The Presidential Club was the place for Washington’s elite to quench their thirst. Groups of large leather chairs huddled around small marble-top tables, the thick burgundy carpet reaching up to grasp the bottom of the table legs. Cigars and glasses of brandy kept each other company on the tables as the power circles drew and redrew their political lines in the sand.
Senator Day made his way through the room, nodding at colleagues, acknowledging familiar faces through the dim light and thick cigar smoke. The Presidential Club was Washington’s version of Las Vegas. What happened in the expensive lounge stayed in the lounge. It wasn’t called a club by accident. Wives of members were permitted but frowned upon. Lovers were a different story. Call girls made the occasional guest appearance.
Senator Day directed Peter to a table near the rear of the club, and a waiter with a small humidor appeared as the two sunk into their respective leather chairs. Peter selected two Dominican cigars wrapped with tobacco grown from the finest Cuban seeds and handed one to the senator. The waiter placed a cigar cutter and a box of oversized matches on the table before disappearing in search of the senator’s favorite brandy, stored on the private shelf behind the full bar.
“How is business, Peter?” the senator asked. Peter understood that dinner with Jake and the senator’s blonde aide was merely a preamble to the discussion at the club. A meal for the sake of a meal before real conversation could take place.
“Very well, Senator. Thank you for asking. If all goes well, I may have some upcoming business in Brazil.”
“Brazil?”
“Yes. Have you been?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“The women are beautiful.”
“I’m sure they are.” Inside, the senator cringed at the thought of another international tryst.
Peter continued. “The Brazilians understand the balance between work and life’s other pleasures. They don’t let one interfere with the other.”
“An admirable quality.”
“Indeed.”
The senator inhaled as he ran his nose along the length of the cigar. He reached for the cutter on the table, snipped off half an inch, and put the unlit cigar to his lips.
“How did your filming efforts turn out?”
“Very professional. We completed editing last week. All told, our trip produced thirty solid minutes of footage.”
“When is the film scheduled for its big screen release?”
Senator Day squirmed slightly in his chair. His thoughts turned toward the photographs he had received in the mail and the wire transfers that vanished without a trace into a bank in Hong Kong. The senator lied. “I’m planning to work it into the schedule this month with the Special Committee on Overseas Labor. We are at a critical juncture and need to make our recommendation to the Senate.”
“I’m sure your constituents will be pleased with your recommendation.”
The senator flashed his best smile. He knew all too well how deep Peter kept his hand in Congress’s pocket. His guest understood that the senator had a vested interest in the garment industry. Peter personally knew many of the businessmen with manufacturing interests in the senator’s home state—businessmen with thick briefcases and thicker wallets that pushed, coerced, and bullied for status quo and the ability to overlook a little human suffering in the name of making money.
“I would love to see the footage from Saipan,” Peter said.
If you only knew what I know, the senator thought. That tape and those photos could ruin my life.
The senator lied again. “That can be arranged.”
“Please let me know. Of course, I’d also be happy to testify before the committee in any way that you see fit.”
Now there is an idea. “That may be very well received, Peter,” the senator said, his mind churning.
“I’m at your disposal.”
Peter took a sip of his brandy and a pull from his cigar. The senator looked around the room to keep tabs on the night’s list of who’s who.
“How is your chief-of-staff?”
“Scott? Took a few weeks before they could even do surgery due to swelling and internal hemorrhaging. He was scheduled to be back at work this week, but that was before he developed a staph infection. The doctors aren’t saying when he will be released. In the meantime, the rest of my staff is floundering to cover for him. Twenty employees who can’t get out of each other’s way.”
“Waterskiing can be dangerous.”
“Everything can be dangerous,” the senator answered. The senator saw his segue into the heart of the topic he was looking to broach. “By the way, I wanted to thank you and Lee Chang for your assistance with my aide. Lee was most helpful in coordinating the medical care on Saipan. Under the circumstances, I felt somewhat responsible for my employee’s injury.”
“Lee Chang knows Saipan very well.”
“Yes, he seemed to be very well-connected. A very interesting man.”
There was a slight change in the nuance of the conversation, a mild shift in mannerisms Peter immediately recognized. “In what way, Senator?”
“I understand Lee comes from a very successful family.”
“Yes, he does.”
“So why Saipan? Running a sweatshop seems like, how should I put it…an underachievement.”
Both men jogged for position.
“The Chang family has manufacturing interests in a half-dozen Asian countries,” Peter said, pausing briefly to sip his brandy. “But Chang Industries on Saipan is the most profitable.”
“Lee has brothers, no?”
Peter knew the senator had been doing his homework. “The Chang family has a proud lineage in China going back too many generations to count. Lee has two elder brothers who are successfully running other business interests of the family.”
“In China?”
“Yes, on the mainland.”
“In Hong Kong?”
“No,” Peter answered.
“So only Lee resides outside of the country?”
Peter didn’t respond. Years of doing business with snakes taught him never to divulge all his information at once. The truth was simple. After Lee was caught with the underage daughter of a high-powered politician in the Chinese Ministry of Trade, Lee’s father had been forced to make a decision. And C.F. Chang chose money over his youngest son.
“Yes, Lee is the only son working outside of China on a full-time basis,” Peter finally answered, his mind filtering every word of the conversation, trying to gauge where the senator was going.
“What about money?”
Peter smelled blood. “I’m sorry, Senator?”
“Does Lee share in his family’s fortune?”
“I imagine he is well taken care of.”
Peter thought about the senator’s question and stored it in his memory bank. “Is there a problem?”
“No. No problem at all. I’m just gathering background information. I know I asked some questions about Chang Industries before our trip, but I wanted some more information on our host. I need to be prepared for the Senate Committee. You know how it is with politicians. Any imaginable question could come up.”
“I understand, Senator.”
“Of course you do, Peter. That is why you have your office right here in D.C., close enough to hear the whispers circulating the halls on Capitol Hill.”
“I’m not hiding my intentions, Senator. I’m into money, politics, and women. Usually in that order.”
“Please, there is no need to get defensive. I’m just saying that you could have your office anywhere, but you choose to keep it in D.C. Very prudent. Keep an eye on legislation that will affect your business. Very smart.”
“Senator, my home is D.C., but the world is my office.”
The senator had asked enough questions for one evening. He reached to the table and raised his glass. “To continued success.”