“Cassian, I don’t care how much you beg, I’m not letting you eat microwavable mini sliders. Think of all the preservatives in that beef—put them back!”

“This is Guinness book territory here, Astrid. No one has ever paid this much for a Chinese painting. One ten. One fifteen. It’s Araminta against Kitty. Keep going?”

Cassian was trapped inside the ice-cream freezer. Astrid stared at her child in exasperation. “I have to go. Just get it. As you said, this is something the museum ought to have, so I don’t really care what I have to pay.”

Ten minutes later, as Astrid stood in line at the checkout counter, her phone rang again. She smiled apologetically at the cashier as she took the call.

“Sorry to bother you again, but we’re at a hundred and ninety-five million now—your bid,” Oliver said, sounding a bit frazzled.

“Really?” Astrid said, as she snatched away the Mars bar that Cassian was trying to hand to the cashier.

“Yes, the Getty dropped out at one fifty, and Araminta at one eighty. It’s just you against Kitty, and it looks like she’s hell-bent on having it. At this point, I can’t in good conscience recommend it. I know Chor Ling at the museum would be horrified to find out you paid this much.”

“She’ll never know—I’m giving it anonymously.”

“Even so. Astrid, I know it’s not about the money, but at this price, we’re in idiot territory.”

“How annoying. You’re right—one hundred and ninety-five million is just silly. Let Kitty Pong have it if she wants it that badly,” Astrid said. She fished a stack of super-saver coupons out of her purse and presented them to the cashier.

Thirty seconds later, the gavel went down on The Palace of Eighteen Perfections. At one hundred and ninety-five million, it was the most expensive Chinese work of art ever sold at auction. The glittering crowd burst into deafening applause as Kitty Pong preened for the cameras, the flashes going off like IEDs in downtown Kabul. One of the Russian wolfhounds started to bark. Now the whole world would know that Kitty Pong—or Mrs. Bernard Tai, as she now insisted on being called—had indeed arrived.

* * *

*1 Oliver T’sien—one of Christie’s most highly valued deputy chairmen—has long-standing relationships with many of the world’s top collectors. (Being related to practically every important family in Asia didn’t hurt.)

*2 Cantonese for “So rotten I could die!”

*3 The authenticity of the painting was later questioned, and the buyer retracted the bid. (They probably realized it wouldn’t match their sofa.)

*4 Hokkien for “Are you out of your mind?”

2

CUPERTINO, CALIFORNIA

FEBRUARY 9, 2013—CHINESE NEW YEAR’S EVE

“The boys are back from their football game. Steer clear of Jason—he’s going to be one giant sweat rag,” Samantha Chu warned her cousin Rachel as soon as she heard the boisterous echoes coming from the garage. The two of them were perched on wooden stools in the kitchen of Rachel’s uncle Walt and auntie Jin, making dumplings for the Chinese New Year’s Eve feast.

Samantha’s twenty-one-year-old brother came bursting through the screen door ahead of Nicholas Young. “We made the Lin brothers eat dirt!” Jason triumphantly announced, grabbing two Gatorades from the fridge and tossing one to Nick. “Hey, where did the parentals go? I expected to find more hysterical aunties fighting over kitchen counter space.”

“Dad’s picking up Great-auntie Louise from the retirement home, and Mom, Auntie Flora, and Auntie Kerry went to 99 Ranch,” Samantha reported.

“Again? Glad I didn’t get roped into driving them this time—that place is always so packed with fobbies,*1 the parking lot looks like a Toyota dealership! What did they run out of this time?” Jason asked.

“Everything. Uncle Ray called—he’s bringing the whole family after all, and you know how much those boys can eat,” Samantha said as she scooped some minced-pork-and-chive filling onto a dough wrapper and handed it off to Rachel.

“Get ready, Jase—I’m sure Auntie Belinda’s going to say something about your new tattoo,” Rachel teased as she folded little pleats on the top of the dumpling and molded it into a perfect crescent shape.

“Who’s Auntie Belinda?” Nick inquired.

Jason made a face. “Dude! You haven’t met her yet, have you? She’s Uncle Ray’s wife. Uncle Ray is this megabucks oral surgeon, and they have this huge McMansion in Menlo Park, so Auntie Belinda acts like she’s the Queen of Downtown Abbey. She’s insanely uptight, and every year she drives Mom nuts by waiting till the very last minute to decide whether she and her spoiled-rotten kids will grace us with their presence.”

