UNASSUMED: Zara Zee and the Unassuming Case of the Billionaire Heir

  UNASSUMED

  Zara Zee and the Unassuming Case of the Billionaire Heir

  An Adult Action Adventure Mystery Thriller

  Kailin Gow

  UNASSUMED

  Published by Sparklesoup.com

  Copyright © 2015 Kailin Gow

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  For information, please contact:

  Kailingowbooks(at)aol(dot)com.

  First Edition.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  DEDICATION

  To my mom, who introduced me to the world of movies, martial arts, and making the most of myself despite or in spite of being “just a girl”. There are many strong women in the world, especially in Asia, and hopefully Zara Zee embodies some of them.

  Prologue

  Officer Zara Zee

  Hong Kong – at Lu Towers

  “I am in the basement of Lu Towers, and let me tell you, Peter, the building may cost 1.5 billion dollars to build, but from down here, it looks like I’m the bowels of a mechanical steam dragon. It’s a maze down here. Are you sure the signal is coming from this building?” Zara asked her superior Peter Brock through the cellphone. “It’s Richard Lu’s own building, where he has his office on the penthouse floor. You mean he was held in his own building the entire time he was kidnapped?”

  “It’s where the signal is coming from,” Peter said, his British accent clipped and his tone short. “Be careful, Zara. Richard Lu is a well-trained martial artist. He was tutored by the best money could afford since he was a child. If these people could capture him and hold him hostage, they must be professionals. These people don’t kid around. They mean business.”

  “I got that,” Zara said. Zara held both hands around the handle of her colt .45 ready to shoot at anyone coming down the half-lit hallway in the basement for one of Hong Kong’s most beautifully designed state-of-the-art high-rises known as Lu’s Towers.

  Why wasn’t the basement as lit as the rest of the flashy building? Lu Towers was known for its changing neon light patterns that lit up the entire building for miles. A winner of many architectural design competition, Lu Towers was touted as a major and exciting new addition to the cosmopolitan Hong Kong cityscape.

  You would think the basement would be high-tech and glamorous too.

  Not this grim dungeon-like maze where the lights weren’t working, and it reeked of gasoline, sulfur, garbage, and rotting food. It was a ghastly combination of a smell, and Zara tried to block out the intense odor.

  She held out her gun but walked carefully in the near dark until she saw a glimpse of green neon light coming from around the corner.

  Zara had to hold her breath. The smell was ten times more intense here.

  She waited for any sound, but it has been quiet for the past few minutes she had made her way to the basement. She followed the green light which illuminated the basement with a faint eeriness that reminded her of those old horror films she had watched growing up with her old-fashion grandmother. It had only been about ten to fifteen years ago when she first moved to live with her grandmother in a humble little one-bedroom house in a small town just outside of Hong Kong. She was only five but she remembered how scared and sad she was when her grandmother took her in, following the accident that killed both her parents. Her grandmother was poor, and the house barely had electricity. What she did have was some change, which she gave Zara, to have her go to an old one screen theater playing classic films from the United States. A neighbor of her grandmother took her to the theater while her grandmother talked to the police who brought Zara to her. Frankenstein was the black and white film she had to watch that day.

  Zara gripped her gun tightly. She had a feeling she was going to make a discovery on the other side of the door where the main source of the green light was coming from.

  Her cellphone vibrated, and she answered it without saying a word. She had it go to text instead.

  Peter was on the line: Zara, you are right where the signal is strongest. We have a team who will be there in a minute. They would be there sooner but traffic is a killer. Thank God you were right at the café nearby when we got the signal. Wait for them, and they will give you backup.

  Zara was already at the door, the cellphone in her pocket. A humming noise was coming from the room. Then a soft scraping. Maybe a shoe against the floor. Someone was in there.

  How many of them were in there? Who was in there? Did they have Richard Lu?

  Zara was about to reach for her cellphone to ask Peter if he can get an id on the maintenance workers for Lu Towers. It didn’t make sense that Richard Lu would be down here. There was no business for him here, with him being far removed from his operations people. Unless he knew them.

  “Ahhh!” Zara heard the man’s faint voice grimace in pain. Zara remembered seeing Richard Lu on television once when he rang the bell for the Hong Kong stock market.

  He was a handsome and large man, the recent heir to his family’s fortunes and successor to the Lu Legacy of real estate, hospitality, foreign investment and more. He also had a distinct deep voice. It was just a groan, but she could tell it belonged to Richard Lu.

  She kicked open the door, and quickly looked around the room, expecting a gang of men to fire at her or to jump her.

