Gene stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of Steven's office, watching Taipei shimmer beneath a blanket of humid air. Six months. Half a year since he'd walked into this building with nothing but confidence and a half-baked plan. Now he had contracts with his name on them, invitations to rooms where real power moved, and a reputation that preceded him.
But tonight, that reputation might get tested.
"You're sure about this?" Steven's voice came from behind him, sharp as always. "Once you walk into that room, there's no pretending you didn't know what was happening."
Gene turned. Steven sat at his desk, fingers steepled, expression unreadable. The man who'd given him his shot, who'd pulled him into deals that made his father's Irvine empire look like a lemonade stand.
"Mr. Chen's people reached out directly," Gene said. "They want me there. Not you."
"Because you're young. Hungry. American enough to seem harmless but Chinese enough to understand what's not being said." Steven leaned back. "You know what they're really asking, right?"
"Yeah. I know."
The meeting was set for midnight at a private club in Xinyi—the kind of place that didn't have a name, only an address and a door policy stricter than most embassies. Mr. Chen's inner circle would be there. Politicians whose faces appeared on morning news programs. Business leaders who owned chunks of Southeast Asia's infrastructure. And they wanted to talk about moving money through channels that got murky fast.
Gene's phone buzzed. Lin Yue: *Wear the gray suit. Dark tie. Look like you belong.*
He texted back: *Already planned.*
Then, because he couldn't help himself: *What if I screw this up?*
Her response came quickly: *Then you leave Taipei. But you won't. You're too stubborn.*
"Gene." Steven's voice pulled him back. "You don't have to go. I can make an excuse, smooth things over. You've already proven yourself."
"Have I?" Gene met his boss's eyes. "Or have I just been playing in the shallow end while everyone else swims in the deep water?"
"The deep water drowns people."
"Only if they can't swim."
Steven almost smiled. Almost. "Your father called me last week. Asked how you were doing. Wanted to know if this was just a phase or if you were serious about staying."
Gene's jaw tightened. "What'd you tell him?"
"That you work harder than anyone I've seen in five years. That you don't complain, don't make excuses, and that you scare the hell out of my other analysts because you actually understand the game we're playing." Steven stood, walked to the window beside Gene. "I also told him that you're about to make a choice that'll define everything that comes after."
"And?"
"And I told him I couldn't make that choice for you." Steven's reflection in the glass looked tired. Older than usual. "Neither can I."
Gene checked his watch. 11:15 PM. The car would arrive in ten minutes.
"Mei called me yesterday," Gene said quietly.
"Did she."
"Said I should ask myself what I actually want. Not what I think I should want, or what'll prove something to my dad, or what'll get me into the right rooms." He paused. "Just what I actually want."
"Smart woman."
"Yeah." Gene pulled out his phone, looked at the address one more time. The characters glowed on the screen like a dare. "I told her I wanted to matter. To be in rooms where real decisions get made. To build something bigger than myself."
"And?"
"And she said that's not an answer. That's just ambition dressed up as philosophy."
Steven laughed—short, sharp, genuine. "She always could cut through bullshit. So what's the real answer?"
Gene looked at Taipei spread out below them. Millions of lives, each one chasing something. Money, love, purpose, peace. The city didn't care which. It just kept spinning, kept offering chances to those brave or stupid enough to grab them.
"I want to see how far I can go," he said finally. "Not because I'm running from something. Not because I'm trying to prove my dad wrong. Just… because I can. Because the game exists and I'm good at it and walking away now would feel like quitting before the score's settled."
"Even if the game has rules you don't like?"
"Every game has rules you don't like. You just decide which ones you can live with breaking."
Steven pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket, handed it to Gene. "Documentation for tonight. Clean, legal, bulletproof. Whatever they ask you to do, this gives you coverage. But Gene—" His voice dropped. "The legal paperwork won't save you if you cross the wrong line. Some doors, once you walk through them, don't open from the inside."
Gene took the envelope. Heavy paper, expensive weight.
"You could've warned me about this six months ago."
"Would you have listened?"
"No."
"Then why would I waste my breath?" Steven's phone buzzed. "Your car's here. Remember—they're testing you tonight. Not your knowledge, not your connections. Your boundaries. Where you'll bend and where you'll break. Give them nothing for free."
Gene headed for the door, then stopped. "What would you do? If you were me?"
Steven considered this for a long moment. "I'd ask myself if I was going to this meeting because I want to, or because I'm afraid of what it means if I don't. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yeah. One makes you powerful. The other makes you owned."
The elevator ride down felt longer than usual. Gene's reflection in the polished doors looked older than it should—sharper, harder around the edges. Six months of Steven's world had done that. Stripped away the softness, revealed what was underneath.
The black Mercedes waited outside, sleek and anonymous. The driver opened the door without speaking. Gene slid into the leather seat, felt the door close with that expensive thunk only good cars made.
His phone buzzed one last time. Lin Yue: *Good luck. And Gene? Don't forget who you are just to become who they want.*
He typed back: *What if I don't know the difference anymore?*
Her response came as the car pulled into traffic: *Then tonight you'll find out.*
Taipei rushed past the windows—neon signs, late-night food stalls, couples walking hand in hand, oblivious to the games being played above their heads. Gene thought about his father back in Irvine, probably asleep by now, probably still convinced this was all just rebellion. He thought about Mei in her studio, hands covered in clay, making things that mattered in ways money never could.
And he thought about the room he was headed toward. The men waiting there with their tests and their traps and their carefully worded offers that sounded like opportunities but came with chains attached.
The car turned down a narrow street, stopped in front of a building that looked deliberately forgettable. No signs, no lights, just a door and a man in a suit who nodded as Gene approached.
"Mr. Eu," the man said. Not a question. "They're waiting."
Gene straightened his tie—dark, like Lin Yue suggested—and took a breath.
Then he walked through the door.
Because he was choosing this. Not out of fear. Not out of pressure. But because somewhere along the way, he'd stopped being the kid from Irvine playing dress-up in Taipei, and started being someone who belonged in rooms like this.
The question was: Did he like who that someone was becoming?
He'd find out tonight.
The door closed behind him with a soft click, and Gene climbed the stairs toward whatever came next.