Chapter 3: The One Who Opened the Door

Three days later, at the headquarters of the Suwana Hotel Group, in the boardroom on the top floor.

People filled both sides of the long table. When Sasha arrived, every gaze lifted toward her at once. She wore an ivory skirt suit, her dark brown hair—almost black—swept back into a bun. Small emerald studs adorned her earlobes, and the old silver bracelet was still on her wrist. Narin walked half a step behind her, carrying an old dark-brown leather briefcase, and guided her to the seat at the head of the table.

The head seat had been vacant for many years. Its back was high, and its leather upholstery had been polished to a gleam. Sasha stood there for a second before slowly sitting down.

Over the past three days, she had gone through the briefing Narin gave her more than ten times, until the edges of the pages had curled. She studied the locations of every hotel under the group, along with the names and faces of their management, committing them to memory one sheet at a time. Anything she could not remember, she wrote down and stuck to the walls of her rented room. She had no office, so she prepared for the meeting in that tiny place; with no one to consult, she stood before the mirror and rehearsed what she wanted to say. She knew that, sitting here today, what she lacked most was not confidence, but experience. So she had set herself one rule: listen and ask questions today, but do not force herself to appear capable, and do not make promises. The old silver bracelet on her wrist rested against the edge of the table, cool against her skin, like her mother’s hand laid there.

Everyone present was a veteran director of the group. Some had hair that was completely white; others had occupied seats at this table since the old chairman was still alive. Their eyes held more scrutiny than welcome as they sized her up. One of the senior directors on the right spoke first. His tone was courteous, but his words were not gentle. “The chairman is young, so let us old fellows presume to ask one question: with a group this large, what have you ever… managed before?”

The room fell silent for a moment.

Sasha placed both hands flat on the table and did not evade his gaze. “I have never managed anything before. I was a full-time housewife for three years, and today is the first time I’ve sat in this seat. Every one of you has more experience than I do. The group has survived to this day because of your efforts, and I understand that.” She paused. “But the will has entrusted this position to me, so I will not leave it empty. I will learn from all of you where I lack knowledge. I will not pretend to understand what I don’t. As for the accounts and procedures, we’ll address them one by one.”

The senior director studied her for two seconds, then slowly leaned back in his chair and said nothing more. Several people beside him exchanged glances. Standing slightly behind and to the side of the head seat, Narin placed the board meeting agenda within Sasha’s reach and calmly guided the meeting onward. First came the operating summary for the previous quarter, followed by renovation arrangements for several branches—all routine items. Sasha listened more than she spoke, occasionally asking where a figure had come from. Her questions were not probing, but each one struck the right point. At first, the senior directors had treated her with the casual indifference reserved for a newcomer. Gradually, the people giving their reports began sitting a little straighter.

When the agenda was more than halfway through, a director in charge of engineering reported on the renovation progress at the flagship hotel. He said the completion date had been pushed back by half a month and listed three reasons: the rainy season, materials, and scheduling. After listening, Sasha asked, “How much has the budget increased?”

The person giving the report froze for a moment before naming a figure. She asked again, “And what was the figure in your last report?”

The other party flipped through the documents at hand and gave a second figure, a smaller one. The two figures did not match, and for several seconds no one in the room spoke. The director cleared his throat and said he would check again after returning to his office. Sasha nodded without pressing him further. She only said, “Once you’ve verified it, include it in the next report. There’s nothing frightening about knowing where the money went. What’s frightening is when no one can explain it.”

The senior director sitting across from her turned his head and murmured something to the person beside him. Sasha did not hear what he said, but she noticed that after speaking, the other man sat much straighter than he had at the beginning of the meeting.

Halfway through the meeting, someone gently knocked twice on the door.

The secretary opened the door and entered, then walked over to Narin and delivered a report in a lowered voice. After listening, Narin turned to Sasha. “Chairman, people from Taifeng Properties have arrived to discuss the refinancing. According to the appointment, they’re here to submit their application today. Shall I let them in, or reschedule?”

Several of the senior directors’ expressions shifted. The Taifeng Properties refinancing had been discussed internally more than once, but the agreement had never been signed.

Sasha remembered what Narin had said at the law firm three days earlier: Taifeng Properties’ financing application was currently sitting on her desk. She also remembered whose company Taifeng Properties was—the company belonging to Anan’s father, Vira Chai, where Anan served as general manager. The man who had slapped the divorce agreement in front of her three days ago was now standing outside the door, waiting for her to sign off on the release of the funds.

“Let them in,” she said. “The appointment was already made. We won’t reschedule.”

The secretary went out to announce their arrival. No one in the boardroom spoke. Everyone on both sides of the long table looked toward the door at the same time.

The door opened.

