Birthday Candles on NASDAQ
When the electronic screen at San Francisco International Airport showed 9:17 PM, Rong Ci's Jimmy Choo high heels stepped onto theMeet the plane carpet printed with the California state flag. The customs officer's gaze as he flipped through her Chinese passport carried the characteristicLazy; rambling of the West Coast, just like the cheap champagne the first-class flight attendant had served three hours earlier—ostensibly attentive but actually perfunctory.
"Welcome home, Mrs. Feng." As the driver took her Rimowa suitcase, the rearview mirror of the Tesla Model X reflected the new fine lines at the corners of her eyes. The first birthday wish she received on her thirty-third birthday was an automatic reminder from the credit card company, while her husband Feng Tingshen's chat window had been stuck on two weeks prior—a transfer record for their daughter's summer camp fees.
The steel cables of the Golden Gate Bridge loomed faintly in the foggy night. Rong Ci unlocked her phone screen, and a push notification from The Wall Street Journal suddenly popped up: "Feng Capital Acquires Remaining Stake in Lina's Choice for $270 Million". Her fingers trembled. This eco-friendly clothing brand founded by Lin Wu was now valued at three times that of Ventura Tech, the new energy company she headed.
"Sir is still at the office in Palo Alto." As the Filipino housekeeper Maria opened the copper door of the Atherton mansion for her, the smart home system in the entrance was announcing tomorrow's schedule in a California accent: "10 AM, surfing lesson for Miss Jingxin and Ms. Lin."
A crisp sound of clinking shells came from the children's room. Seven-year-old Feng Jingxin was kneeling on the pure wool carpet, with a National Geographic ocean special spread out in front of her, using a miniature electric drill to polish abalone shells picked up from Santa Cruz Beach.
"Mom!" The mixed-race girl turned her head, revealing dimples identical to Feng Tingshen's, but immediately buried herself back in her workbench: "Don't touch my epoxy resin! This is a birthday present for Aunt Wu Wu."
Rong Ci's Gucci handbag slipped next to the Montessori teaching aids. The merger and acquisition documents she had stayed up late to handle, the invitations to the Munich New Energy Summit she had declined—none of them were asEye-catching at this moment as the string of seashell necklaces dyed with fluorescent paint in her daughter's hand.
When the smart curtains in the master bedroom automatically opened, Rong Ci found half a tube of TF lipstick on the dressing table. It wasn't her usual roseBean paste shade, but the metallic cherry red that Lin Wu always loved to wear—just like the bright figure on the cover of last week's Forbes Asia edition, the one who hadhold hands with her husband to attend the charity gala.
"Mr. Feng said he'll go directly to Half Moon Bay tomorrow morning." Floating in the sleep-inducing tea Maria brought was California chamomile, just like those seemingly harmless details in Rong Ci's marriage. The iPad Pro suddenly lit up; the schedule sent by Feng Tingshen's assistant showed: 11:30 tomorrow, private helicopter reservation, destination—Santa Barbara Winery.
The next morning, Rong Ci stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows on the 32nd floor of the Silicon Valley Bank Tower. The traffic flow on Highway 101 below resembled data pulses on a circuit board, and the ink on the Series A financing agreement she had just signed was still fresh. Her phone vibrated, showing a call from her daughter, but when she answered, it was Lin Wu's clear voice: "Jingxin said she wants to redesign the necklace using the pearls you gave her last year..."
The sunlight of Napa Valley filtered through the radiation-proof glass, cutting sharp geometric shadows on the divorce agreement. Rong Ci suddenly remembered that snowy night seven years ago, in the MIT laboratory, when Feng Tingshen had drawn a heart-shaped electromagnetic wave with an oscilloscope. Now this waveform had long since turned into the cold numerical clauses in the equity division letter sent by Flatiron Law Firm.
As her Tesla merged onto Highway 280, the car radio was playing a BloombergFlash news: "Feng Capital Announces Investment in Ms. Lin's New Marine Plastic Recycling Project..." Rong Ci pressed the steering wheel heating button, but couldn't warm the chill in her fingertips. In the rearview mirror, the smart security system of the Atherton villa was permanently deleting her biometric information from the main authority.
At a Starbucks near the San Francisco Family Court, Rong Ci encountered the CTO of Ventura Tech—the Stanford professor who always contradicted her in board meetings. At this moment, he was pushing over a manual for the California Marriage Equality Act: "You know? The newly revised Property Law Article 2640 can help you keep the patent for the silica sand purification technology."
Outside the window, a cable car was passing by the Tiffany window in Union Square. Rong Ci felt in her pocket for the shell necklace her daughter had left at home, and suddenly noticed that on the back of each abalone shell, there was laser-engraved "FENG&LIN 2023". The Pacific wind blew through the half-open car window, carrying the divorce agreement into the rose bushes of Golden Gate Park—where theAfterglow party of Gay Pride Month was being held.