Chapter 535: The Little Empress of Japan

Friday, September 27, 1991, morning.

San Luis Obispo Bay, California.

When Ray Mendoza arrived at the venue, his coffee was already half cold.

The meeting was set in the conference room on the second floor of the Veterans Memorial Building, the only room in this small town that could seat twenty people without charging rent.

Hanging on the wall were a few faded old photographs; one of them was taken in 1942 when the base was just built, showing rows of newly erected wooden barracks with a group of young men with buzz cuts standing in front.

Fifty years later, those barracks were still there.

It was just that in another two years, there would be no one left inside.

This small town by the bay had grown up almost alongside the base.

Soldiers needed haircuts, families needed to buy groceries, children needed schooling, and weekends required a place to grab a drink, so barber shops, supermarkets, schools, and bars came to be.

Later on, the base employed thousands of civilian workers, and businesses supplying the base, repairing cars, and doing laundry opened up one after another.

Over fifty years, about half the people in town could count someone in their family connected to the base.

"Is everyone here?"

Ray placed the paper cup on the table and opened the folder in front of him.

"Then let’s begin."

Today was the eleventh regular meeting of the Base Reuse Committee.

Ray was the county’s assistant administrator, in charge of economic development.

Half a year ago, the county board of supervisors passed a resolution authorizing him to represent the county government and negotiate investment attraction terms with potential investors.

Supposedly authorized.

In truth, over the past six months, the investors he had actually sat down to talk with could be counted on one hand.

The agenda was much the same as last time.

The Army’s evacuation schedule had been brought forward by another three months.

The school district reported that enrollment next autumn might drop by nearly forty percent; half of the students were children of military families, and when the troops left, the children left too.

The town’s sales tax had declined for six consecutive quarters, and two more shops on Main Street had put up "For Rent" signs.

As for the county...

The county wasn’t actually short on money.

There was a university to the north, vineyards and wineries inland, tourists all along the coast, and the property taxes paid annually by the nuclear power plant by the sea were more than enough to make the county’s finances more affluent than most places in California.

But that was precisely the problem.

The university wouldn’t move to this town, and a winery wouldn’t hire a mechanic who had spent twenty years repairing tank engines.

The county’s money could be used to build roads and patch up holes in schools, but it couldn’t conjure up thousands of jobs.

What’s more, supervisors from other districts on the county board of supervisors had stated it bluntly: the county could lend a hand, but it couldn’t use county-wide funds to permanently support a small town that had lost its base.

"So," county supervisor Glenn Hodges cleared his throat, "I have a proposal."

He pulled a copy out of his bag and pushed it to the middle of the table.

"The state department of corrections is selecting a site for a new prison next year. I’ve asked around, and they’re interested in several coastal counties."

"Anyway, the county already has a men’s reformatory; the state government has been dealing with us for decades, so having one more would be familiar territory for them."

The conference room fell silent for a few seconds.

"A state prison could probably provide three to four hundred jobs," Glenn said, "Prison guards, medical staff, logistics, maintenance—they’re all state government positions; the pay isn’t high, but it’s very stable."

"And," he paused, "a prison won’t move away."

No one laughed.

Reduced to fighting over a prison procurement tender, no one was in the mood to joke anymore.

Chamber of Commerce President Bud Collins looked down and stirred his coffee, stirring for a long time without adding any sugar to it.

Real estate agent Doris Harper picked up the copy, flipped through two pages, and put it back down.

"Glenn," she said, "we’ve been holding meetings for half a year, and the final conclusion is to turn this town into a place where prisoners are locked up?"

"Then do you have a better idea?"

Doris didn’t speak.

Glenn didn’t continue either.

Ray looked at the copy on the table and sighed inwardly.

He knew Glenn wasn’t joking.

They had tried quite a few methods over the past six months.

Writing reports to the state department of commerce, attending investment promotion conferences in Sacramento, placing advertisements in several industry magazines, and even pulling strings to contact several electronic factories from Japan and Taiwan.

In the end, none of them worked out.

People came, looked at the county’s university, drank the local wine, and all said the scenery was good and the environment was nice, making it suitable for retirement.

And then they took one look at this town.

