He nods without so much as a glance at me.
The receptionist hangs up and informs us in English, “Mr. Wu’s assistant will be down shortly to escort you.”
“Thank you.” Antoine gives her a brief, formal smile.
The ease with which he conducts himself in this intimidating environment is at such odds with his clothes and tattoos that I get a dizzy spell.
Three minutes later, a man in a tailored gray suit introduces himself as Mr. Wu’s personal assistant.
“If you would follow me,” he says, leading us to the elevators.
We enter one. I can’t stop thinking about how Antoine managed to swing this meeting. An intervention from his rich dad, no doubt. It’s not like tattoo parlor owners have a direct line to Shanghai’s top dogs!
Two minutes later, we step into a pristine office with floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view of the city. A man in his fifties greets us, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed, and his handshake firm.
“Mr. Bellay, welcome,” he says in English. “Mrs. Bellay, a pleasure!”
I stammer, “Likewise.”
Wu motions for us to sit, and we settle into plush chairs opposite his enormous desk.
Antoine leans forward, all business. “Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Wu. I was hoping to inquire about an antique music box you purchased in Chengdu earlier this year.”
Wu’s expression doesn’t flicker, which surprises me. I was expecting annoyance or, at the very least, wariness. He had, after all, asked to remain anonymous.
Instead, he clasps his hands together and leans back in his chair. “Ah, you must’ve heard we’re putting it up for a charity auction.”
I blink.
Antoine’s shoulders relax visibly, but his face remains neutral. “Yes.”
“My wife had it appraised again here in Shanghai,” Wu continues. “The new estimate was double what I’d paid for it in Chengdu.”
I am sonotreporting this to Grandma Feng!She was already upset when I explained to her why we couldn’t see the box at Jie’s. If she hears about the new estimate, she’ll spend the rest of her life cursing herself for her kindness.
“It was my wife who persuaded me to part with it,” Wu says.
Our raised eyebrows make him chuckle.
“We don’t need the money, eh,” he adds. “But my wife is very involved with an animal charity, and she kept telling me about all the great things they could do with the proceeds. She was so excited that I gave in.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Antoine commends him. “Can we see the music box before you auction it off?”
“I’m afraid it’s impossible.”
Antoine’s hand tightens on the armrest of his chair. “Why not?”
“The music box is already under lock and key at the Shanghai Treasure auction house.”
“I see,” Antoine says. “When will the auction take place?”
“Tonight, during a private gala dinner at the same venue.”
Antoine gives Wu a questioning look. While I have no idea what he’s trying to convey, the older man seems to have no trouble getting the message.
“It’s by invitation only,” he informs us with a smile. “Tickets are five thousand dollars a head. We’re going to have very high-profile attendees, luxury dining?—”
“That’s a very reasonable price,” Antoine cuts in.
