If Else Paradise (The Cognate Coefficient Book 2) by Benjanun Sriduangkaew

Author:Benjanun Sriduangkaew [Sriduangkaew, Benjanun]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Prime Books
Published: 2023-07-02T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

In the end, it is the threat of a secretive government agency that gets to Anna Tsang.

I am in the lobby at her office, dressed in my professional best: pressed trousers, ironed suit, collars so straight and stiff they could have been made of hammered metal. The tie is silk, the clip is Yves Saint Laurent—I have a budget, this time, and designer brands impress the receptionist well enough. She colors a little when I look her way and quickly hide that she’s been stealing glances at me. Gratifying to know I still affect women a certain way.

I check my phone. A message from Ziyi, curt, that she is fine. I haven’t been sure how to respond to it, if at all, so I answer with, Thanks for letting me know. Remote, indifferent. But I’m relieved, and being able to send me texts must mean she’s back in Nova Ten Filament too.

“Ms. Tsang will see you now,” the receptionist says. Then, a touch more anxious, “Is anyone in trouble, Inspector?”

“Not at all.” I give her my most charming smile. “It’s something very minor, very routine.”

I don’t have long to walk—space is a premium most places in Hong Kong, and while Anna’s publisher seems well-heeled (money laundering?), each square meter is as precious here as it is anywhere else. Black marble tiles. Floor-to-ceiling, panoramic windows. I passed restaurants on the way up with enticing menus. Nice place to work, probably excellent benefits.

A scent of violet and lavender greets me when I open Anna’s door. I suppose she is in need of calming aromatherapy after I’ve been planting tiny drones in her apartment that simulated all sorts of inexplicable noises, projected the occasional holograms, and in general coordinated a campaign of psychological terrorism. The woman herself is sipping tea when I come in, looking haggard and wild-eyed. Hair and makeup still in place, though; more composed than I would expect.

“Good morning,” she says. “Officer . . . ?”

“Inspector Tang.” I slide my forged badge across. It looks perfectly authentic, though—Bulwark fabricators can reproduce anything.

“Ah.” She attempts a smile. “I hope I haven’t published anything offensive.”

Probably a joke, but then I haven’t stayed around long enough to clock the local censorship laws, if any exist. “Oh, not at all. That’s outside my purview. Could you tell me a little about your day-to-day work?”

A flicker of suspicion, but she schools her face. “It’s all very dull, Inspector.” She walks me through the process of publishing—the perusal of manuscripts from literary agents, the acquisition meetings, the spreadsheets of projected sales and comparisons with similar titles. It’s far from the airy magic she depicts on her social media: hers is a world of hard numbers and grim calculation, and innumerable marketing committees.

Finally she says, “I could show you the entire office, Inspector, but it would help to know what you’re looking for?”

A careful balance between assertiveness—this is her territory, after all—and the deference she feels an officer of the law is entitled to. I give her my most soothing smile.

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