Anan Cai walked in front. He was wearing a dark-gray Italian suit, with a white shirt and no tie. The gold luxury watch on his wrist flashed under the meeting room lights, and he carried a document bag containing the financing materials. Following behind him was Mira Radanapong, dressed in a champagne-colored satin slip dress, her long, softly curled milk-tea-brown hair falling over her shoulders. The faux-diamond pendant between her collarbones swayed gently, and she wore the same polished smile she always put on when discussing business.

The two of them took two steps inside before stopping at exactly the same time.

Anan was the first to see the person seated at the head of the table.

His expression changed in an instant. First, he froze as though he had failed to recognize her. Then the color slowly drained from his face. He opened his mouth, but not a single word came out. His hand loosened, and the document bag slipped from his grasp, dropping straight to the floor with a dull thud. The mouth of the bag sprang open, revealing the corner of the neatly bound financing statements inside.

Mira’s smile stiffened on her face as well. Holding on to the doorframe, she looked at Sasha in the seat of honor, then at Anan, her voice changing pitch. “Sasha姐? What are you doing… sitting there?”

The meeting room was so quiet that the sound of the air conditioner could be heard. The senior directors’ gazes shifted back and forth between Anan and the head of the table, yet not one of them said a word to remind him.

Several seconds passed before Anan seemed to find the use of his hands again. He bent down and picked up the document bag from the floor, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turned white and the plastic crumpled into a ball in his palm. Straightening up, he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and forced out, “What… what is going on?”

Narin stepped forward half a pace and finished the introduction for him in a strictly businesslike tone. “General Manager Anan, allow me to introduce you. Ms. Sasha Ong, chairwoman of the Suwana Hotel Group. The probate and inheritance procedures have been completed, and today is her first board meeting since taking office. Your company’s refinancing application is now being submitted according to the agenda.”

Anan stood where he was without moving. His gaze fell on the person in the seat of honor, on Sasha’s calm face, as though he could not reconcile it with the woman he knew. Three days earlier, this woman had sat across from him at the long table in the civil affairs bureau and signed her name to the agreement under which she would leave with nothing but an old bracelet. He had personally pushed the pen toward her and watched her walk through that door. Yet now she was sitting at the head of the Suwana Group, in the foremost seat of this meeting room—the very room his father had begged again and again to enter but never managed to set foot in.

Holding on to the doorframe, Mira struggled to rebuild her smile. She spoke before Anan could, making her voice light and soft. “Sasha姐, could there be some misunderstanding? We came today by appointment to discuss serious business. You see—”

“Miss Mira.” Narin interrupted her. His tone was not harsh, but left no room for negotiation. “This is a board meeting. Your company submitted an application, and the chairwoman is reviewing it. It’s that simple. If you have anything to say, discuss it according to procedure after the approval result is issued.”

Mira’s lips moved, but in the end she said nothing more. The hand she had been holding around Anan’s arm had already loosened at some point.

The secretary brought the financing approval form for Taifeng Properties and placed it in front of Sasha.

The pages were bound neatly, filled in line by line with the application amount, term, and intended use. On the final page was the signature block. Printed above it were the words: Chairwoman—followed by the typed name: Sasha Ong.

Anan’s gaze fell on that page as well. Staring at those words, he tightened his grip on the document bag again.

Sasha did not look at him. She brought the financing statements in front of her, opened them, and began reading through them page by page. The first page detailed Taifeng’s assets; the second, its liabilities and guarantees; the third, its cash flow. She read very slowly. The senior directors did not urge her on, and everyone in the meeting room waited for her to finish.

When she reached the third page, her hand stopped as she was turning it.

She scanned the three pages from beginning to end once more, her brows drawing together slightly. The figures were laid out plainly before her. She already had an idea of whether they matched up from one section to the next. But she did not say anything on the spot, much less make any hasty judgment.

The feeling was unfamiliar. During her three years in the Cai household, she had never even seen what Taifeng’s ledgers looked like. Once, when she had carried tea into the study, she had run into Anan and his father looking over financial statements. Her mother-in-law had shut the door in front of her and said, “It’s a company matter. Women shouldn’t pry.” Now the statements from that very same company were spread out before her, with the final page waiting for her signature. She suddenly wanted to laugh, but held it back. She knew very well that she had only looked at three pages; she did not understand what lay beyond them, and she could not pretend that she did. Precisely because she did not understand, she could not sign her name carelessly—the accounts had to be investigated first, and only then could they discuss the money. That was responsibility to the group, and responsibility to herself.

She closed the statements, raised her head, and let her gaze pass over the long table before settling calmly on Anan’s face.

“This financing application will be audited first. We’ll discuss it afterward.”

She pushed the approval form back to the center of the desk, her voice neither loud nor forceful, yet perfectly clear. Not one of the old directors on either side of the long table spoke up. Anan clenched the file folder he had picked up and stood rooted to the spot, as if he still hadn’t come to terms with these three pages of reports—and the seat at the head of the table.

“Meeting adjourned.”