The Money Is Green (12 page)

F
OURTEEN

T
he afternoon sun was slowly fading behind the tree-lined hills of San Jose, which overlooked Earth-Sun’s corporate facility. A couple of cars were parked in the expansive parking lot, with most of the employees having left within the last hour. A hundred yards down the road, from a side street, Wo Sung sat in his black Escalade SUV, its windows tainted black, listening to a hip-hop station and sipping on a diet Mountain Dew, his Maui Joe sunglasses wrapped around his chubby face as he stared out at the three-story glass building. He had spent the last day and a half checking out the movement of Andrew Dillon, the CEO of Earth-Sun, and had a good idea of his daily routine. He watched the front door, where a bicycle rack stood, one lone bike still standing erect.

He glanced down at his watch. It’s time to get into position, he thought. He should be coming out of there in ten minutes. Wo pulled out, drove a half mile down the road, and turned onto a side street, which was completely deserted. He put the SUV in park and reached around to a backpack sitting in the backseat. He pulled out a black hooded sweatshirt and put it on. Getting out, he glanced around the street then headed across a vacant field to a string of oak trees that
lined a bicycle path. As he approached the trees, three riders came over the rise to his left and peddled toward him. He kept his head down and continued walking as they rode by. Reaching the first oak tree, he made his way to the other side and lifted up the leg of his trousers, pulling a six-inch Bowie knife out of the leather sleeve attached to his leg.

Taking a deep breath, he took another glance around the tree and looked down the bike path. A flock of starlings squawked noisily above him as they jockeyed for position for the evening’s sleep. A lone car drove up the road from where he’d parked the Denali then continued down the road. Suddenly, he faintly heard the sound of bicycle gears from behind the rise in the road. His grip tightened around the handle of the knife.

A lone rider crested the knoll and headed straight toward him, the rider looking down at the path. Wo studied the rider and recognized the riding apparel and stature of the man and knew this was who he was waiting for. The rider closed the gap between them at a steady clip. As he came closer, Wo counted in his head, Thirty yards, twenty, ten, now!

Just as the rider approached the first oak tree, Wo jumped out from behind it. The rider tried to swerve to his right, but Wo had reached him first and reached out with his right hand, grabbed the bike to slow it down, and slashed the knife across the man’s throat. He grabbed at his throat as the bike wobbled a few feet forward before crashing on the side of the path, throwing the man face first onto the asphalt. Wo quickly scrambled over to him, his knife at the ready. Blood was gushing out of the massive wound around his neck, and he stared at Wo with wide, frightened eyes. He tried to speak, but only gurgling sounds came out of his throat.

Seeing that the wound was fatal, Wo moved across the path the same way he had come, just as another set of riders came over the rise. One of them shouted at Wo as he headed over the small rise in the ground. “Hey, what happened? Hey, you, slow down. What’s your
hurry?” Wo glanced over his shoulder, his eyes peering out of the hoodie covering his face. He saw the cyclists pull up to the rider on the ground and set their bikes aside to render aid. One took off his shirt and wrapped it around the man’s neck while the other furiously dialed 911.

Wo kept walking and made it to the SUV. He looked across the field, barely able to make out the commotion on the bike path. He put the SUV in gear and headed down the street. He smiled to himself. That was almost too easy. I think I’d like to bring the congressman in on the Juarez job. I owe him one and this job could be a perfect way to pay him back.

After driving a mile down the road, he stopped and picked up his phone. He texted,
Job complete, send balance
. He then added,
I’d like to meet with you to discuss what you’ve come up with for Mexico. Let’s get together next week
. Pausing, he looked at the words and to the recipient, Congressman Waters, then hit the send button.

F
IFTEEN

A
tall white candle flickered at the center of the table located against the front of the window of the Stinking Rose restaurant in the North Beach area of San Francisco. The distinct smell of garlic and basil wafted around the bustling room. White-shirted servers moved quickly from the kitchen to the tables, bringing pungent dishes of shrimp, mushrooms, fresh pesto, and other items to the packed tables.

