Chapter

 43

By three o’clock that afternoon, I was beginning to function in a normal way. A short nap and some food had set me up to begin dealing with the purpose of my trip.

I had tried not to think about the question of liability. It was a word I knew was common to big business, but when Mathews had warned that my signature on all the partnership papers made me a party to any actions on the part of Stevens’ company, liability became my most feared word...next to Charlie. Last thing in the world I needed right now was any more liability than myself and who I was. Mathews’ greatest concern was that Sobel might be what his attorney suspected...playing with the books. It didn’t bother me nearly as much as him. Sometimes he was all father and not doctor. This was one of those times.

On the flight, I had read more chapters of ALL I NEED TO KNOW I LEARNED IN KINDERGARTEN, but it hadn’t helped with this one. Even though the author had referred to “Don’t take things that aren’t yours” as a valuable lesson, he didn’t tell me what to do if I caught someone who hadn’t read his advice.

I had phoned the Hong Kong office of Stanley Rich and Associates, Mathews’ brokerage house. His broker, Mike, had alerted Walden Rhodes to assist me in checking out the sale of the buildings in question. Walden had requested I meet him at 3:30 at the Hong Kong Bureau of Property Management.

As I prepared to leave, I kept thinking why would Sobel and her company sell property for less than it was worth, unless as Mathews’ had intimated, there was a side deal?

As I walked the short distance to city hall, the cosmopolitan atmosphere of the area made me think just how small the world really was. For someone with money, the geography of the planet was as easy to access as a travel book in the library. I was beginning to wonder why I felt uneasy using my money. What was it that had made me vow to make this the last thing I would do in big business? Why was having money so uncomfortable for me to work with and so easy for somebody like Gerald to just take in his stride? Most importantly, why was I allowing money to entrap me? What was my life about, anyway? Catching Sobel being a crook, or finding out what made me feel this way?

As I walked through the lobby of Hong Kong’s city hall on my way to the Bureau of Property Management, I felt like I was about to take a final exam of some kind. “Give me some answers so I can go home,” I kept muttering to myself.

The vaulted ceilings and marble floors made even smaller the fragile presence of the Asian woman sitting at the antique desk. As I approached, she looked up, peering over her simple gold rimmed spectacles. “Excuse me,” I whispered, as if in a library that demanded solemn constraints. “I’m supposed to meet a Mr. Walden Rhodes here and... “

She nodded and pointed to the ornate ivory and teak wood doors at the end of the hall. “Mr. Walden in records.”

I thanked her and walked on the balls of my feet toward the end of the hall. Flanking the aisle and recessed behind twenty-foot pillars of marble were rows and rows of timeworn file drawers, the reflection of their brass handles splintering the light across my path. I tilted my head back and peered at the carved ceiling, framing the skylights that cast the musty illumination. This building and its art had to have been created many years, maybe centuries ago. I wondered if the quality of oriental patience and perseverance had survived the western glass and steel influence that dominated the city’s architecture now. Would any more monuments such as this ever be built again? The fashionable silk suits and ties of the businessmen, scurrying from side to side scanning the files, suggested a “no” answer.

As I reached the end of the hall, I wondered how immense the paper work must be for property deeds, building permits, and construction records for a crowded city this old.

I pushed open the fortress-like doors and gazed upon a cavernous barren room whose walls housed hundreds of flat blue print drawers. Seated at a long brass, ivory and teak table was a very dapper looking gentleman and an Asian dressed in a traditional black baggy Mao styled suit. Spread before them were some files and blueprints.

The gentleman rose, checked his pocket watch, smiled and extended his hand. “You must be Mr. Randall.”

“Yes,” I said as we exchanged handshakes.

He nodded. “A pleasure. I’m Walden Rhodes. This is Dr. Kuan Ching. I trust you had a pleasant journey?”

“Yes,” I replied, feeling I was in the presence of a somewhat odd combination of businessmen. “Long, but fine otherwise.”

Mr. Rhodes smiled, “Well, jet lag doesn’t get any worse than when you come from the U.S. Will you be staying long?”

“No,” I said. “I’d like to finish up in the next twenty-four hours if possible.”

“Well, you are ambitious. We’ll try to accommodate you. I’ve asked Dr. Ching to join us because he was instrumental in the sales process last year.”

