him to say, she told her friend in San Francisco, Bryna O’Shea, it wouldn’t cost him the last of his looks.
She learned she was pregnant in February 1999. The baby was due in October. Ultrasound showed it was a boy. Rob was delighted. Nancy was not.
By the spring of 1999, the East Asian financial crisis was starting to wane. There were signs of stabilization, if not recovery. For Rob, it had been a hell of a ride. He had established himself as one of the distressed-debt stars of Hong Kong. Because he was at Goldman, he couldn’t say “I,” but everyone who counted knew he’d become a powerful force.
He was a natural. He had a nose for big game and the ruthlessness to chase it until it dropped. He could spot a company in dire straits in the Philippines from as far away as the Strait of Malacca. And he had a jeweler’s eye for discerning the hidden strengths and weaknesses in a bankruptcy filing or annual report.
He and Nancy celebrated his success like true children of Parkview: they uptowered. They went, in fact, all the way up to tower 17, the most coveted and expensive of Parkview’s residential buildings. Tower 17! For two years, Nancy had dreamed of tower 17. She’d seen the wives who lived there flaunting their self-importance—as if they had gotten there on their own. She’d marveled at their ability to patronize and condescend. She’d observed the cars they drove and the clothes and jewelry they wore. She’d envied them. Every woman in Parkview envied the wives of tower 17. Now she would be one of them, pregnant or not.
Nearly a year had passed since Nancy had thrown her mother out of the apartment. Jean and her husband lived in Sebastopol, California, an hour and a half north of San Francisco. One day in late spring of 1999, Bryna O’Shea called her from San Francisco to say she was about to fly to Hong Kong to visit Nancy. Jean asked her to deliver an heirloom necklace that she knew Nancy coveted almost as much as she did the lead statuette she had gotten from Ira’s mother.
“Frankly, Bryna, it’s a peace offering. Maybe you could let her know how hurt I am that she still refuses to have anything to do with me.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Bryna said.
When she got back from Hong Kong a week later, Bryna called to say that Nancy and the children were fine and that Nancy was delighted to have the necklace.
“Did she say anything about me?” Jean asked.
Bryna hesitated. “She did give me a message to pass on, but I don’t think I should.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to tell you, Jean. It’s only going to hurt.”
“Never mind that. What did she say?”
Bryna took a deep breath. “She said it’s a shame you’ll never get to see your grandchildren again.”
In October 1999, Nancy gave birth to a son. He was named Ethan. Rob was thrilled. Nancy went into what her tower 17 friends said was postpartum depression. Rob had his doubts. To him it looked suspiciously like an excuse to be lazier than ever and to neglect her duties to their growing family. No matter how hard he worked, no matter how much he traveled, Rob remained concerned about his children. He had great respect and admiration for Connie, but he wanted the children raised by their mother.
He told Nancy to start preparing nutritious food instead of letting Isabel and Zoe stuff themselves with fast food day and night. She could also teach them some table manners. And some manners in general. And she could teach them to clean up after themselves instead of hollering for Min to come do it.
At an even more basic level, she could start to take an interest in her children. She could give them their baths once in a while instead of letting Connie do it. She could put them to bed at night instead of letting Connie do it. She could read to them and encourage Isabel to read on her own and get Zoe started. She could make sure Isabel did extra arithmetic, instead of assuming that the Hong Kong International School was
She learned she was pregnant in February 1999. The baby was due in October. Ultrasound showed it was a boy. Rob was delighted. Nancy was not.
By the spring of 1999, the East Asian financial crisis was starting to wane. There were signs of stabilization, if not recovery. For Rob, it had been a hell of a ride. He had established himself as one of the distressed-debt stars of Hong Kong. Because he was at Goldman, he couldn’t say “I,” but everyone who counted knew he’d become a powerful force.
He was a natural. He had a nose for big game and the ruthlessness to chase it until it dropped. He could spot a company in dire straits in the Philippines from as far away as the Strait of Malacca. And he had a jeweler’s eye for discerning the hidden strengths and weaknesses in a bankruptcy filing or annual report.
He and Nancy celebrated his success like true children of Parkview: they uptowered. They went, in fact, all the way up to tower 17, the most coveted and expensive of Parkview’s residential buildings. Tower 17! For two years, Nancy had dreamed of tower 17. She’d seen the wives who lived there flaunting their self-importance—as if they had gotten there on their own. She’d marveled at their ability to patronize and condescend. She’d observed the cars they drove and the clothes and jewelry they wore. She’d envied them. Every woman in Parkview envied the wives of tower 17. Now she would be one of them, pregnant or not.
Nearly a year had passed since Nancy had thrown her mother out of the apartment. Jean and her husband lived in Sebastopol, California, an hour and a half north of San Francisco. One day in late spring of 1999, Bryna O’Shea called her from San Francisco to say she was about to fly to Hong Kong to visit Nancy. Jean asked her to deliver an heirloom necklace that she knew Nancy coveted almost as much as she did the lead statuette she had gotten from Ira’s mother.
“Frankly, Bryna, it’s a peace offering. Maybe you could let her know how hurt I am that she still refuses to have anything to do with me.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Bryna said.
When she got back from Hong Kong a week later, Bryna called to say that Nancy and the children were fine and that Nancy was delighted to have the necklace.
“Did she say anything about me?” Jean asked.
Bryna hesitated. “She did give me a message to pass on, but I don’t think I should.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to tell you, Jean. It’s only going to hurt.”
“Never mind that. What did she say?”
Bryna took a deep breath. “She said it’s a shame you’ll never get to see your grandchildren again.”
In October 1999, Nancy gave birth to a son. He was named Ethan. Rob was thrilled. Nancy went into what her tower 17 friends said was postpartum depression. Rob had his doubts. To him it looked suspiciously like an excuse to be lazier than ever and to neglect her duties to their growing family. No matter how hard he worked, no matter how much he traveled, Rob remained concerned about his children. He had great respect and admiration for Connie, but he wanted the children raised by their mother.
He told Nancy to start preparing nutritious food instead of letting Isabel and Zoe stuff themselves with fast food day and night. She could also teach them some table manners. And some manners in general. And she could teach them to clean up after themselves instead of hollering for Min to come do it.
At an even more basic level, she could start to take an interest in her children. She could give them their baths once in a while instead of letting Connie do it. She could put them to bed at night instead of letting Connie do it. She could read to them and encourage Isabel to read on her own and get Zoe started. She could make sure Isabel did extra arithmetic, instead of assuming that the Hong Kong International School was
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