"Congratulations, Deputy Commissioner Nguyen. Another major case cracked. Seems a promotion is within reach."
Angwei unfolded the newspaper across his lap, skimming a few lines with half-lidded eyes. His compliment was casual, utterly insincere.
A serial murder case spanning Thailand, China, and Laos had been dismantled in one sweep, with Nira Nguyen claiming the top honors.
Among the two Deputy Commissioners of the Bangkok Metropolitan Police, Nira was widely acknowledged as the most powerful, second only to the Commissioner himself.
The current Commissioner was elderly, largely retired from major investigations, simply waiting out his term. Nira, with her impressive record, was the undisputed successor; it was only a matter of time.
Nira couldn't suppress a slight lift of her chin, a trace of smugness in her smile. She examined her freshly manicured nails for a moment, then held them up to the chandelier light, admiring the effect.
"I'll take that as a good omen."
Footsteps echoed down the nearby spiral staircase, drawing nearer, descending from above.
Danpha appeared, clad in a black bathrobe. Deep lines of cunning fanned from the corners of his narrow eyes. His complexion seemed heavy.
Just then, the kitchen auntie signaled the dining table was ready. The family moved to the vast oval table and took their seats.
"I hear your people hit two of the Siam Syndicate's operations recently." Danpha's voice was tight. He nodded for a servant to pour the red wine and sighed. "Didn't I tell you? Always leave a way back. I understand youthful fire, but recklessness is unacceptable."
"Seahold Group is on a straight path now, in a crucial phase of upward momentum. Don't stir up too much trouble for me. Don't leave handles."
Nira, adept at reading moods, sensed the simmering anger. She leaned in, linking her arm with Danpha's, her voice soft and placating. "Why get upset? It's a family dinner, let's be happy. Leo has his principles. Weren't you just as fiery and... hands-on... in your youth? Honestly, he takes after you."
"More capable than me. And even less afraid of dying." Danpha scoffed lightly.
Angwei listened to his father's reprimand impassively. He leaned back leisurely in his chair, a faint, ambiguous smile playing on his lips. His left hand idly swirled his wine glass.
"Mr. Chan, if you're so virtuous, why run a syndicate? Why not become a philanthropist? Play the model citizen for the government, give interviews, grace the papers."
Angwei knew his father's hypocrisy. Building Seahold Group to its current stature hadn't been easy; Danpha wasn't about to relinquish the immense prestige.
Yet, he couldn't fully sever the dark profits either.
The night market had limited opportunities, a finite pie. Sharing it with the Siam Syndicate was something Danpha naturally resisted.
So, he tacitly allowed Angwei's ambition, his periodic warnings to Saichin – turning a blind eye.
But Saichin had powerful backing. Playful jabs were one thing; kicking the hornet's nest was another. Hence, Danpha occasionally stepped in with these half-hearted admonitions – performative, for the outside world.
To stave off accusations of poor parenting, of letting his son deliberately provoke. And also, a reminder to Angwei: know your limits. Break bones, cripple if you must, but don't take lives.
To say Seahold's surface business was blatantly illegal wasn't quite accurate; it was simply... unsavory. An open secret. Gambling was banned in Thailand, but legal loopholes abounded. Seahold controlled nearly sixty percent of the country's underground casinos. Then there were arms and underground banking – all hidden beneath Seahold Group's dark curtain.
Now, all this rested solely in Angwei's hands. Danpha's worry about his overstepping was natural. Crucially, he feared his wolfish son's insatiable ambition might shatter the single principle binding them: no drugs. Drugs bring only death and ruin; no way back, Danpha declared.
Why hadn't the Siam Syndicate openly challenged them over casinos or arms? Firstly, they lacked Angwei's ruthless edge; weak territory invited conquest.
Secondly, their core business was drugs – a life-or-death industry demanding total focus. Other ventures collapsing were collateral damage, not worth an all-out, mutually destructive war.
Too often, Danpha glimpsed a feral hunger in his son's eyes. It seemed Angwei's sights were set beyond just the Siam Syndicate's turf.
"Do you know who backs Saichin?" Danpha grew agitated, shaking off Nira's arm. "The man above him decides if he lives or dies each day. Myanmar's cracking down nationwide on drugs. The Thai government could follow suit any moment. Getting involved now is suicide – picking a fight with the state itself." He coughed lightly.
