Page 93 of Worth Fighting For

“No, but—”

“Most writers have a day job,” Auntie Jiayi says. “You have a day job, too, but you don’t have a spouse or little kids to look after, so why don’t you write after work? Or wake up early to write? What are you doing in your free time?”

“Wh—” James’s eyes dart to and fro frantically. “I mean, I have a lot of things going on. I go to the gym, I have to clean my place, I hang out with my buddies—”

“Exactly,” Auntie Jiayi says. “You have a lot of things going on. And not one of them is writing. Because you don’t put writing as your priority. Aiya, James. Yes, I agree with you, family company is complicated, it’s both a good thing and a bad thing. But look at what it has given you. An education. Perfect English, not like ours, broken and ugly. You can use that perfect English to write a book, but you don’t. You choose to go out with friends, drink and be merry, and then you come back and you blame your parents for having a family company.”

“I—” James starts to say, then he seems to deflate, sagging back into his seat. He lowers his head and doesn’t say anything.

Once more, I find myself feeling bad for James. No matter how unpleasant he is, it’s never an enjoyable thing to watch someone getting told off like that. But god, I am impressed with Auntie Jiayi. She’s hit the nail right on the head. I look over at her, and when our eyes meet, she winks at me.

Then Auntie Jiayi stands, moving in such a regal way that everyone’s eyes are dragged to her.

“I have seen enough,” she says. “I see a very bright and talented young person here.” She gestures at me. “I see change, and a very scary thing is change. I see something different. But I also see growth. I vote to sell Wutai Gold to Facai Capital.”

“You?” Uncle Jing says. “You’re calling for a vote?” There is so much disdain in his voice that it makes me wince, but Auntie Jiayi doesn’t seem fazed in the least bit.

“Yes, I am. I am a shareholder.”

“You are a woman,” Uncle Xiaotian hisses.

“Yes, I am aware. And it is women who will save this company,” Auntie Jiayi says smartly. “But if you’d rather stay the course and drive the company into the ground, it is okay. I am happy to watch.”

“I vote alongside my mother,” Shang says.

“I vote also,” Auntie Lulu says.

Her husband, Uncle Xiaotian, looks at her in shock, and she shrugs. “I like this girl Mulan.”

“Yes, I vote, too,” Auntie Jamie says.

She nudges Auntie Chuang, who takes a sharp breath, then says, “Yes.”

“You all are in-laws!” Uncle Xiaotian snaps. “You don’t have a vote.”

Christopher slowly raises his hands. “Um, us G-two kids have a vote, and I vote to sell to Facai Capital.”

Ryan nods. “Yeah, I do, too.”

“Same,” Thomas says.

I gape at them in disbelief, but they look at me and smile, and my heart quickens. It’s happening. It’s actually happening. Then the last person I thought would speak up does so.

“I vote yes also,” Uncle Hong says quietly.

His brothers look as though he’s just murdered their puppy, but he ignores them. Keeping his gaze on me, he says, “When I came to this country, I only had one wish: the American dream. This dream is what drives this country. It is built by immigrants, all of us who have left our countries behind. Our children cannot speak our mother tongue. All for the American dream. I thought that in order to succeed, you have to sell to Americans, and Americans to me meant big, manly Caucasian men. I forgot about my fellow immigrants.” He looks around at the ballroom, filled to the gills with women of color, now dancing on the dance floor. A wistful smile touches his face. “My fellow immigrant families,” he says again, softly this time. “You are all so strong,” he murmurs to the crowd in general. “I forgot what real strength is. This”—he gestures to the ballroom of women—“is real strength. This is what Wutai Gold stands for. So, yes, I vote to sell to Facai Capital.”

It takes a while for his words to sink in, and when they finally do, my mouth goes dry. “That makes majority,” I say softly.

“It does,” Shang says.

My voice shakes as I meet Uncle Hong’s eye. “So we have a deal?”

He nods. “We have a deal.”

I whoop. I rush over to him and engulf him in a tight hug while everyone around us claps. Amid the clapping and cheering, I hear Uncle Hong say softly into my ear, “Please take care of it.”

“I will,” I say. “I promise.” And I mean every word of it.

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