On the eighth call, I finally answered.

Co Canh Tham’s voice came immediately.

—Where are you?

I looked at the rain running down the convenience store window.

—Does it matter?

There was silence.

Then his voice hardened.

—Secretary Trieu said you refused to hand over the South China project.

—Correct.

—To Van, don’t mix personal emotions with work.

I almost laughed.

—You fired me this morning.

—That was an adjustment of position.

—My access card was disabled. My email was locked. My office was cleared.

I took a sip of coffee.

—That sounds quite a lot like dismissal.

His breathing became heavier.

—Come back. We’ll discuss it.

—No need.

—The project belongs to the group.

—Then show me the contract.

Silence.

Of course he couldn’t.

The six-billion-yuan project had begun eighteen months earlier when Chairman Pham of Thien Hai Infrastructure contacted me personally.

He hadn’t approached Co Group.

He had approached me.

The preliminary cooperation agreement was signed through my private consulting entity because Thien Hai wanted me personally responsible for the project until the final investment structure was approved.

The group knew that.

Co Canh Tham knew that.

He had simply forgotten.

Or perhaps he had grown so accustomed to everything I built eventually becoming his that he no longer saw the difference.

—Van Van.

His tone softened.

The nickname he hadn’t used in almost a year.

—Come home tonight.

I looked at the wet cardboard box beside me.

—Which home?

He didn’t answer.

I hung up.

Then I blocked him too.

By three that afternoon, my phone became quiet.

At four, the chaos began.

Chairman Pham’s office formally notified Co Group that all negotiations concerning the six-billion-yuan South China development would be suspended.

At four twenty, two other clients followed.

At five, the bank responsible for project financing requested an emergency review.

At five thirty, Co Group’s share price began falling.

I learned all of this from Sister Vuong.

She was the only colleague I hadn’t blocked.

Her message contained four words:

They finally understand.

I smiled.

Then another message arrived.

Nhuoc Khe is panicking.

That didn’t surprise me.

What surprised me came ten minutes later.

Chairman Pham called personally.

—President Su.

—I’m no longer vice president.

He laughed.

—I wasn’t referring to Co Group.

I frowned.

—Then what?

—Come to dinner tonight. Someone wants to meet you.

—Who?

His voice became meaningful.

—The person who actually owns the capital behind our six-billion-yuan project.

At seven, I entered a private room at the Imperial Hotel.

Chairman Pham stood immediately.

Beside him sat a man around forty, dressed simply in black.

He didn’t look like someone who needed to prove his status.

That made him more intimidating.

—President Su, this is Luc Tran.

I knew the name.

Everyone in the industry did.

Founder of Meridian Capital.

The investment group that had quietly acquired stakes in half the major logistics networks across Southeast Asia.

Luc extended his hand.

—Ms. Su.

I shook it.

—Mr. Tran.

He smiled.

—I’ve been waiting three years to meet you.

I paused.

—Three years?

He pushed a folder toward me.

Inside were reports.

My projects.

My market strategies.

Even the restructuring plan I had written for Co Group two years earlier.

—Why do you have these?

—Because Chairman Co sent them to us when requesting investment.

My eyes narrowed.

Luc continued:

—Except your name had been removed.

I slowly looked up.

—Whose name replaced it?

He didn’t need to answer.

I already knew.

Co Canh Tham.

Luc leaned back.

—We invested because of those plans. Later, we discovered who actually wrote them.

Something cold settled inside me.

For years, people said I had risen because I married the heir of Co Group.

Apparently, my husband had been using my achievements to prove his own ability.

Luc placed another document on the table.

—I’m establishing Meridian’s new regional headquarters.

I looked at the first page.

Chief Executive Officer.

The compensation figure beneath it made even Co Group’s vice-presidential package look insignificant.

—Why me?

—Because I don’t care whose wife you are.

He tapped my project records.

—I care who created these.

For the first time that day, I couldn’t speak.

My phone vibrated.

Unknown number.

I ignored it.

Again.

Again.

Finally Chairman Pham smiled.

—Perhaps you should answer. I suspect your former company has discovered something unpleasant.

I picked up.

Secretary Trieu sounded close to tears.

—Madam… President Co asks whether you can come back immediately.

—No.

—The board is holding an emergency meeting.

—Not my problem.

—Chairman Pham’s six-billion project represents nearly forty percent of next year’s projected growth.

—Then President Co should ask Director Lam to handle it.

Silence.

Then a different voice came through.

Lam Nhuoc Khe.

—To Van, don’t be childish.

I smiled.

—Director Lam, congratulations on taking over my work.

