Page 9 of Worth Fighting For

“What?”

Mushu shrugs. “I don’t think these people are going to want to do the deal with you.”

It takes a moment for Mushu’s words to sink in. “I don’t understand. Why not?”

“Um, they sound kind of, sort of, really—hmm, what’s the word I’m looking for?—traditional.”

“‘Traditional,’” I echo.

“You know, sort of more on the conservative side…”

“So you’re saying they won’t want to deal with me because I’m a woman?”

“Well, not quite, but—well, yes.”

I grin. “Oh, Mushu. Mushu, Mushu.”

Mushu looks at me like I’ve finally lost it.

“Mushu, I am a VP at a private equity firm.”

“I am aware of that,” Mushu says warily.

“Every day for the past five years, I have had to deal with finance bros in all their human, and barely human, form. Analysts who think they are certified geniuses—and some of them are genuine geniuses, mind you. Partners who think they are destined to become billionaires, if they’re only given the right opportunity. Manspreaders who are used to bullying and not taking no for an answer to get to where they want to be in life. And every single one of these men thinks they are god’s gift to women.”

“Yep, sounds about right,” Mushu says.

“And yet not only have I remained in this male-dominated industry, I have excelled.” I say this with a little bow.

“Yeah you have, sis!” Mushu cheers.

“So the fact that the Wutai Gold family is sexist? Doesn’t faze me. In fact, I would’ve been surprised if you’d told me they weren’t sexist.”

“Right. Except they also said they can’t possibly trust anyone aside from, uh—your dad.”

Anxiety claws up my chest, threatening to wrap its hands around my throat and squeeze, but I fight it back. No, I can’t afford to fall apart right now. Not when I’ve just promised my father to bring this one home. The memory of my mother’s sad, lined face floats to the surface, and I ball my hands into fists in determination. “I’m not going to back down. I can’t afford to cancel tomorrow’s meeting. Foreman and Byrde will cut in and sweep them away if we don’t go fast. They’re already competing for this deal. The stress of that would destroy Ba.”

“Ugh, those creeps,” Mushu mutters.

“Come on, we’re going back to the office.”

“To hack into your dad’s email?”

“Does it even count as hacking if I know his password?”

Hours later, the sun has dipped well below the San Francisco hills, and I’m wondering if this is where I give up after all. Alone in my dad’s office, I rub my tired eyes and scroll back through his emails with Wutai Gold. Most of his correspondence has been with Shang, who is the acting CEO of the company, and the messages are very…I struggle to describe them without being rude to Baba. No other word for it, the messages are so bro-y. Take this one, for example.

From: Hua Zhou

To: Li Shang

Subject: Re: Wutai Gold & Facai Capital

Dear Shang,

I think it’s wonderful that your whiskey distillery is located at your family’s ranch. Back home in Yunnan, my family has a large farm that sounds very much like your family’s ranch here. We owned all sorts of animals and grew most of our crops. My fondest memories are of chopping wood and herding cattle. I could ride a horse before I learned how to walk, and the pigs and goats were my friends growing up. One day soon, I hope to visit your family ranch. Perhaps we could even have a bit of a race on horseback?

Best,

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