88th Floor, Black Thorne Capital Headquarters, Manhattan, New York.
Zoe Shen stood before the holographic projector, her fingertips slicing through the air as she disassembled and restructured the complex merger model. Today, she'd deliberately chosen a Chanel Pre-Fall off-white suit— in Wall Street's arena, overflowing with male hormones, tasteful luxury was a woman's hardest armor.
"As of 3 AM this morning, Vénus Noire Group's cash flow deficit over the past five years has been fully modeled," she said in accent-free English, a gift of living in New York since she was sixteen. "The deficit primarily occurs in Q3, right after Paris Fashion Week and before the Christmas season— this isn't an operational error. It's a systematic transfer."
Silence hung over the twelve directors in the conference room. Sunlight streaming through the slats of the blinds cut through cigar smoke, filling the air with the distinct scent of money and power.
"So what's your conclusion?" Henry, the managing partner, tapped the mahogany tabletop.
Zoe pulled up the final set of data. "Catherine Ji, the group's second-largest shareholder, has siphoned at least 400 million euros over five years through three shell companies in Luxembourg. And our merger will blow this wide open."
"Then she'll definitely oppose it on the board," Henry narrowed his eyes. "What leverage do you need?"
"I want to meet the head of the business unit she can't control," Zoe shut down the holographic projection, returning the conference room to normal. "Someone like your elusive CEO— Lysander Ji."
She pronounced the name with perfect Mandarin intonation. A Chinese-American analyst who'd only been at Blackstone for three years had no business knowing that— but she'd spent six months preparing, starting with her mother's dusty French diary.
At the exact same moment, Drouot Auction House, Paris.
Lysander Ji sat in the shadows of a second-floor box, his left ring finger unconsciously twisting a silver ring. The auctioneer was introducing Lot 37: "Late 19th-century Chinese ink wash painting, Beauty by the Jiangnan Willow, from a private collection…"
As the scroll slowly unfurled, revealing a gentle woman holding a fan beneath a willow tree, Lysander's breath hitched imperceptibly.
"Starting bid: 80,000 euros."
"200,000," he said in French, a faint Marseille lilt lingering— a relic of the working-class neighborhood where he'd lived until he was eight, before his mother remarried into the Ji family.
Murmurs rippled through the room. The painting's market value topped out at 150,000 euros.
"200,000 once— 250,000! Monsieur 32 bids 250,000!"
Lysander didn't even look up. "500,000."
As the gavel fell, his phone vibrated. An encrypted email from his assistant Emma: "New York team has arrived in Paris. Lead: Zoe Shen, 28, Columbia Business School, fluent in Chinese, English, French, and Spanish. Special note: Her mother's maiden name is Shen— full name Shen Qinglan."
He stared at the last three characters, his thumb brushing the ID photo on the screen. The woman in the picture had sharp eyes, but the curve of her lips bore a seven-tenths resemblance to the figure in the painting.
"Arrange a meeting," he replied. "10 AM tomorrow, my office. Also, send this painting to the chateau— place it with my mother's belongings."