With her elbows on the table and her chin resting on her hands, Mei watched Brian Thompson as he spread creamy baked garlic over freshly baked bread. He smiled at her as he stuffed a piece into his mouth and dreamily chewed it, slowly savoring the flavors.

“Oh my, that’s so good,” he said as he tore off another bite. “I skipped lunch so I could stuff my face here tonight.”

“I love it too. It’s so delicious,” Mei said as she tore off a piece of the warm bread. “But this food is so good it’s worth not eating all day for it.”

Setting the bread down, he turned serious. “Well, Mei, I know you didn’t bring me here to discuss the garlic smells. So let me guess:
You want to discuss where Soltech’s bid stands on the Copper Mountain project.”

Mei looked away, trying to look as demure as possible. She lowered her eyes and dabbed her napkin daintily to her mouth. “Well, that’s not the only reason I asked you to meet me, Brian. Of course I would be lying if I didn’t tell you how important this job is to me and my company. I know there’s a lot of competition for that job, but I thought that by you and I getting together face to face I could point out the positive things that Inter-Power could benefit from by using Soltech on this job.”

Brian raised an eyebrow. “Really, other than the fact that you might not be the low bidder, there are other benefits we should consider? Go ahead, I’m listening.”

Mei smiled and reached across the table to hold his hands. “Well, for one, which I don’t need to remind you, is we have had a very special relationship together, which would become more solid if we were to work closely together on this project.” She rubbed his hands. “But putting that aside, I’m also an investor in Inter-Power, even if it’s silent, and I would like to think that I would be helping not only myself, but Inter-Power if I do this job.”

Brian nodded. “That’s just the point, Mei. You aren’t the only investor in Inter-Power. As much as I like our relationship, I have to make my decisions based on what’s best for all the investors, not just you.”

Mei felt her temper flare but tried to keep calm. She pulled her hands back and set them on her lap. “I get it that you have other investors, Brian. I have other investors than myself in Soltech, primarily the Chinese government. But they don’t dictate to me what to do with the company. If I wanted to do your job for my cost, or lose money on it, I could do it and none of my investors could do a thing about it. You can do the same thing. There’s no rule that says you must take the lowest bid.” She waved at a waiter who came by their table.
“Excuse me, sir, but could you bring me another martini?” She turned back to Brian. “Would you like another cabernet?”

He nodded and the waiter disappeared to the bar.

“Okay, where was I?” Mei asked. Before Brian could open his mouth to answer, she raised her hand. “Oh yes, the lowest bidder problem.” She stopped as she collected her thoughts. “I forgot to mention to you that I have promoted Jason Ballard to be President of Soltech. He will be in charge of all of my North American operations, assuming he takes the position.” She made a sly smile. “I know he’ll accept the position.”

“You’re very sure of yourself,” Brian said, “but Jason’s an excellent choice. He knows his stuff and will be a great asset for you.” Their waiter showed up at their table with two steaming entrees: Brian’s linguini with clams, hers the baked salmon with lemon butter and dill. He leaned over and took a deep breath. “As always, it smells incredible. Let’s talk business after we eat.”

Between bites, they chatted about the politics in Washington, the stimulus bill, Mei’s daughter, Brian’s new Harley, everything but Copper Mountain. The restaurant never seemed to empty; as one group left, another was immediately seated. Laughter and voices filled the air, along with glasses tinkling and forks hitting plates.

Grabbing both hands over his belly, Brian leaned back. “I’ve got to stop. I don’t want to but I’ve got to stop or I’m going to have to roll out of here.”

Mei laughed as she dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “I know what you mean. My eyes are always bigger than my stomach when I come here.”

Brian felt his phone vibrate in his front pocket so he leaned to his left to retrieve it. A text from his senior vice president read,
Call me, urgent
. He looked up at Mei. “Uh, would you excuse me? I need to make a call.”

“Yes, go right ahead. I’ll still be here when you return.” She watched him go around the bar area and slip out the front door,
standing on the outside of the window where she was sitting. She hummed a tune to herself and kept the beat with one of her feet crossed over the other one. She looked around at the faces of the people at the other tables. The group of six to her left looked like they were celebrating a birthday. A young couple directly in front of her seemed lost in some deep conversation. She glanced out the window at Brian standing on the sidewalk talking on the phone. His face had a pained expression on it and he put his hand to his forehead.

