17 | memento

DEPENDING ON WHERE you began the story, it started with William Chao.

Known as the Chairman to family and friends for how he had turned a nearly bankrupt business into one of Taiwan's upper echelon in the country's electronics industry, he emitted an aura of power that could be likened to that of a predator before it sprang, and perhaps his carriage and the fact that he stood several heads taller than everyone he met added to the overall image of power.

Also, he was running late for his flight back home, and while it was true that he could buy the plane―hell, the whole airport if he wanted to―William had never favored tardiness and saw it as an excuse for the lazy. His last meeting had run far longer than he'd expected, but still.

He adjusted the lapels of his Burberry suit jacket and sighed, already envisioning Hsiao-Han's quiet disapproval when he arrived late for yet another Mid-Autumn Festival.

"Cullum," he called gently, and a blonde man materialized out of nowhere, eyes intent on him as he waited for instructions. "Get the jet ready. I won't be able to make it to the airport in time to catch my flight."

"Yes sir," the younger man said, nodding. "Will that be all, sir?"

"Look into a reputable diamond shop, and pick one you think my wife will appreciate."

Hsiao could talk about his habit for throwing money at problems and calling it a day, but she could never pass up an opportunity to showcase her diamond collection to her friends; demurely of course, because anything more would be gauche.

He looked from his reflection to find the butler still there, and paused to look at him, eyes narrowing slightly. "That is all."

"S-sir," Cullum began after a moment's hesitation, his usually composed features fraught with discomfort.

"Yes?" William asked distractedly.

"There is a woman on the line who wants to speak with you."

William's brow furrowed slightly, and he turned to face his butler.

"How does that concern me?"

Cullum's face darkened considerably at the next words that came out of his mouth.

"She claims to know you... intimately."

He blinked, nonplussed, and then the full import of those words hit him and he frowned slightly.

"Tell her to go look for a settlement somewhere else," he glanced at his watch as he took a seat on the hotel bed and began to rummage through a sheaf of papers that required his signature, some of which now included a permission to allow for the overseas expansion of Chao Atlantic into Luxembourg.

"She says she's been trying to reach you for months," Cullum continued, fidgeting, "her name is Hillary."

William played with the name, turned it over until he finally shook his head.

"She said you wouldn't, but you'd know the name Evie Monroe."

He felt his world come to a halt as his mind returned to an encounter he'd spent his whole life regretting to that very moment.

He'd spent over a year in America trying to strengthen his businesses foothold in the country, and though Hsiao came to visit from time to time, things got lonely, and so on a particularly bad night he'd taken his friends up on their offer of a guy's night out, which in turn led to his drunken encounter with one of the performers when her shift ended.

He'd told Hsiao of course, and when things finally calmed down and she asked what happened to the woman, he waved her off.

"Irrelevant," he'd said, though he secretly wondered too. He wasn't even sure he'd be able to point her out on the streets if they ran into each other.

And now fate came knocking at his door.

"Let me speak to her," he said, barely composing himself, to which Cullum left and returned shortly with a phone that he handed to him, before walking out.

William pressed the device to his ear. "Hello?"

"Good morning," a cool voice replied cheerily. He shivered, and refrained that it was well into the afternoon in his location.

"What do you want?" he asked, foregoing the pleasantries that were sure to follow.

Inside his head a tide had begun to build, and he struggled to maintain control of himself―practicing the breathing techniques Hsiao's new life coach had advised. It worked somewhat.

"I don't want trouble," she began, all hints of cheeriness leaving her voice as she spoke, "Not at all, William."

"What do you want?" he pressed on, ignoring her platitudes.

A lot of his friends had been in similar situations, and he'd always scorned them―grateful for the fact that he'd only strayed once and never again. How the mighty had fallen.

"To tell you that you have a son," she announced.

Her words sank in, and when they did he began to laugh.

"Is that what this is about, my son?" he asked with an emphasis on the last part, to convey his sarcasm.

"I'm not joking."

"I never said you were."

The line fell silent and for a few moments the only audible thing was the sound of her heavy breathing, and then she began to cry.

William rolled his eyes. "Of course, she cries."

"I'm in prison," Hillary said shakily.

"And that's what this is about, bail money."

"No," she said, sounding firmer. "I almost killed him, and now I'm here."

He took in this piece of information, the cogs in his brain whirring.

"So let's say he is my son hypothetically―"

"You're the only Chinese I ever slept with."

Taiwanese, he almost corrected, but let it go at the last moment. It wasn't like it made that much of a difference to an outsider.

"―let's say he is my son. It means you almost killed him."

Silence.

"What makes you think I would ever accept damaged goods?"

"Look," Hillary said after a moment's deliberation. "I'm a changed woman―"

"Of course you are."

"―because in here I realized that with Jesus, old things have passed away, and become new."

"So this is an alter call?" he decided he was going to hang up if she didn't get to the point, because even from the sarcasm in her tone he could tell that she was as irreligious as they came.

"Call it what you want. I would've gotten rid of him if I found out early enough," she said, "but I didn't. And the plan was to serve him up on a platter to you and your wifey for a price, because we all know your only child is a sickly boy who'll probably drop dead soon one of these days."

William tightened his grip on the phone at the barb against his son, Michael, who he loved more than anything in the world. Having him get diagnosed with leukemia at nine counted as the most heartbreaking experience William had ever gone through.

"Did you call to insult my family," he said frostily. "Because I have other more important matters to attend to."

"So formal," Hillary said, pausing to add a well thought out sniffle. "Like father like son, you'll get along just fine."

"Goodbye."

"Wait!" she screeched, making him pull the phone away from his ear. "If you think I'm lying, I have proof, pictures. He's an exact replica of you."

He shook his head, thinking of how naïve she was to believe that because he shared certain features with the child of some other Chinese man who'd knocked her up, it meant they were exact replicas. White people never seized to amaze him, and he almost chuckled.

"And how do I get access to these pictures?"

"Facebook," she said simply. "Just look me up, Hillary. C. Baylor."

"Is that all?" he asked finally.

"He's lives in New York," she paused, "and if you see him, tell him I'm sorry."

The line went dead, and William set down the phone, propelled by an unseen force as he opened a defunct private Facebook page and checked the search bar, a voice in his head screaming that he would be too late to attend the Moon Festival if he didn't head out soon, but he typed in variations of Hillary. C. Baylor, wondering why she'd forgotten to tell him what her profile picture was.

He typed in Hillary. C. Baylor, New York and far lesser options appeared, so he clicked the first and was immediately greeted by a picture of himself from his preteens.

No, not himself. The boy in this picture smiled awkwardly, as he stretched forward beside a middle-aged brunette, who held a single thumb up as she smiled widely.

The caption read: Family fun time 🥰and it had a hundred and seventeen likes and four comments.

William scrolled down the page, soaking in images of the boy in a way that could only be likened to a sponge, until he came to the bottom of the page, which announced Hillary's age and place of work.

Sitting up felt like waking from a long dream, and he blinked back the wetness in his eyes as he cleared his throat.

"Cullum," he called, and the younger man appeared silently once again.

"I've got the diamonds sir," he said, eyes going from the open laptop to his boss's rumpled suit. "And the jet is set for takeoff."

"Change of plans," William said, clearing his throat again, because it felt like something had lodged there and it refused to budge. "We're going to New York."

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