I gave another glance at Dr. Ching. It wasn’t easy to feel comfortable in his presence. He sat without any response to our conversation so far. Not that he was rude or arrogant, just silent, emotionless...stoic. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, let me explain a bit,” said Walden unbuttoning his vest and sitting back down. “Dr. Ching practices what is called in Chinese, feng shui - literally wind water - the art, or science if you prefer, of practicing a geometric approach in which a structure or site is chosen or configured so as to harmonize with the spiritual forces that inhabit it. The more common identification for his work is geomancing. Dr. Ching is a Taoist Master and one of the area’s most sought-after geomancers. If you want to build a house or some other structure, or find a suitable site for a grave, you call in a geomancer. Most Chinese believe that without feng shui an apartment block cannot be built, highways cannot be laid, telephone poles cannot be erected, and trees cannot be chopped down. The Chinese belief is that trees may have a spirit living inside, and for this reason some villages and temples in the new territories have feng shui groves to provide a place for the good spirits to live.”

“Wait a minute,” I hesitatingly said. “Are you telling me the property sold last year was...ah, c’mon. I didn’t fly all the way here to be told the price was under market because of some evil spirits...did I? I understood that the property was sold without any complications. I was merely asked to check on it because your company said the price paid was a little less than it should have been.”

Walden gave me a rather condescending glance, making me feel uncomfortable. I stood up, glanced at Dr. Ching, who hadn’t blinked, and motioned for Walden to join me at the other end of the room.

As we reached the corner, I turned, “Sir. Why the look?”

“I didn’t mean to anger you, but you certainly are cavalier with your losses. It’s hardly a small amount. D.S.R. sold your property for forty to fifty million below what our firm feels was the fair market value, feng shui crap notwithstanding.”

“Crap? You sounded like you believed in that stuff over there.”

“Manners...an old English custom,” he volunteered with the dignity of a statesman.

I was getting very frustrated. “Why are we doing this? I’m not going to buy it back.

He’s given me an explanation...even if it does sound crazy. “You may want to consider the rest of the story, Mr. Randall. The whole reason for the sale was the trouble D.S.R. was having subletting.”

“Subletting?” I interrupted.

He paused, a puzzled look came to his face. “You were aware that D.S.R. was leasing all three buildings from you...from your partnership...weren’t you?”

“Leasing? No. I wasn’t aware. This whole business was just thrown in front of me a few days ago.”

His look of confusion was classic.  I was the partner, after all.  Wasn’t I aware of … anything?  “Well, that certainly explains some of your confusion. Because D.S.R. couldn’t sublease so much of the space, they began exploring the sale of the buildings. At that time, it seems two different Chinese conglomerates became interested, and eventually, both walked away...for the same reason.”

“Which was?”

He motioned toward Dr. Ching. “Unfortunately, he was hired by both parties. He told them both that 701 and especially the ninth floor was “consumed,” as he put it, by evil spirits and... “

I shook my head. “This is getting to be a bit much. Why was the ninth floor targeted as worse than the rest of the building?”

“I don’t have an answer. All I can tell you is that the top floors were executive suites for D.S.R. But whatever details Dr. Ching told the prospective buyers, they accepted it. Geomancy is very serious business in China...especially in Hong Kong. I hope you understand.”

“I understand that this guy sitting like a rock back there might have cost the Stevens’ company fifty million dollars... “

“But...” interrupted Walden, “it could have been worse if D.S.R. hadn’t found the German concern that bought without getting involved with Asian customs.”

I hadn’t taken my gaze from Dr. Ching and now I was primed for some real answers. “Will he talk to me...tell me what he told whoever it was?”

Walden patted me on the shoulder, “Of course. That’s why he’s here...to do just that...”

We walked back to the table and sat down.

“Dr. Ching,” Walden said, “would you be so kind as to explain your feelings about the building on Harcourt Road?”

I watched as the little man in the black suit lifted his hands from his lap and placed them on the table, loosely interlocking the fingers in a modified prayer position.

“Mr. Randall,” he said with soft-spoken ease and calm, “you are a very fortunate man. Your money will be better served invested in enterprises other than 701 Harcourt Road. Are you familiar with geomancy?”

“A little.”