Hmmm, she thought. Must be some important news. I wonder if he’ll share it with me.

Brian closed his phone and hung his head for a minute before turning and coming back into the restaurant. He came up to the table, an ashen look on his face, and sat down.

“Is there something wrong, Brian?” she asked in a concerned voice.

He stared at her before speaking in a soft voice. “That was Pete from my office. Andrew Dillon was attacked just outside his office a few hours ago. Someone slit his throat and he bled to death.”

Mei put her hand across her mouth. “Oh, my gosh! That’s awful! Who would do such a thing?” Mei fluttered her hand to her face as though it had grown very hot in the room all of a sudden. “What is wrong with this country? Everywhere there is violence—guns, knives, beatings. It’s terrible.”

Brian looked stunned. “The police don’t think it was a random act since he still had his wallet and an expensive watch on his wrist. It doesn’t make sense.”

“In this country it does. There’s too much violence everywhere. ” Mei bided her time feigning concern. “This is terrible news. Andrew was making great strides with his company.” She paused a few seconds as Brian ran his hands through his hair. “Now what will happen to their bid for Copper Mountain.? They don’t have the personnel to run a job like that without Andrew around. I hope they have a back-up plan. This is very unfortunate for them and sad news.”

Brian blinked in astonishment. “You’re kidding right? I hadn’t even thought about Copper Mountain and probably won’t for a few days until this sinks in. Get your coat, I need to get to the office.”

Mei stood up and held her hands out defensively. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. I was only thinking out loud. I know this is tragic, but life will go on.”

“Yes, Mei, life does go on.” He followed her out of the restaurant. He hailed a cab and opened the door for her. Once she was in the cab, he leaned through the window. “I’ll be in touch.”

Mei put her hands over his and looked up into his eyes. “I’m sorry this happened, Brian. If there’s anything I or any of my staff at Soltech can do, please let me know.”

He smiled faintly and backed away. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

The cab pulled away as she gave the driver directions. Leaning back in the seat, she smiled. Looks like Brian will have no choice but to use Soltech. Things are starting to fall into place. Americans, they are such sentimental fools. They can’t get past the fact that everyone is replaceable, especially dreamers like Andrew Dillon. If they thought like I do, they might be more formidable opponents. It’s time for Soltech to become a major player in the solar panel industry, and whoever isn’t with me is against me.

S
IXTEEN

T
he long arm of the construction crane moved across the top of the twelfth floor of the newest hotel in David Wilson’s portfolio, located in the high-rent district of Hong Kong. It carried a steel beam almost sixteen feet in length, dangling it high in the air as it moved along its journey to its final destination somewhere in the middle of the building.

David stood at the base of the hotel next to his construction foreman, who had a rolled set of plans under his arm. Both men wore hardhats, and even though they both wore sunglasses, they had to shield their eyes from the bright sunlight as they watched the work being done. Dust flew everywhere as concrete trucks and flatbeds drove in and out of the ten-acre site. Alarms sounded periodically as forklifts or other machinery started backing up, warning anyone nearby to be aware. Men shouted over the top of the noise created by the machines, and it seemed like the site was in a constant state of organized chaos.

David took the plans from his foreman and unrolled them across the hood of the shiny new pickup parked in front of the construction trailer. He studied the drawings for a second, then looked up at the
work going on at the top of the building. He rolled them up and handed them to his foreman. Slapping him playfully on the back, he said, “Well, Rusty, you’ve only got forty more floors to go. I think if you keep making the same progress you’ve made the last three months, we might finish this thing a few months ahead of schedule.”

Rusty, a forty-five-year-old former Texan, gave an approving nod and turned to look at the activity all around him. “I hope so, Mr. Wilson. If I can keep the Chinese government happy and out of our hair, we can keep up the pace.” He grimaced and looked over at the crane, which was picking up a new beam off the bed of a flatbed truck. “I never know what curve ball they’re going to throw at me day to day. Last week, one of the building inspectors had to be promised a remodel of his daughter’s home before he would pass a crucial inspection.”