Soy Sauce for Beginners (21 page)

16

M
R. LIU WAS SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD
when Ahkong hired him to be the company’s
fi
rst errand boy. Through the years, he worked his way up to of
fi
ce manager, went back to school at Ahkong’s urging to earn a chemistry degree, and returned as Lin’s food scientist—a post he’d held for the last thirty years. If anyone had insight into how Ahkong would have handled the current family feud, it would be him.

I found Mr. Liu in his office by the factory floor, looking through files.

He raised his head in surprise. “Come in,” he said in Chinese. “What can I do for you?”

I sat down, suddenly shy. As a child, I’d spent hours in this office with a coloring book and a package of rice crackers, while he and my father took care of business elsewhere in the factory. Since my return, however, it hadn’t occurred to me to ask Mr. Liu what he thought of Cal’s mistake, or the fiberglass sauce, or any of the other developments at the company.

I saw no point in being coy. “I need your advice. What do you think we should do about Cal?”

Even when he frowned, Mr. Liu’s narrow, lined face radiated kindness. “I can’t tell you anything you don’t already know. A family business is just that—a family.”

I tried to parse the meaning of his words.

He said, “Remember this: no matter what your family decides, the boy will remain in your life. He’s not going to disappear. He will always be your cousin, and your father’s nephew, and your uncle’s son.”

Something clicked into place. Of course Mr. Liu was the one who’d notified my father when Cal arrived for the Mama Poon meeting.

“I should have come to you sooner,” I said.

His eyes disappeared when he smiled. “You came at the right time.”

An hour later, I left Mr. Liu’s office and went to find my father. “Govern a family as you would cook a small fish—very gently.” I said, repeating the Chinese proverb Mr. Liu had told me.

Ba set down his pen. “Your ahkong used to say that.”

“You need to give Cal another chance. Lin’s belongs to him as much as it is belongs to you, or Uncle Robert.” After a pause I added, “Or me.” Seventy-two hours had passed since I’d announced my decision to stay.

Ba shook his head. “I already told you I don’t trust him.”

In Chinese, I said, “One cannot refuse to eat just because there is a chance of being choked.”

“I see you’ve been talking to Mr. Liu.” He gave me a tight-lipped smile.

I admitted I didn’t necessarily trust Cal either, but I also believed he wouldn’t dare behave so recklessly this time around, not with so many people watching him. In the end, he, too, wanted Lin’s to thrive.

Ba wrapped one hand in the other and cracked his knuckles.

“Must you do that?” I asked.

He dropped his hands. “What kind of message would it send if I let Cal come back?”

“That you believe that being a Lin makes you uniquely suited to running this company.”

He said, “The boy has already proven he cares more about money than soy sauce.”

“You and Uncle Robert don’t agree on everything, and yet you’ve worked together for years. There might be hope for Cal and me.”

Ba pointed his index finger at me. “You think you can do this. You think you can work with him.”

I said I wasn’t sure, but I also knew I had no choice.

My father held my gaze as he lifted the telephone to his ear. “
Di-ah,
” he said into the mouthpiece. Younger brother. “I’m with Xiao Xi. Come over. And bring the boy.”

Later that afternoon, the four of us emerged from Ba’s office and headed to the conference room, where the entire company had assembled for an important announcement. I quickened my pace to keep up with my father and uncle, but Cal took me by the elbow. “Gretch, I wanted to say thank you.”

I’d never expected to hear those words from Cal. But then again, I’d spent so little time in Singapore these past years, I hardly knew the adult him. People changed with age; they outgrew their stubbornness and volatility.

I said, “I’m really looking forward to working with you.”

Cal’s mouth twisted in a half smile. “You just saved the venerable Lin’s Soy Sauce from going bust.”

It was a joke—an inappropriate joke, and I told myself to let it go.

As Cal and I made our way to the front of the conference room, where our fathers stood, I studied the scuffed tips of my shoes, ignoring the weight of my co-workers’ gazes.

Uncle Robert thanked everyone for gathering here. “Effective immediately,” he said, “Cal and Gretchen will be Lin’s co–vice presidents.”

Around the room, heads turned, eyebrows raised, eyes met. In one corner, Shuting smiled smugly at Fiona, as if this were the outcome she’d predicted all along. On the opposite side of the room, one sales guy whispered to another as they shot sidelong glances my way.

My uncle went on: Cal would continue to oversee the Mama Poon deal, which was progressing so smoothly the launch date had been moved up to early March. I, on the other hand, would manage the premium line, which from now on would be known as the
heritage
line. Thanks to my success at the trade show in San Francisco, our premium sauces would soon be exported to the United States, albeit in small quantities.

Beside me, my cousin beamed. He folded his fingers into a pistol and pretended to fire at someone across the room. That our responsibilities were far from equal was clear to him and me and the entire company. His project was Lin’s largest and potentially most profitable growth opportunity. Mine carried mostly symbolic importance.

Finally, Uncle Robert wrapped up his announcement. “Lin’s can indeed have the best of both worlds,” he cried, taking his son’s hand and thrusting it in the air like they were a pair of Olympic medalists. “Here’s to the future.”

The room burst into applause.

Uncle Robert shook my hand in a manner that was surprisingly formal. “Welcome to the team.”

