Lies and Weddings(74)
He finished his call and looked up slowly. “Um gau cho, ah! Do my eyes deceive me? Has the great Dr. Tong…finally deigned…to pay me a visit?”
“You’re not supposed to be talking on the phone, Rene,” Thomas scolded him.
“I need to make money…I’m a dying man.”
“You have enough money for a hundred lifetimes. You need to gain some weight. You ought to be eating more.”
“How am I supposed to eat…when everything tastes like shit? What’s this genius new pill I’m on…the one that’s supposed to extend…my life by fourteen days? I asked that gweilo…‘How do you know it’s working? When do we start…counting the fourteen days?’ Maybe if you let me go…back to Manila…I can get some decent food.”
“I bet you can find great siew yuk here.”
“I want to go home. I’ve been in this…hellhole long enough.”
“Being here saved your life, Rene. That’s what you begged me to do, if you recall.”
“Yes, MD Anderson has kept me alive…with all their fuckin’ poisons…but tell me…will I live long enough…to see any of my money…from Francis Gresham?”
“I would hope so.”
“That unlucky fucker…I heard about the volcano…Doris Hoh told me…she twisted her ankle sprinting out of that forest.”
“Well, as a matter of fact, Francis could use another line of credit. And I see a way this could be a win for you.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Thomas. Gresham is finished…nothing will save him now.”
“You can save him. If you assume all the debt and we help him to restructure his entire portfolio of hotels, you could see a sizable profit on your investment. Don’t forget, every hotel is situated in the most prime location. Bella Hong Kong is off Star Street in Causeway Bay. Bella Antwerp is right next to Vlaeykensgang. There’s pure profit on the real estate even if the hotels never see another guest.”
“How much would it take?”
“Half a billion.”
“And what can he offer up as collateral?”
“The only thing he has left: Greshamsbury Hall. His own house.”
“The jewel in the crown. Didn’t he swear…he’d never mortgage that?”
“He has no choice. Unless he wants to lose everything.”
“And if he does…I still get the house.”
“You get everything and the house.”
“How much is the house worth, with everything in it?”
“The modern art is already mortgaged to other banks, but the house itself, the land, and the heirloom art and furniture is probably worth close to a hundred and fifty million.”
“You and I both know I’ll never…live to see this house.”
“Rene, you’re in all the medical journals. You’ve defied all the odds so far.”
Rene held up his hand and weakly waved off Thomas’s comment. “I had my lawyers here last week. You need to know…I’ve made you the executor…of all my trusts.”
Thomas looked momentarily stunned. “Really?”
“Pablo Aguilar, my CFO…will run day-to-day…but I’m giving you oversight…of Luis Felipe’s trusts…until he turns thirty-five.”
“Rene, I’m not sure I want to be placed in that kind of role. I’m not Luis Felipe’s favorite person as it is…”
“That’s why I did it. You’re the only one…I can trust to…say fuck you to Luis. Speaking of which…I want to get out…of this armpit of hell…and see my boy.”
“Your boy should be here with you. Where is he?”
“He’s very busy spending my money. Why don’t we surprise him…and pay him a visit? If I’m well enough…to play golf, I’m well enough…to get on a plane.”
“Maybe after your next infusion,” Thomas said.
“No! Today!”
“Let’s talk to Dave about it. But first, I’d like to get a drink.”
One of the nurses immediately sprang up. “What can I get you, Dr. Tong?”
“Do you have any juice? Actually, I’ll get it myself.” He left Rene’s room and headed toward the kitchen, thinking it would clear his head.
In the immense, gleaming kitchen, a chef stood at the island carved out of a single block of Breccia Capraia marble kneading pizza dough. Thomas smiled at her. “Sorry to bother you. Might you have any orange juice?”
“Right over there in that fridge on the left,” the woman said. “Cups are over in the cabinet behind me.”
“Thank you,” Thomas said as he poured himself some freshly squeezed juice.
The chef began tossing the dough with the flair of a flamenco dancer.
“You’re really good at this,” Thomas complimented her.
“Not really, but I fake it well,” the chef said with a grin. “I’m Samin”—(Marie Curie Elementary/Muirlands/La Jolla High/UC Berkeley)—“by the way.”
“Thomas.”
“You want some pizza? It’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”
“Definitely. I’ve heard about your pizza,” Thomas said as he gulped down the juice.