You should hang out with me; Ill teach you a thing or two. Your dad wants you to start learning the business soon. With property, you have to begin with the basics. See that chef over there, slicing the fish as if hes creating some fucking work of art? Well, he started life as a kitchen porter, collecting scraps of garbage and dumping them outside for the rats to eat. Our work is like that too. You want to build apartment blocks all over Vancouver and Melbourne? Want to reclaim a bit of Hong Kong harbor so you can build a new office tower? First you have to learn the shit that I have to deal with. All the goddamn shit.
There was no one else in the restaurant now, except for the chef-owner, who was cleaning his knives with a small white cloth folded into a little triangle; when he finished each one, he would hold the tip level with his eye and stare at it for a few seconds before putting it away.
Still seated, Sixth Uncle began to pull on his down jacket. His arms snagged in the sleeves, and the collar folded awkwardly against his neck. He sat at the table rubbing his eyes, the puffy jacket making him seem even more rotund than usual. God, my head hurts, he said.
Outside, the afternoon had given way to a long northern twilight that tinged the snow-draped city a faint electric blue. They walked slowly back to the hotel along the windswept avenue. All around them, the branches of the cherry trees were clad in sleeves of frost studded with ice crystals. In a few months they would be covered in blossom again. They paused to look at a snow sculpture of a plump little cartoon cat with its paw raised in greeting. Looks like me, Sixth Uncle said. When Justin looked up at his uncle, he saw that his eyes were moist, and tears were streaming down his reddened cheeks.
Are you okay, Sixth Uncle? Justin asked, returning his gaze to the cat.
Sixth Uncle blinked and wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands. Its just the wind. I hate this damn cold.
They continued walking, and Sixth Uncle put his arm around Justins shoulders. I swear to God, the moment you are old enough to take over this damn familys affairs, Im going to buy that farm and piss off to Tasmania forever.
HOW TO BE GRACIOUS
I think we have already spoken of the value of education. Those of you who follow the cut and thrust of modern international entrepreneurship will be quick to point out that the majority of the worlds billionaires are not in fact highly educated in the traditional sense. All those Chinese property tycoons and coal-mining emperors, those Indian steel magnates they skipped the glitter of Harvard and slid straight into lifes great river, thrashing about in the muddy waters until they learned to swim. The more pedantic among you will say that they were educated too, only in a different way all that nonsense about the university of life, et cetera, et cetera.
But that is not what I meant when I spoke of education, for, to my mind, learning how to double-cross someone is not education. All those fancy things that men (yes, it is usually men, though increasingly women too) of high finance speak about, like takeovers, selling short, asset stripping are these not rich peoples terms for bullying, gambling, and cheating? I risk the wrath of my fellow entrepreneurial giants by saying all this, but most tycoons I know are, frankly, not very gracious. What can you expect? Tycoon. Mogul. Magnate. Even the words these people use to describe themselves would indicate a certain ruthlessness for they are not kindly words but ones designed to impress in the most crass of ways. They seek to dominate in that old-fashioned feudalistic way, to conquer, to destroy. And it is these base tendencies that you must resist if ever you are to become a gracious, generous billionaire. The time for that kind of old-fashioned accumulation of wealth is over. Indeed, part of the purpose of this book is to announce the end to this financial smash-and-grab and urge you to look away from the excesses committed by those who consider themselves the elite.
I say they. But maybe I should say we. Most of you who are aware of my reputation will have assumed that I belong to this band of brutal overlords, and I do not blame you for doing so. On paper, my ruthless credentials are impeccable: the swift mergers and acquisitions of well-known companies that take the markets by surprise, the penthouse living, the transcontinental first-class flights certain elements of my life will not endear themselves to the casual observer. Sometimes when I read an article about myself, even I recoil at the seeming callousness of my financial maneuvering. I look at the unflattering photo of me sitting in front of a microphone at some hastily arranged press conference, my face largely expressionless. What a dreadful life this Walter Chao must have, I think: Imagine being him. Often I forget that he is in fact me.
But then I remember my tireless charitable and educational projects, such as the construction of modern fiberglass bus shelters in rural areas of Southeast Asia, which provide schoolchildren with respite from the downpours of the monsoon season, or the recent community center built entirely of recycled plastic bottles the first of its kind anywhere in the world, I think. I read with dismay a few ungracious accusations in the press that made it seem that my bus shelters were a sneaky way of marketing in hard-to-reach villages, simply because they happen to carry advertisements for the brand of soft drinks that I acquired several years ago. Next they will be saying that my carbon-neutral, waste-utilizing community center is a mere publicity stunt because it is made from the same soft-drink bottles.
