Page 82 of The Friend Zone Experiment

The folders were crammed with paper. Printouts of emails, spreadsheets, slide decks, reports—the ordinary detritus of corporate operations. Ket Siong was only skimming as he leafed through the documents, but the same two words jumped out again and again.

“‘Project Alpha,’” he read aloud.

“That’s what they called the Ensengei project,” said Ket Hau. “I’ve looked through the papers. There’s not much there. Somebody called ‘VVIP’ was involved—that must be the state premier, or the daughter, or the son-in-law. Your friend Clarissa’s circled some financial transactions, probably kickbacks. Nothing earthshaking. Do you think it was worth risking our safety for this?”

“When did Clarissa give these to you?”

“She dropped them off at the office today. That’s why I went in, instead of working from home.” At Ket Siong’s look, Ket Hau said, “She found my details online. Thought I was you.”

He smiled mirthlessly. “You nuke your social media, move countries, don’t tell anybody where you’re going, and then your bloody employer outs you to the whole world. Type your nameinto Google and anybody will know how to find you. Unbelievable.” He shook his head. “This time it was documents, but next time it could be a bomb. Who knows?”

Ket Siong sat down on his bed, across from his brother. “Why would anyone send you a bomb?”

Ket Hau shrugged, weary. “Why did they take Stephen?”

“I didn’t ask at the time,” said Ket Siong slowly. “He was standing in the way of a major project, threatening the reputation of a big company. But the project went ahead and the company is fine. Low Teck Wee had dinner with the mayor of London while he was here. So why would anyone be worried about you?” He paused, watching the play of expression across his brother’s face. “Why did they take Stephen, Ko? What did he know?”

Ket Hau went still. “What are you trying to say?”

Ket Siong got out his phone, brought up Helen Daley’s messages, and handed the phone to his brother.

“What’s this?” said Ket Hau. His eyes skipped down the phone screen, and his face went blank.

“What does Helen Daley want to talk to you about?” said Ket Siong. “Did Stephen know something? Is that why they got rid of him?”

“Is that what you told theHornbill Gazette?” said Ket Hau, his voice rising. “Are youcrazy?”

“I didn’t tell her anything.”

But Ket Hau was in no mood to listen. “How does Helen Daley know I’m in London? Why am I even asking, she knows how to Google, too. And now she knows you’re here as well. And she wants to write about us in the fucking newspaper. Fuck!” He ran a hand through his hair. “Siong, seriously, do you have a death wish? What’s the point of uprooting and coming all the way here if you’re just going to paint a target on our backs? Don’t you know how dangerous this is?”

Ket Siong should be tactful. Ket Hau had been through a lotover the past few years. They had all been through a lot, as a family. They needed to be gentle with one another.

But he’d already spent too much of the evening keeping a lid on his feelings to try to avoid some irreversible rupture, and it hadn’t even worked. Ket Siong found he was out of tact.

“Obviously not,” he said. “If Helen Daley knows more than me! Ko, I can’t keep us safe if I don’t know the full story.”

“It’s not your job to keep us safe,” shouted Ket Hau. “It’smine!”

Ket Siong had never heard this voice from his brother before. It seemed to have bubbled up from some primal, unacknowledged part of him.

They were both shocked. Ket Hau opened his mouth and closed it, looking somewhat at a loss.

“I’ve been asking and asking you to keep your head down,” he said finally. “Instead, you’re going off and talking to every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the country. What’s Ma going to say when she finds out?”

“Finds out what?” said Ma’s voice.

Their mother stood in the doorway in her ancient grey Uniqlo fleece, worn over a batik kaftan. Poking out from under the kaftan were her fluffy polar bear slippers, bought cheap from Poundland. She blinked in the light, looking groggy.

“What are you all fighting about?” she said.

“Ma,” Ket Siong began, when it struck him that something was off. It took him a moment to identify what it was.

Ket Siong never got to speak first in this sort of situation. Being the youngest—and the quiet one—meant getting shouted down was an inevitability, even with as kind and equable an elder brother as Ket Hau generally was.

But Ket Hau wasn’t interrupting. This was because he was busy staring down at Ket Siong’s phone. Ket Siong had forgotten Ket Hau still had it.

“Who’s Renee SR Goh?” said Ket Hau.

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