Her voice tightened.

—The project was developed using company resources.

—Then continue it.

—Chairman Pham refuses to speak with us.

—That sounds like your management problem.

She finally lost her composure.

—You’re deliberately sabotaging the company because you’re jealous of me!

The private room went silent.

Luc raised an eyebrow.

I calmly turned on speaker.

—Jealous of what?

—Don’t pretend! Everyone knows you resent my relationship with President Co.

I heard Secretary Trieu desperately whispering something in the background.

Too late.

Nhuoc Khe continued:

—You were removed because you weren’t capable enough. Stop using your marriage to threaten the company.

I looked at Luc.

He was smiling now.

—Director Lam, did President Co tell you to say that?

Silence.

Then Co Canh Tham’s voice exploded in the background.

—Give me the phone!

A moment later, he was speaking.

—Van Van, where are you?

—Having dinner.

—With whom?

I looked across the table.

—My future boss.

Dead silence.

—What did you say?

Luc reached for the phone.

—President Co.

Co Canh Tham immediately recognized the voice.

—Mr. Tran?

—Ms. Su has just received an offer from Meridian Capital.

Another silence.

Luc continued calmly:

—And since our investment committee funded the South China project specifically because of Ms. Su’s leadership, we will follow her wherever she decides to take it.

I heard something fall on the other end.

Then the call disconnected.

The next morning, Co Group’s board summoned Co Canh Tham.

By noon, three directors demanded an explanation for why the person responsible for the company’s largest project had been dismissed without board approval.

At one, Sister Vuong sent me a photograph.

My quarterly report.

The same one Nhuoc Khe had displayed in red during Monday’s meeting.

Except now the finance department had restored the original numbers.

South China hadn’t declined fourteen percent.

It had grown twenty-six percent.

Someone had manipulated the presentation.

I stared at the screen.

Then Sister Vuong sent another file.

Look at who authorized the changes.

The digital signature belonged to Lam Nhuoc Khe.

But beneath it was a second approval.

Co Canh Tham.

My husband had approved the false report used to remove me.

That evening, he appeared outside my apartment.

For the first time since I’d known him, his suit was wrinkled.

—Van Van, let me explain.

I opened the door only halfway.

—Explain the falsified report?

His face changed.

—You know?

—Twenty-six percent became negative fourteen. Impressive mathematics.

—Nhuoc Khe told me Finance had recalculated—

—And you believed her without asking me.

He went silent.

I nodded.

—Exactly.

I started closing the door.

He suddenly said:

—I never authorized your dismissal.

My hand stopped.

—What?

—I signed a departmental restructuring notice.

He pulled out his phone.

—The document I signed Monday morning did not contain your name.

I remembered him sitting at the head of the conference table.

Signing without looking up.

Then Nhuoc Khe announcing my dismissal.

Co Canh Tham continued:

—By the time I realized what she’d done, you had already left.

—Then why didn’t you stop her?

His silence answered everything.

Because he hadn’t considered my humiliation serious enough.

Not until the six-billion-yuan project disappeared with me.

I closed the door.

The next morning, I went to Meridian Capital.

Luc placed the final employment contract in front of me.

—One last thing before you sign.

He opened another folder.

Inside was a copy of Co Group’s shareholder registry.

My name appeared on one line.

I frowned.

—What is this?

—Your late father-in-law created a private trust before his death.

Luc turned the page.

My breath caught.

Twenty-one percent of Co Group.

Beneficiary:

To Van.

—That’s impossible.

—I thought so too.

He placed a handwritten letter beside it.

I recognized the old chairman’s handwriting immediately.

“If one day Van Van leaves the company because my son fails to value her, transfer these shares to her immediately.”

My hands began trembling.

Luc looked at me.

—Your resignation activated the trust.

I stared at him.

—Meaning?

He smiled faintly.

—Meaning that as of nine o’clock this morning, you’re the second-largest individual shareholder of Co Group.

My phone rang.

Sister Vuong.

I answered.

Her first sentence made me stand.

—Van Van, come to headquarters.

—Why?

—The board just suspended Co Canh Tham as general director.

I froze.

Then she lowered her voice.

—And Lam Nhuoc Khe has disappeared.

A second message appeared on my phone.

Unknown sender.

A photograph.

Nhuoc Khe was entering a car at the airport.

Beside her was a man I recognized immediately.

Someone who was supposed to have died two years earlier.

Co Canh Tham’s father.

Underneath the photograph was one sentence:

“If you want to know why your father-in-law left you twenty-one percent of Co Group, ask why everyone lied about his death.”