Fortunately, I pay little attention to these sorts of comments, just as I ignore the sneering that accompanies my self-help books. I write these not to make money, you understand, but to share the map of my success with ordinary people in need of inspiration. Nor are these books an outlet for vanity or a search for deeper recognition: Most of them have been written under various pseudonyms, including the multimillion-bestselling Secrets of a Five Star Billionaire.
So those of you who think you know me think again.
Shrugging off all ungracious thoughts, let us return to the concept of graciousness and education. Of giving and not expecting any return. I mentioned before that I am planning a long-lasting legacy to the world, and the ideas are accelerating as I write. My original proposal to build a fairly unassuming cultural center seems to have mushroomed somewhat since I began working on it. I was at dinner with one of the worlds leading avant-garde architects and urban planners (whose identity must remain secret until approval for the project is granted), who became terribly excited at my plans. This architect leapt out of his/her chair as soon as I explained what I intended to do, nearly embarrassing our host (the cold hors doeuvres had barely been served). He/she called me a visionary a compliment indeed, coming from someone responsible for some of the most arresting buildings in the world. The architect has flung him/herself with great enthusiasm at this project the first set of drawings is in development right now: part charitable foundation, part cultural center, part dreamscape. No municipal council in the world will be able to resist a work of such groundbreaking importance.
Annoyingly, I have been somewhat distracted from this noble project by developments elsewhere in my portfolio of interests what the ungracious would call my empire. But as I am on the brink of a daring acquisition of one of the oldest, most famous companies in Southeast Asia, I suppose it is hard to dispute accusations of bravado and entrepreneurial plundering. Yet I am only doing what others have done many times before me. It will hit the headlines in the next few days, so you will know all about it then theres no need to elaborate here. I will be a happier, more contented man once the deal is done and I can return to the work that really matters to me the gracious business of giving.
I forgot to say that I have identified a site for my cultural center. I will be traveling there very shortly to push matters along. The city? I said before that it should be one capable of showing off my legacy in all its twenty-first-century glory. That doesnt leave many choices. In a few weeks I shall move my base of operations to the chosen city: Shanghai.
7. CALMLY NEGOTIATE DIFFICULT SITUATIONS
IT SEEMS THAT GARY HAS A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE THAT STRETCHES BACK some years, which is impressive for someone so young. Readers of tabloid newspapers will not fail to be astounded by the unexpectedly long catalog that is beginning to emerge. How the record company has managed to keep these incidents hushed up for so long is anyones guess public relations people are so powerful these days.
Among the revelations on the front page of the papers recently are: The wrecked luxury suite at the Mandarin Oriental hotel in Singapore after his much lauded concert there last year (no comment was made by the hotel, which prides itself on discretion, but everyone supposes that they were paid off by Garys record company).
A hotel chambermaid in Hangzhou who claims Gary exposed himself inappropriately to her last week. She says that he came out of the bathroom and let his towel fall to the ground before making an obscene suggestion to her. She did not report the incident, because no one would believe her.
An unpaid bill of $12,000 U.S. in an upscale Kuala Lumpur restaurant, which included five bottles of Krug champagne.
And an altercation in a trendy drinking spot in the Soho area of Hong Kong, when Gary allegedly grabbed the barman by the throat and threatened to kill him.
Yes, it is clear that Gary has a drinking problem; no one can deny it. Like many young people, he certainly does not react well to alcohol. But is it right for a superstar with so many privileges to behave this way in public, especially when his actions hurt other people? This is a tragic affair, and no matter how many innocent, ordinary people are harmed by his alcohol-fueled madness, the ultimate victim is Gary himself: the fallen angel.
Let us not judge him too harshly he is a poor young man who should be left to deal with his problems in private, one magazine said, quoting a line from an interview with Vivian Woo, another Malaysian-born Taiwanese starlet who dated Gary for a few months. His heart is made of gold; its just that he has a bad temper and sometimes does not know how to control it, Vivian said. Thats why people think he is a disgusting person. When asked if he was ever violent with her, she replied, No comment. The picture they ran with the front-page interview was of Gary in the bar on the Bund in Shanghai, his beautiful profile revealing a man defeated by his weaknesses. How could such an innocent face be capable of such dark hatred? This is the question the papers ask time and time again a question that fascinates the general public, even people who are not interested in pop music.