If you sign the emergency conservatorship papers now, we won't have to explain the kitchen injuries to Child Protective Services, my senior business partner, Vivian Zhao, whispered while I lay bl...
Aunt Mai insisted we see Ba Huynh. He was a legend, an 82-year-old master woodcarver living in a quiet Uptown apartment, a man whose hands had shaped intricate designs for decades. He’d left Dao & Zhao Imports fifteen years ago, a mysterious departure that no one in the community ever discussed.
“He stopped carving, stopped talking about the business after that,” Aunt Mai explained as we drove. “He said Vivian was… different then. Driven by money, not the craft.”
His apartment was filled with the scent of aged wood and incense. Ba Huynh, frail but with keen eyes, sat us down. He offered jasmine tea, his movements slow and deliberate.
“Vivian,” I began, explaining the conservatorship, the frozen accounts, the insurance policy. “She’s trying to take everything. My business, even Lily.”
Ba Huynh listened, his face impassive. When I finished, he rose slowly and walked to a beautifully carved wooden chest in the corner of the room. It was ornate, a piece that could have graced a museum, yet it looked like it had been untouched for years.
He ran a hand over the smooth, dark surface, then unlatched a hidden catch. Inside, nestled among faded silk, were several leather-bound books. Original double-entry ledgers. Their pages were brittle with age, filled with careful script.
“Fifteen years ago,” Ba Huynh said, his voice raspy, “Vivian had a partner, Mr. Han. He started this import business with her. She said he embezzled funds, ran up debts.”
He opened a ledger, pointing to columns of meticulously recorded transactions. “She accused him of owing her money for a new warehouse. He left Chicago, lost everything.”
Then, he pointed to entries, marked with a familiar signature: Nigel Kincaid. “She used the same man. Nigel Kincaid. He would inflate property valuations, create phantom debts, then markdown the assets during ’emergency’ sales. Mr. Han never stood a chance.”
My blood ran cold. The same scheme. The same notary. Vivian had perfected her method over decades, systematically stripping partners of their equity. Ba Huynh, seeing the pattern, had chosen silence, perhaps out of fear, perhaps out of regret.
“She played the system,” Ba Huynh continued, closing the ledger. “She used her connections, her family’s name. She took everything from him, just like she’s trying to take it from you now.”
The ledgers weren’t just records; they were a roadmap to Vivian’s past betrayals. They were a weapon.
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