Three hours away from Silicon Valley, four hours away from Los Angeles, with no electronic component suppliers around, and local mechanics and engineers whose life’s work for the greater part of their lives had been repairing equipment and doing testing for the military.

There were quite a few graduates from the university, but upon graduation, they all ran off to Silicon Valley to the north.

So they would politely say they would consider it, and then never reply.

As for the prison, at least it was real.

And it could practically provide local jobs.

"Speaking of which," Bud finally put down the stirrer, "where is Thomas? Why didn’t he come today?"

"He went to New York," Ray said.

"New York?"

Bud was slightly stunned, and then laughed out loud.

"What is he going to New York for? Looking for Wall Street to shell out money for that blueprint of his?"

A low chuckle sounded in the conference room.

There wasn’t much mockery in the laughter; after all, everyone was clear that Thomas had done his best.

Scarcely anyone present didn’t know Thomas Eden.

He was a local; the elder Eden used to run a building materials store in town, and back in high school, he was the quarterback of the football team.

After graduating, he went south, allegedly building office buildings and residential areas in Orange County, and during his most glorious years, he drove a Mercedes back to attend a school reunion.

Then came the savings and loan crisis.

Last spring, he came back again.

The Mercedes was gone, the money was gone, leaving only a blueprint tube larger than a briefcase and a plan he called the "Science and Technology Industrial Development Zone."

Over the past six months, Thomas had been running around harder than anyone.

Going door-to-door to talk to landowners about right of first refusal, sitting in the front row at every committee meeting, and revising his blueprints over and over again.

But the investors he brought back...

"That Taiwanese guy last time," Bud said, "what was his name again? The one who does computer assembly?"

"Mr. Chen," Doris said.

"Right, Mr. Chen."

Bud shook his head.

"Ray personally drove him around all morning, treated him to crab at the wharf at noon, and as a result, as soon as he finished eating, he said he had to catch a flight, and called the next day to say the company decided to go to Texas."

"The crab was even reimbursed by the county," someone added.

The laughter grew a bit louder.

Ray didn’t laugh.

"The miles Thomas has run these past six months," he said, "are more than everyone in this room combined."

"At least he’s doing something."

The room fell quiet for a moment.

Bud raised his hand in a gesture of surrender.

"I didn’t say he isn’t trying, Ray. I’m just saying..."

He didn’t finish his sentence.

But everyone knew what he wanted to say.

Effort was useless.

Ray looked down at his folder and didn’t pick up the thread.

In fact, that’s what he thought in his heart too.

He and Thomas had known each other for over thirty years, from Little League all the way to the high school football team. Thomas was the kind of person who, once he set his mind on something, would charge blindly into it.

In the past, this was his greatest advantage, and later it almost cost him his life.

This time going to New York, Thomas had come to his office before leaving, saying someone at Carlyle was interested in his project and wanted to introduce an investor to him.

When asked who it was, he refused to say.

Saying the other party requested confidentiality and would tell him after coming back.

Ray nodded at the time, patted his shoulder, and said good luck.

Thinking in his heart—

For a company like Carlyle with hundreds and thousands of projects on hand, being able to spare Thomas an afternoon was already giving face.

As for the introduced investor, it was probably just a vice president of some mid-sized fund, coming to take a look, have a meal, and then...

And then it would be just like Mr. Chen.

"Mr. Mendoza?"

The door of the conference room was pushed open a crack.

Linda, a young staff member from the county, poked half her body in, holding a sticky note in her hand.

"There’s a phone call for you, long distance from New York."

"It’s Mr. Eden; he says it’s very urgent."

...

In the small office at the end of the corridor, the telephone receiver rested on the table.

Ray picked it up.

"Thomas?"

"Ray!"

The voice on the other end of the receiver was a bit hoarse and spoke very quickly.

"Where are you right now? Still in a meeting?"

"Yes, I am. What’s wrong, did something happen on your end?"

"Nothing bad, it’s good news—good news!"

Thomas took a deep breath on the other end, as if trying hard to calm himself down.

"I met the investor. Mr. Hale from Carlyle took me there this morning."

"A Carlyle partner personally took you there?"

Ray was somewhat surprised.

He had heard of Carlyle.

An investment firm in Washington where former Secretary of Defense Carlucci was.