“It’s Downton Abbey, Jase,” Samantha corrected. “And come on, she’s not that bad. She’s just from Vancouver, that’s all.”

“You mean Hongcouver,” Jason retorted, tossing his empty bottle from across the kitchen into the oversized Bed Bath and Beyond plastic bag on the pantry door that served as the recycling bin. “Auntie Belinda’s going to love you Nick, especially when she hears you speak like that dude from Notting Hill!”

By six thirty, twenty-two members of the extended Chu clan had arrived at the house. Most of the older uncles and aunties sat around the big rosewood dining table that was covered in thick protective plastic sheeting, while the younger adults sat with the children at three folding mah-jongg tables that spilled out into the living room. (The teens and college-age Chus were spread out in front of the big-screen television in the den watching basketball and gobbling down fried pot stickers by the dozen.)

As the aunties began bringing out the heaping platters of roast duck, jumbo shrimp deep fried in batter, steamed kai-lan with black mushrooms, and Chinese long-life noodles with barbecued pork and scallops, Auntie Jin looked around at the gathered crowd. “Ray is still not here? We’re not waiting any longer or the food will get cold!”

“Auntie Belinda is probably still trying to decide which Chanel dress to wear,” Samantha quipped.

Just then the doorbell rang, and Ray and Belinda Chu swept into the house with their four teenage sons, all sporting Ralph Lauren polo shirts in different hues. Belinda wore high-waisted cream silk trousers, an iridescent orange blouse with billowing organza sleeves, her trademark Chanel gold belt, and a pair of oversize champagne pearl earrings more appropriate for the opening night of the San Francisco Opera.

“Happy New Year, everyone!” Uncle Ray announced jovially as he presented his eldest brother, Walt, with a big box of Japanese pears, while his wife ceremoniously handed Auntie Jin a covered Le Creuset dish. “Would you mind warming this up for me in the oven? Just 115 degrees for twenty minutes.”

“Hiyah, you didn’t have to bring anything,” Auntie Jin said.

“No, no, this is my dinner—I’m on a raw food diet now,” Belinda announced.

When everyone had finally settled into their seats and begun attacking the dishes with gusto, Uncle Walt beamed across the table at Rachel. “I’m still not used to seeing you at this time of the year! You usually only come back for Thanksgiving.”

“It worked out because Nick and I had to deal with some last-minute wedding stuff,” Rachel explained.

Auntie Belinda suddenly exclaimed imperiously, “Rachel Chu! I can’t believe I’ve been here ten minutes and you STILL HAVEN’T SHOWN ME YOUR ENGAGEMENT RING! Get over here right now!” Rachel got up from her seat and walked toward her aunt dutifully, stretching out her hand for inspection.

“My, it’s so…pretty!” Auntie Belinda remarked in a shrill voice, barely concealing her surprise. Wasn’t this Nick fellow supposed to come from money? How did poor Rachel get saddled with this little pebble? It couldn’t have been more than a carat and a half!

“It’s just a simple ring—exactly what I wanted,” Rachel said modestly, eyeing the huge marquis-cut rock on her aunt’s finger.

“Yes, it’s very simple, but it suits you perfectly,” Auntie Belinda pronounced. “Wherever did you find a ring like this, Nick? Is it from Singapore?”

“My cousin Astrid helped me. It’s from her friend Joel in Paris,”*2 Nick answered politely.

“Hmm. Imagine going all the way to Paris for this,” Auntie Belinda murmured.

“Hey, didn’t you get engaged in Paris?” Rachel’s older cousin Vivian, who lived in Malibu, excitedly cut in. “I think my mom told me something about a troupe of mimes performing at your proposal.”

“Mimes?” Nick gave Vivian a look of horror. “I assure you, no mimes were ever involved!”

“Hiyah, then tell us the whole story!” Auntie Jin cajoled.

Nick glanced over at Rachel. “Why don’t you take this one? You tell it much better.”

Rachel took a deep breath as everyone around the table looked at her expectantly. “Okay, here goes. On the last night of our Paris trip, Nick arranged a surprise dinner. He wouldn’t tell me where we were going, so I had a feeling something was up. We ended up at this beautiful historic residence on an island in the middle of the Seine—”