Angwei raised his hands lazily, feigning innocence. "I never said I'd break the law. Don't incriminate me."
He raised an eyebrow, his flippant tone deliberately needling his father.
Danpha drew a sharp breath, his voice rising. "You think I don't know why you're cozying up to the military brass? Stubborn fool! I've navigated Thailand for decades. You think the military is toothless?"
Angwei took a sip of his perfectly aerated wine. A cold, fathomless smile touched his lips. "What you couldn't achieve... doesn't mean I can't."
He leaned forward, picked up a slice of braised goose – perfectly tender, melting on the tongue. Dabbing his mouth meticulously with the snowy napkin on his lap, he offered a devilish grin.
"If I were you, I'd retire early. Enjoy a few stable years. Be glad your son surpasses you."
Danpha rested his hand on the table, patting his chest as if to calm the agitation. He didn't dignify the insolent remark with a response.
This wasn't exactly a conflict between father and son; more like... intense discussion. Danpha simply lacked the energy for a prolonged argument these days.
"Starting this month, I'll be stationed in Mae Hong Son. Whatever happens, you keep your head down in Bangkok."
A servant offered a steamed towel. Danpha held it over his nose and mouth, seeking relief.
Mae Hong Son, a city in Northern Thailand near the Myanmar border.
A major development project, a joint venture between Seahold Group and the government, required his presence to oversee factory construction. The area was scenic, the air clean – good for Danpha's chronic lung condition. A chance to recuperate.
Only the Chan family knew this.
A leader's absence invited chaos; secrecy was paramount for stability.
Nira ladled soup into Danpha's bowl, concerned etching her brow. "Darling, are you sure you don't want me with you? Being alone up there worries me."
Danpha covered her hand reassuringly. "Kongchai will be there. Everything's arranged. You are staying in Bangkok. Back him up." Back Leo up, he meant.
Her worry wasn't truly for her husband, but for some scheming woman exploiting his absence.
Still, Danpha's health had been poor lately; his capacity for mischief was diminished. That offered some comfort. She let it drop, not wanting to seem unsupportive.
Her position as the rightful wife, held for nearly twenty years, was unshakeable. She hadn't feared challengers in her youth; she certainly didn't now.
"Alright," Nira murmured, her eyes deep and unreadable. She sipped her soup silently, her sharp mind calculating a dozen possibilities in an instant.
The conversation shifted back to Angwei. Nira looked up. "What about that General Biyang? Did you secure him? Contacts at the top of the police say he's the weakest among the four regional lieutenant generals. It shouldn't be too difficult."
Angwei toyed with the ring on his index finger, his expression inscrutable. "The old man's biggest weaknesses are lust and greed. Easiest to reel in. Also the least favored, overseeing the most remote zone. But something's better than nothing. He'll be useful eventually. He's ours now."
His tone was dismissive, as if discussing a minor, expendable pawn in his larger game.
Danpha's wine was a rare vintage, potent. Angwei held his liquor well, but even he felt the flush after a while.
Driving his own car back was out of the question. Khun Da was summoned, arriving promptly in the Rolls-Royce sedan.
Deepening night. Angwei's tall frame slumped into the darkness of the back seat.
Khun Da glanced over his shoulder. "Where to, Young Master?"
Angwei didn't live at the Chan residence. His own villa by the lake, a few streets away, reflected his generally austere lifestyle. No women were kept there. Occasional bar visits. Lately, more trips to nightclubs. Khun Da asked to be sure.
Long, knuckled fingers held a cigarette, resting casually on the window frame. The car sped along, sparks flying from the ember. Angwei tugged open the buttons of his shirt for air, his legs sprawled loosely apart on the seat. He exhaled a plume of smoke towards the roof, eyes closed.
Approaching January, the breeze off the Chao Phraya River carried a hint of chill. It grated on his nerves. Or maybe it was alcohol.
Suddenly, inexplicably, his mind conjured the mole.
He pulled his hand in, took a deep drag. The weak orange glow illuminated his lips and sharp features in the darkness, hollowing then filling his cheeks.
He flicked the butt out the window, his voice low and decisive.
"Go to Sandalwood Palace."