“Do you understand it?” “No.”

“Good. It will be easy to be honest with you now. I will not coat your senses with ancient Chinese philosophy. For that you would need to study many years, but your eyes tell me you are a man of intelligence.”

He turned the three blue prints around to face me, pointing to building 701. An inset overview showed 702 and 703 adjacent to 701. “I spent several hours in all three buildings,” he said. “In 701, I experienced a sense of danger...of discord. As I moved through the floors...” he pushed the overview aside and pointed to a plan for the 9^th floor… “here the aura was simply...evil, Mr. Randall. Contaminated surfaces were soiled with the fingerprints of evil men’s hands.”

He pointed to a corner section of the floor where there were large offices. “One office in particular, this presence of evil was most pronounced. I was drawn to a large glass desk built into the floor’s foundation.  Its glass surface was without a mark.  It’s reflection crystal clear. But its aura was impure, filled with murky colors. Mr. Randall, that building was not contaminated by evil spirits or ghosts from beneath. It was infected with its own spirits...live spirits that had the walls, floors and ceilings polluted and choked of any purity. That office was not good for me to remain in so I continued my walk through the hall into the other offices and on up to the 10^th and 11^th floors. Although the other floors were less wanton, similar soiling of the air was at every turn. I had to advise my employers that this building was contaminated and unfit. I’m sorry, Mr. Randall.”

My eyes were afraid to blink. I was mesmerized by the clarity and sincerity of this little man’s convictions.

He must have sensed my state.

“You may feel you lost fifty million, but you may have lost twice that amount if D.S.R. had continued.”

I took a pause, gathered my thoughts, and asked him just one question. “Did you tell all this to D.S.R.?”

“After my employers Mr. Chan and Mr. Lu had been told.”

“And D.S.R. accepted your explanation without a challenge?”

“Their Vice President, a Ms. Sobel, laughed at my explanation before I handed her an example of the evil vibrations filling the air of the building.” He stood up and reached into his pocket. “When I told her this was one of many in a box I found in the office with the glass desk...she held it in her hand and became very quiet. Perhaps it had particular meaning to her as well, or perhaps she too felt the darkness.”

He had pulled from his pocket a book of personalized matches...its gold embossed lettering read, “C.S.”

Suddenly, I too was silent. As I held the matches, all I felt was the pulse beat at the tips of my fingers...an accelerating beat that began to move up my arm to my chest, my throat, my head...my…. My eyes managed to lift and be caught by Dr. Ching’s gaze...a gaze that gave me a chill. It was as if he knew more about me...than me.

It was past two o’clock when after getting copies of certain building records from the Bureau, I thanked Dr. Ching for his time and explanation.

Walden took me to lunch and explained that although the morning might have appeared a bit hocus pocus, he assured me there were uncanny statistics to support the validity of geomancing. For reasons I couldn’t really define, I wasn’t in need of Walden’s justifying Dr. Ching’s ability. I let him go on, though. He was, as he had said earlier, just fulfilling what his firm felt was a courtesy to Mathews. I was grateful. I was also pumping the pills into me in double doses now...concerned that another rush of anxiety could come barreling up at any minute as a result of my preoccupation with 701 Harcourt Road.

Having survived the two-hour lunch, I thanked him for all his help and left him at the corner. I turned and headed back toward my hotel. 701 Harcourt Road was on the way.

As I came up to the entrance, the modern glass and steel seemed incongruous standing amidst the very old structures surrounding it. Even buildings 702 and 703 were of the same impression, and standing side by side, they formed almost a full block of contemporary western influence that I couldn’t help feel was out of place. I looked down at my feet standing on modern sidewalks and thought back at Dr. Ching’s description. What was beneath the concrete? What history was buried under this obsession with progress, this “evil” he relegated to the 9^th floor of someone’s Hell?

I looked back to the entrance. There was no doubt. I was feeling a strange reluctance to enter. ButI pushed the glass door and walked in. I needed to see the 9^th floor.

Maybe it was my ego, maybe my neurosis, but I still had in my pocket what was too coincidental to not be Charlie Stevens’ book of matches. I had denounced any association with him many times during the past several weeks, but here I was...fingering the embossed letters as I entered a building where he may have had an office... an office that most of me hoped was not part of my memory.