Being able to have their partner personally step forward to make the introduction was indeed no ordinary face.

Where did this kid get these connections?

"That’s not bad," he said. "Which company is it?"

"Saionji."

Ray was slightly stunned.

"...What?"

"Saionji," Thomas said again. "The Saionji from Japan."

Ray held the receiver, not making a sound for several seconds.

He had heard this name many times these past few days.

Not just him, probably every person in America who watched the evening news had heard it.

After Salomon Brothers got into trouble, Wall Street had been in chaos for over a month.

Then, a Japanese financial group suddenly stepped forward and, together with that Buffett from Omaha, propped up the entire Salomon.

Newspapers were filled with this matter for days on end.

Some said this was Japanese capital acquiring Wall Street, others said the Japanese were saving America; they argued back and forth, and at the height of the argument, a CNN commentator almost slammed the table with someone on the show.

"Thomas," he said slowly, "did you... drink too much last night?"

"I didn’t drink!"

"...Fine, I drank two cups this morning," Thomas corrected himself, "but I’m wide awake right now."

"The people you met were from Saionji?"

"Not people from Saionji."

Thomas’s voice lowered a bit, but it couldn’t suppress the excitement about to overflow from within.

"It was herself!"

"The little empress of Japan, Saionji Satsuki!"

"She looked at my blueprints and asked questions for over an hour. Then she said she wants to go see it in person."

"Come to our place."

Ray stood there with the receiver pressed to his ear, his mind blank for a good while.

Then, a thought popped up.

"Thomas," he said, "are you sure the person you met... is real?"

"There are a lot of scammers in New York. Didn’t someone impersonate a Saudi prince a couple of years ago and scam several banks..."

"Ray Mendoza!"

Thomas practically roared on the other end.

"I fucking met her at the Waldorf! On the twenty-first floor! Carlyle’s partner was sitting right next to me! That Japanese secretary of hers was holding a schedule with a face scarier than your old lady’s! Do you think this is a setup a scammer could pull off?"

Ray was roared at to the point of holding the receiver a bit further away.

"...Fine, fine, I believe it."

"You’d better believe it."

Thomas caught his breath.

"Listen, there’s not much time, I’ll keep it short."

"She originally said the sooner the better, and I almost agreed to tomorrow on the spot."

"As a result, before the words even left my mouth, that scheduling secretary lady by her side spoke up. She said the eldest miss has been in meetings every day lately, busy with Salomon’s affairs until last night, and today was originally scheduled as a rest day."

"When I heard that, my brain finally clicked—I fucking hadn’t prepared anything either!"

"You guys haven’t prepared anything either!"

"So I shamelessly followed up on that secretary lady’s words and asked her to give the locality some time."

"She agreed."

"She flies to California tomorrow, saying she’ll hang around the coast a bit first and arrive by evening. The official inspection will be the day after tomorrow."

Ray subconsciously glanced at the calendar on the wall.

Today is Friday.

"...Tomorrow evening?"

"Tomorrow evening!"

"I fucking only bought you one day!" Thomas cursed on the other end, "What are you still standing there stunned for?"

"Call your gang of people up! Land, roads, water supply, and that preferential policy package of yours—write down everything that can be made clear!"

"I’m telling you, Ray, she asks questions in finer detail than a bank reviewing a loan: where the money for each phase comes from, whether every parcel of land is signed, which conditions you offer are real and which are just lip service—she asked about all of it."

"She actually understands this stuff; if you guys try to hoodwink her with a bunch of empty talk, she’ll be able to tell on the spot."

"And one more thing—"

He paused.

"Don’t pull any of that band and banner crap for me."

"I’m taking the last flight back tonight, see you tomorrow morning."

A "click" sound came from the receiver.

Followed by a long busy tone.

Ray stood in place, holding the receiver and listening for several seconds before slowly putting it back down.

He stood by that small desk for a moment.

Outside the window was the main street of this town.

The late September sun had already risen, shining on rows of shops with rolling shutters. In the window of the barbershop across the street, a poster from the year before last was still pasted.

He suddenly remembered a sentence Thomas said before leaving, patting his blueprint tube.

——This time is different, Ray.

This time is really different.