Sam Leung was both greying and balding. Fei Long currently had an excellent view of the progress of these twin conditions. The top of the kneeling man's head shone under the lamplight, surrounded by a ring of hair like scraggly winter brush.
"Really, Uncle Leung," he said, "get up."
Leung did not move. Fei Long nodded at one of his lieutenants, who approached the older man and tapped him on the shoulder, not ungently, before attempting to lift him by the elbow. Leung allowed himself to be maneuvred into a chair, stiff as an arthritic. His normally sallow complexion had lost a further shade of health.
Fei Long adjusted the angle of his teacup lid. The tiny clink of china against china was readily audible: the room was still, but for breathing.
"I can't begin to contemplate what you were thinking," he said. "You're of an age to sit back and relax, surely? Let your nephews tend to the day-to-day affairs, go to the horse races, lose a few hands of baccarat in Macau..."
Silence.
"Was the money worth it?"
Leung whispered something under his breath. Fei Long waited. Eventually Leung repeated himself, in a louder voice that still trembled.
"Forgive me..."
There was movement in the periphery of Fei Long's vision. One or two of his directors were taking a lively interest in the floor near their feet; the rest remained stony-faced. He sighed.
"Outsourcing, Uncle Leung. The mainlanders and the Burmese manufacture, we put up the funds. The cutting houses supply only the local market: the less merchandise transships Hong Kong the better. I can't think of anyone who should understand the principle better than you. And yet here you are, setting up a factory in the New Territories.
"Did you honestly assume you would escape notice simply because you were moving product overseas? Ten thousand units followed by... what? Did you consider what the Japanese had in mind? Who takes responsibility if your deal triggers a war between the Yokohama organizations and their backers? Do I inform our Tokyo contacts that this was part of our business plan, we simply didn't feel the need to consult them on their home turf?"
Leung looked as if he were about to faint. Fei Long took a sip of tea. After a few seconds he added, gazing into his cup, "It is not only a question of fiscal liability. It is a question of trust."
Leung fell forward out of his chair, onto hands and knees. The movement was comical; no one laughed or tried to help him up.
"Forgive me," he babbled. "It was a mistake. The profit margin – I thought—"
Fei Long watched him in silence, absently running a finger over the edge of his cup. Eventually Leung ran out of stuttered excuses. He made a movement toward Fei Long's chair, a desperate, groping gesture. A fleeting expression of distaste crossed Fei Long's face, and he moved his foot away from Leung's reaching hand. Leung froze.
"You are relieved of your responsibilities toward the organisation," said Fei Long, slowly. "The management of your clubs will pass to Leung Kar-Sing, and the rest of the Leung group's assets will be redistributed accordingly. In view of your long service to the Liu family there will be no further punishment." He gazed down into Leung's face for a long moment – the man did not look relieved, far from it – then turned to the soldiers standing at attention behind him. "Please escort Mr. Leung from the premises."
When the door closed there was a muted but general exhalation of relief, and a certain amount of shifting in seats and wiping of faces. A couple of Leung's close cohorts looked green at the gills. He noted them as instances of a public lesson learnt; there was no evidence anyone but Leung was set to benefit from the deal.
Instead he said to the room at large, "When a man is found to be at fault, he should always be given a second chance to prove himself. What do you think of this principle?"
"Someone who betrays once will do so again at his convenience," said Wong Jian, a weapons trader. "And in Leung's case - for what?"
"Not mere shortsighted greed, if that's what you mean," said Fatty Mok from his favorite position near the lacquered screen. "He has ambition for those boys of his, whether or not they have any of their own. Why, Kar-Sing or Jonny could well rule Mongkok nightlife at the tender age of twenty-five—"
Someone gave a derisive snort.
"—If all they lack are the funds to buy out the opposition," Mok finished with a gleeful flourish, and leant back in his chair. "Blood runs thicker than gold, my friends. Nepotism will be the death of us all."
"Enough," said Fei Long, meeting Mok's eyes across the room. "The meeting is over."
Leavetaking took place with the usual amount of ceremony. Mok lingered, polishing his spectacles with a soft cloth and fussing with the case. He was known as a fixer, a Baishe associate of long standing – one of the aides who had the elder Liu's ear before his death – and among the first to support Fei Long in the power struggle that ensued, though no one had ever caught him favoring one candidate over another beforehand.
When the rest of the directors had left the room Fei Long set his tea cup down and nodded to Tao, seated on a stool in the corner. The boy immediately approached and removed the tray. After the door had closed behind him Fei Long said, "Do you believe Kar-Sing was the impetus behind this deal?"
"I believe Kar-Sing to have more wit than to make a play from his position," said Mok. "He has his eye on the long haul. And he'll keep Jonny and the others in check." Fei Long nodded.
"I want it kept quiet," he said. "Give it a month."
"Natural and unrelated, I assure you," said Mok. "What is Sam Leung without his clubs and his hostesses? I doubt his heart will take the strain." He hauled his corpulence out of his chair. "What of the deal itself, in the meantime? Does the white snake ride the trade wind while it's fair?"
Fei Long remained silent for a few moments, thinking. Mok waited. Finally Fei Long said, "Get me the factory manager. I'd like to see what convinced Leung to take the plunge."