“Congrats, partner,” Cal said, holding out his palm for me to give him five.

I put aside my animosity and slapped his palm. “Congrats.”

My father gave me a big hug and said in a low voice, “So far, so good.” My mother was doing well at home, and he looked better rested than he had in weeks. Later, when Ma asked what had made him change his mind about Cal, Ba would wink at me and say, “We all make sacrifices for the people we love.”

At the opposite end of the conference room, Frankie stood apart from everyone else with her back against the wall, her face shielded by that curtain of hair. Though she’d tried several times to talk to me since her confession, I’d managed to avoid her—no simple feat given that we passed each other in the hall a dozen times a day. Ours appeared to be another one of those female friendships doomed by attraction to the same man, and not a very worthy man at that.

Uncle Robert raised a hand and the room quieted down. He had more news—news that I’d already heard about: Frankie had received an offer from a top management consulting firm. She would leave for Hong Kong at the end of the month.

Murmurs filled the room. The same people who continued to keep their distance from me streamed over to shake Frankie’s hand or give her a hug.

“Don’t forget to come back and visit us,
hor
. Hong Kong isn’t that far away,” Uncle Robert said, wagging a finger at Frankie. “And thank you for all your hard work.”

The applause started once more, and Frankie blushed. As I clapped along, an image surfaced in my mind, of the two of us in my red Jetta, driving south on 101 to LA, a half-empty bag of marshmallows between us. She was at the wheel; I was slouched in the passenger seat with my heels on the dashboard. And when the opening drum beats of our favorite Radiohead song came on the radio, we threw back our heads and belted out the words.

That same day, Mama Poon soft-launched our soy sauce in their California stores, and Benji Rosenthal wrote to congratulate Lin’s on the enthusiastic response from customers. He had his analysts reforecast sales, and they put in a request for more bottles as soon as they could get them.

Cal reported this news at the management team’s midweek meeting. The four of us, plus the heads of marketing and finance, were gathered in my uncle’s office.

“Excellent news, Boy,” said Uncle Robert.

Cal sat up straight in his chair, as though his sternum were attached to the ceiling by a piece of string.

“I’ll get someone started on the press release right away,” said the marketing head.

“Nice work,” I said to my cousin, who grinned back and said, “Any news to report from the premium line? Excuse me, the
heritage
line?”

I looked down at my notes, pretending I hadn’t memorized what I was about to share. I told them I too had exciting news. In fact, I’d received confirmation that very morning. From the famous American talk show host herself.

Everyone leaned in. The smirk slid off my cousin’s face.

“Come December, our premium soy sauce will be featured in Melody’s Christmas episode as one of six gifting ideas for the season.” Fighting to maintain a steady tone, I recounted the entire story, from my initial conversation with Suzanne Silver to my meeting with the talk show host in the back of her limo. “They’ve already ordered eight hundred bottles each of premium light and dark soy sauce to hand out to the audience and crew.”

At first no one said anything.

Ba planted a hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

Then my uncle repeated Melody’s name. “Incredible,” he said.

The head of finance tapped numbers into his calculator. “We’ll need to do some research to figure out the potential lift in sales. This could drive up numbers in a way we’ve never seen before.”

“We’ll have to notify the local news outlets,” said the head of marketing, scribbling in her notebook. “This is Melody we’re talking about.”

But Cal reminded everyone not to get overexcited. He said the finance head was right; more research needed to be done. “We don’t know how long this interest will last, and how many additional bottles we’ll actually sell.”

I resisted the urge to tell him to stop being a sore loser. He knew this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. There was no better time to export our premium soy sauce to America.

It didn’t take long for Uncle Robert and Ba to conclude that at the very least, we would have to revisit the US expansion plan.

“We need to hold off on producing more fiberglass sauce for Mama Poon’s,” Uncle Robert said. “At least until we have a better idea of what this publicity will do for our heritage line.”

The rest of us nodded in agreement—all except for Cal who sat completely still. “Hang on. We can’t afford to wait on this.”

Uncle Robert began to respond, but Cal cut him off. “Why are we all rushing to make sauce the old way? Liter for liter, the fiberglass sauce is going to be twice as profitable.”

This time Ba spoke. “We’re not rushing into anything. That’s the point, what. We need to see more analysis before we make a decision.”

Cal slammed a palm on the desk. “This is our problem. We’re too damn slow about everything. By the time we make up our minds, the opportunity is gone.”

“Boy,” Uncle Robert said in a voice I’d never heard before. He did not go on.

“This is bullshit,” Cal said, leaning forward in his chair. “It’s bad enough, this ‘co–vice president’ crap.” He glared at me.

The marketing and finance heads shifted uneasily and regarded their laps.

Cal said, “Am I the only one who sees that Lin’s can’t survive this way?”

Suddenly I was furious at myself for letting him bully me. I said, “You can’t throw a tantrum every time things don’t go your way. There are two of us now, so yes, it’s going to take a little more time to make decisions, but surely you’ve learned how dangerous your recklessness can be.”

Cal’s eyes narrowed. He rose to his feet. “Do you know how many job offers I’m sitting on? I don’t have to stick around here, fighting to drag this company into the future.” He stared at my uncle, as though willing—or begging—his father to back him up.

Uncle Robert’s face was soft and sad. He looked away and closed his eyes.