It takes a few phone calls, but the meeting is arranged. After a quick shower and shave, Drew is on his way to meet the man rumored to be responsible for importing half a billion dollars’ worth of illegal narcotics into Canada in the nineties.
And that’s just the stuff they know about.
* * *
The deeper Drew gets into Oakville, the bigger the houses get. Eventually he finds himself driving past properties ranging well into the millions. Out of curiosity, he asks Siri to look up the listing price of a house for sale that resembles a small chateau in the South of France. Siri tells him the asking price is $12,999,999. For fuck’s sake, who are these real estate agents kidding? Just round it up to thirteen million.
The house next to it isn’t on the market, but it is the one he’s looking for. He pulls into the U-shaped driveway. Parking behind a Lamborghini and a Maserati, he stares up at the mansion in awe. Three stories high, stucco facade, four-stall garage, pristine views of the lake. Officially, Tuan Tranh—who goes by Tony—is a furniture manufacturer with a large factory in Vietnam. But sofas and bed frames might not be the only things moving in those shipping containers. Clearly, being in the illegal drug business pays.
Out of habit, Drew locks his car, although he can’t imagine anyone will try to steal his eleven-year-old Audi when they could have a Lambo. He walks up to the front doors of the mansion and rings the bell, looking up into the camera mounted above. A moment later, the huge mahogany door opens. A small, wrinkled face peers out, dark eyes narrowing when she sees the tall Black man standing there.
“Yes?” she asks. The woman can’t be more than four ten. She’s wearing khaki pants and a loose green T-shirt, with well-worn shearling slippers on her feet.
“Hello, ma’am,” Drew says. “I’m here to see Tony Tranh.”
“He know you coming?” Soft Vietnamese accent, suspicious tone.
“We have a meeting, yes.” He pulls out a business card and offers it to her. “Drew Malcolm.”
“You wait here.” She plucks the card from his fingers and closes the door. Drew hears it lock.
While he waits, he looks at the houses across the street on the other side of Lakeshore Road. They’re not waterfront, which decreases their value significantly, but some of them are just as big. Somewhere on the other end of Oakville, farther away from the lake, Simone’s parents live in a small townhouse. Mr. and Mrs. Bailey always did like him. Maybe he should drop by for a visit, catch up, find out whether Simone married the dude she cheated on him with, since she doesn’t have any social media accounts.
Yeah, hard pass.
The door opens again. “Come inside,” the tiny woman says, and Drew steps through the door.
His entire two-bedroom-plus-den condo could fit in this entryway alone. The ceilings are probably eighteen feet high, and there’s a clear view from the foyer straight through to the back of the house, which is completely walled in glass. The view of Lake Ontario should have been unobstructed, except that right in the center of the foyer is a nine-foot marble statue of a voluptuous, naked woman with long, wavy hair and nipples the size of grapes. The statue is awesome, gaudy, and completely distracting.
The small woman waits patiently as he takes it all in, as if it’s normal for everybody to gawk at the house, the lake, and the statue when they first get here. Which they probably do, in that order.
“No shoes.” She looks down at Drew’s feet, which are encased in clean white Nikes. Using her pinky finger, she points to a large wicker basket by the door. It’s filled with slippers. All styles, all colors, all in various states of wear. “You want wear slippers?”
“I’m sure he doesn’t,” a tall blond woman says as she comes around the corner. She’s wearing slippers, too, but hers are furry and bright blue. “And if he did, I’m sure we don’t have anything in his size. C?m ?n.”
The older woman nods and leaves.
“Lauren Tranh.” The blonde stretches a languid hand out toward Drew. “Tony’s wife. You must be Drew. He’s just finishing up a call in his office.”
Mrs. Tranh is white, at least five ten, and stunning. She looks vaguely familiar. Former actress or model? Reality star? If there ever comes a day when Bravo decides to introduce a Real Housewives of Oakville to their franchise, Lauren Tranh will be a shoo-in.
He shakes her hand. “Should I remove my shoes?”
“Yes, please.”
He takes them off and places them neatly by the door. When he stands and turns around again, she has a small smile on her face.