Page 92 of Worth Fighting For

“What are you talking about?” James scoffs.

“Your meeting with Richard Foreman from Foreman and Byrde.”

James’s face pales. “Wait—”

“I happened to be at Ginger Flower. I heard what you said.”

“James, what is she talking about?” Uncle Hong says.

“Nothing, she’s making shit up like she always does.”

“James met up with Richard Foreman at a bar called Ginger Flower two days ago,” I say. “During which time they talked about Richard’s firm acquiring Wutai Gold.”

“It’s a good deal,” James hisses.

“Yes, for you,” I say. I turn to Uncle Hong. “But not for the company. You won’t be retaining any rights, no creative say, nothing. Because Richard Foreman wants to break your company down and sell it for parts. And James wants to go for it because he gets a cut on the side.”

Auntie Chuang gasps and turns to her son. “James, what is she saying? Is this true?”

“No,” James says, but there’s a telling quaver in his voice, and though he is no doubt scrambling to come up with a lie to save his ass, he’s so obviously panicked and taken aback that it quickly becomes clear to everyone that he’s been exposed.

Uncle Hong’s face falls, and he looks a lot older than his seventy years. “Er zi,” he says.Son. The heartbreak in his voice is palpable and even though I despise James, it hurts to see Uncle Hong looking so small and vulnerable. He’s looking at James like it’s the first time he’s seeing him. “A firm that wants to break up our company?”

James looks desperately around the table, searching for some help. When it becomes obvious that there is none coming, his expression of panic hardens. I actually see the change happen, as though he is a trapped animal who realizes there is no escaping and what remains is a fight to the death. His upper lip curls into a look of such contempt that Uncle Hong flinches at the sight of it.

“Yes,” he hisses. “Because I want out. I can’t wait to be rid of this joke of a company.”

“Joke?” Uncle Hong croaks. “How can you say that, James? This is legacy, this—”

“Fuck legacy!” James screeches. People at neighboring tables stop talking and turn to stare, but he keeps going. “Do you know what it’s like growing up as a Li? From as far back as I can remember, you and Ma said shit like: ‘When you join the family company, when you start working at the family company…’ Did you ever stop to think that maybe I didn’t want to join the company?”

Uncle Hong and Auntie Chuang look aghast. “Why didn’t you want to join the family company?” Auntie Chuang says. “It is what has given us our livelihood, otherwise we will be—”

“Homeless, out on the streets begging for food,” James finishes. “Yeah, you always drill that right into my head.” He taps on his temple. “Did I have a say in what to major in at college? Nope. Did you ever bother asking me what I really want to do?”

Uncle Hong utters a small, shocked laugh. “Well, of course you want to keep working in the family company, like Shang.”

“No, I don’t!” James snaps. “I never did, okay? I wanted to be a writer.” His voice breaks then. “I’m not like Shang, the fucking perfect son,” he spits, throwing a venomous glare in Shang’s direction.

“A writer?” Auntie Chuang says, as though the concept of being a writer is entirely foreign to her.

What is going on right now? Why am I—My god, am I actually feeling empathy for James, of all people?

And I am. James’s anguish is palpable. He’s still repulsive, but I understand the complicated blessing and curse that a family company brings with it. The pressure of continuing it for our parents’ sake, combined with all their expectations. The awareness of all the sacrifices that our parents had to make to build the company from scratch, and the expectation on us to ensure its longevity. I am lucky, I realize now, to have a natural affinity for finance. I can’t even imagine if I were like James and wanted to do something completely unrelated.

“Yeah, Ma,” James says. “A writer. Of books.” He actually mimes reading a book, as though he doesn’t think his mother knows what they are. “Did you guys never notice how much I loved reading as a kid?”

“Of course we noticed,” Auntie Chuang says. “We told everyone how you are a gifted child.”

“Because that’s all that matters, right?” James says. “What other people think. You never even stopped to think:Huh, my son likes reading, maybe he’s into writing as well. Of course you didn’t. It was all about Wutai Gold. We—” He gestures at the cousins, who look torn between embarrassment and sympathy. “We’re nothing but your little projects that you had so you could mold us into exactly what you desired. Nothing more than an extension of yourselves.” James leans back, looking satisfied. “So yeah, I want to see the company end. I want to see it broken into many little pieces and sold for parts. Because this fucking company has ruined my life.” He goes for a smug smile, but his lip trembles like he’s barely holding back his tears.

My breath comes out in a hiss. That was surprisingly heavy, coming from James. And judging from the looks on Uncle Hong’s and Auntie Chuang’s faces, they’ve been hit hard by his admission, too. They look like they’re this close to wailing.

Then Auntie Jiayi says, “Oh, grow up, James.” She glares at him. “What stopped you from being a writer? You have a nice home. You have a computer. You have health care. What is it you want to write? Books?”

James, looking shell-shocked, gives a tiny nod.

“So why don’t you write books? Are your mama and baba physically pinning you down on the floor so you can’t write?”

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