My father had little patience for the obscure

causes people used as an excuse to party, though he attended the events

donated anyway. It was the proper thing to do.

“Every day, I learn about a new endangered animal,” he grumbled.

“Your mother is on a fundraising committee for some fish or other, like we

don’t eat seafood every week.”

My mother, formerly an aesthetician, was now a professional socialite

and charity committee member.

“Since you’re at work, I’ll keep this short,” my father said. “We’d like

you to join us for dinner on Friday night. We have important news.”

Despite his wording, it wasn’t a request.

My smile faded. “This Friday night?” It was Tuesday, and I lived in

New York while my parents lived in Boston.

It was a last-minute request even by their standards.

“Yes.” My father didn’t elaborate. “Dinner is at seven sharp. Don’t be

late.”

He hung up.

My phone stayed frozen on my ear for an extra beat before I removed it.

It slipped against my clammy palm and almost clattered to the floor before I

shoved it back into my purse.

It was funny how one sentence could send me into an anxiety spiral.

We have important news.

Did something happen with the company? Was someone sick or dying?

Were my parents selling their house and moving to New York like they’d

once threatened to do?

My mind raced through with a thousand questions and possibilities.

I didn’t have an answer, but I knew one thing.

An emergency summons to the Lau manor never boded well.

M

Vivian

y parents’ living room looked like something out of an

Architectural Digest spread. Tufted settees sat at right angles to

carved wood tables; porcelain tea sets jostled for space next to

priceless tchotchkes. Even the air smelled cold and impersonal, like

generically expensive freshener.

Some people had homes; my parents had a showpiece.“Your skin looks dull.” My mother examined me with a critical eye.

“Have you been keeping up with your monthly facials?”

She sat across from me, her own skin glowing with pearlescent

luminosity.

“Yes, Mother.” My cheeks ached from the forced politeness of my

smile.

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