That night, when An
Nhien came back to Khai Minh’s room to turn down the bed, he was already
sitting in the dark, his mother’s watch cupped in his palm.
The room was so still she
could hear the envelope brushing against the fabric inside her coat pocket.
“You went to see my aunt
just now, didn’t you?”
An Nhien stopped in her
tracks.
“You’re still awake, young
master?”
“I asked if you just went
to see my aunt.”
“Yes.”
“How much did she give
you?”
An Nhien said nothing. The
corner of Khai Minh’s mouth curled into a thin, contemptuous smile.
“That’s three… You’re
officially dismissed.”
“You heard me take
the envelope?”
“I heard you walk in and
knew your pocket was heavier than when you left. My aunt doesn’t summon a poor
person who needs money just to make small talk.”
An Nhien’s hands clenched,
the shame of being seen through burning hot behind her eyes.
“Yes. I took the money. She
promised to give my father his job back and get my brother his surgery.”
“In exchange for reporting
my every move to her.”
“Yes.”
“You sold me out faster
than I expected.”
An Nhien let out a laugh,
but her voice had already cracked.
“What right do you have to
talk to me like that? You fired my father. You got Dong’s
treatment subsidy cut. Then you handed me a contract, made me sign it, made me
swallow every insult you threw. And now that someone’s offered me another way
out, you stand up there on your high ground and call me a traitor.”
“You could have refused.”
“People with money always
find that line easy to say. You’ve never had to watch someone you love hurt so
badly they can’t breathe, and then wonder where tomorrow’s medicine money will
come from. You’ve never had to choose between your own dignity and your little
brother’s life.”
Khai Minh shot to his feet,
the tip of his cane cracking hard against the floor.
“I’ve never watched someone
I love die right in front of me?”
An Nhien froze, but the
anger had her, and she couldn’t hold it back anymore.
“Your suffering doesn’t
give you the right to trample everyone else and drag them down into it with
you. If you trust no one, then don’t demand that anyone trust you. You use
money and power to test people one by one, and the moment they break, you call
it betrayal. Have you ever once treated any of them like a human being?”
“What do you know about
me?”
“I know you’re turning yourself
into the exact kind of person you hate. You think the world is dark because
your eyes can’t see. But the darkest place isn’t in your eyes. It’s in a heart
so tightly shut that anyone who comes near it walks away wounded.”
The room went utterly silent.
The instant the words left
her, An Nhien knew she’d struck his deepest wound, but she didn’t take them
back. Khai Minh stood there a long time, his hand gripping the head of the
cane.
“Security.”
Two bodyguards stepped in.
“Get her out of here.”
An Nhien pulled the
envelope out and set it on the table.
“Here’s your aunt’s money.
Keep it. I don’t want to owe that woman anything, and I don’t want to keep
being your servant either. You lunatic.”
She hurled the towel to the
floor right in front of him and turned to go.
Khai Minh listened to her
footsteps fade down the corridor, heard the door close behind her, and still he
stood rooted in the middle of the room like a pillar, her words about a
darkened heart echoing off all four walls.
The next morning, his
private phone rang at eight-fifteen. It was Hoa, Mai Ngoc’s secretary, calling
on the sly, her voice rushed.
“Madam Mai Ngoc is about to
sign the agreement transferring control of Vinh An Hospital to the Truong Sinh
Group, at the Thien Ha Hotel. The signing starts at ten.”
“She has no right to sell
shares registered in my name.”
Khai Minh shouted it into
the phone. The line went dead on the other end. He immediately called the
lawyer Bach.
“Stop her. Right now.”
He barked the order. On the
other end, Bach was silent. Khai Minh shouted again.
“Do you hear me? You have
to stop them. Find a way to stall them until I can get there.”
He hung up and immediately
called for the housekeeper to ready a car. No one answered.
He walked out to the
entrance hall, and his cane knocked against the leg of someone standing in
front of the door.
“Move.”
“Young master, you’re not
to leave the house today.”
“On whose orders?”
The bodyguard said nothing.
“My aunt’s?”
“Please don’t make this
hard for us.”
Khai Minh laughed, very
softly, but it was the kind of laugh that made no one nearby dare to breathe.
“You take the Lam family’s
wages, then use this very gate to lock me in?”
“We’re only following
instructions to keep you safe.”
“You cage a blind man in
his own house while you go sell off my assets, and you call that keeping
me safe? Did my aunt teach you to say that?”
No answer.
Khai Minh turned and felt
his way along the rear corridor. Six years had etched every route into his
memory. He knew the side door near the greenhouse was double-locked, and that
the old storeroom leading out to the garden had only a rusted padlock. He pried
it open with an iron bar, his palm splitting and bleeding, but he didn’t stop.
When the door gave, he
traced the wall, made it across the gravel slope, and reached the main road
just as the clock neared half past nine.
The villa sat far from the
center; taxis rarely passed through. Khai Minh stood at the roadside, calling
one after another, but no one would take the fare. Cold wind swept down the
slope. His wounded hand throbbed, and every minute that ticked by dragged Vinh
An closer to Truong Sinh.
“Taxi… taxi…”
He called out, waving a
hand. An Nhien was passing on a delivery run when she jolted to a stop at the
sound of that voice.
“There aren’t any taxis
around here at this hour.”
Khai Minh turned his face
toward the sound.
“Tran An Nhien?”
An Nhien hadn’t expected
the man who’d thrown her out of the villa to be standing alone at the roadside,
shirt streaked with dust, palm oozing blood.
“What are you doing out
here? Where are your bodyguards?”
“None of your business.”
“Then keep standing there.
I’m leaving.”
Khai Minh heard her turn
the key in her bike, and his lips pressed thin. For years he’d been used to
giving orders and watching people obey. But right now, time wouldn’t let him
hold on to his pride.
“I need to get to the Thien
Ha Hotel before ten.”
An Nhien checked the time.
“It’s over ten kilometers
from here. A car probably won’t make it, but a bike can thread through the
jams.”
“Take me.”
She laughed, unable to hide
the sarcasm.
“You’re giving orders to
the person you fired last night?”
Khai Minh went quiet. Wind
gusted down the slope, the ticking of the watch on An Nhien’s wrist beating out
each second, clear and steady. At last he lowered his voice, every word harder
to force out than any command he’d ever given.
“Please. Take me there.”
An Nhien went still. She
hadn’t forgotten what he’d done, hadn’t forgotten the sight of her father on
his knees in the hospital, but this was the first time she’d ever heard Khai
Minh admit he needed someone else.
“Get on. I’ll take you to
the hotel. But this isn’t over between us.”
Khai Minh fumbled for the
spare helmet she held out to him.
“Hold on tight. I’m not
taking the blame if the great Young Master Lam goes rolling into the middle of
the road.”
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