  But the place was empty except for a wooden chair next to the furnace. A cord leading from the furnace to the man sitting in the chair, slumped down. Bloodied, a cellphone on and vibrating in his shirt pocket. It was the source of the green light.

  Zara almost threw up.

  He couldn’t reach his phone because his fingers were cut off. He couldn’t hear her coming to shout for help because his ears were cut off. His one good eye stared bloodily at her while the other was shut closed.

  Feces and old food littered the area around him.

  “Hold on!” Zara shouted, running to him.

  But as soon as stepped onto the rubberized mat that covered the area near the door, a signal went off, and the cord next to Richard was ignited from the furnace with a spark of fire that quickly traveled down to Richard.

  Richard could see the fire light up and he seemed to be shouting at Zara, “Get out!” Zara saw him indicate his head at the cellphone in his pocket. A bomb? The cellphone?

  Zara tried to get to him to snatch it but it took less than a second before Richard was completely engulfed in flames and then the room began shaking.

  The bomb wasn't on Richard. It wasn't the cellphone. It was under Richard's chair. There was a matt underneath his chair. Any slight movement would set it off, which was why he didn't try to call out to anyone or try to escape.

  Zara began rushing to him, saving him was the only thought in her mind, but strong arms held her back.

  Peter. The rest of their team was behind him.

  “I can save him!” Zara shouted, trying to rush back in, but Peter pulled her back.

  “Everyone, run! This place is going to explode!”

  Peter grabbed her hand, and they were running down the hallway with the two officers behind them before the entire room exploded, along with the basement.

  Zara and Peter were running as fast as they could, exiting out to the street through an emergency exit door, but they turned around and the two officers behind the
m were no longer behind them.

  “Kenneth! Thomas!” Peter shouted, running in, but Zara held him back.

  The entire basement was like a giant furnace with fire everywhere.

  A loud alarm sounded, sending everyone into a panic. People were pouring out of the building. The fire truck was already there, and everywhere she looked, there was chaos and disorder. Even if they tried to go back in to look for Kenneth and Thomas, the crowd of people running for their lives pushing their way out of the building, blocked them from entering.

  “Peter…they doused him with gasoline and filled the basement with it. He was down there for days, undergoing such torture. They weren’t merciful, those bastards. He paid them already. They got his ransom, yet they still did all that to him and killed him.”

  She was crying now. It wasn’t like her to lose it on the job. She was more professional than that. She didn’t even know Richard Lu, except for his celebrity persona as a billionaire heir.

  But Zara was the last person he saw before he died. She couldn't forget the look in his eyes before he was engulfed.

  “Kenneth and Thomas, too.” Peter was shaking. “The fire came at us so fast, we barely made it out ourselves.”

  “Who can be so cruel?” Zara asked.

  “All the evidence from the kidnapping blew up in there,” Peter said.

  Zara looked down. If only she had waited for back up. If only she didn’t rush into the room and stepped on the matt, triggering the fire that led to igniting the explosive on Richard. She clenched her hand into a tight fist. It was not only cruel to make Richard suffer like that, but to have him witness his own beloved pride and joy building go up in flames. “Whoever they are,” Zara said bitterly. “I will make them pay.”

  Chapter 1

  1 month later

  Leopold Lee

  Hong Kong – At the Oyster House Restaurant

  Leopold Lee walked through the sea of tuxedos and elegant gowns, eager to get celebrity chef Errol King’s take on the night so far. Women stopped him to whisper sweet promises into his ear, while the men clamped their hands over his in sincere congratulations. It was a big night, one that all of Hong Kong had been waiting for.

  The opening of the Oyster House had been the talk of the town for several weeks with many anticipating a world class meal created by the one and only Errol King. There were also a few hard to please critics who would be quick to slash their hopes for success if the tiniest detail was ignored. Some had even gone so far as to openly wish them a huge failure.

  “Wipe that worry off your face,” Errol said the minute Leo approached him. “Everything is going great. We’re a hit.”

  “Do you think we’ll have enough oysters?”

  “Yes. It’s the quantity of champagne you should be worried about.”

  “Really?” Panic almost took hold of his heart at the thought.

  “No,” Errol said with a laugh. “Relax.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. This isn’t your home town.”

  “Yeah, but my reputation is still on the line.”

  Leo shook his head with uncertainty. “The night is far from over and so much can go wrong still.” Sucking his cheeks in as he scanned the large room, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo slacks and looked around him. “We promised them a fusion of French and Chinese cuisine.”

  “Not only in the preparation of the food, but look at this décor. It reflects perfectly this meeting of East and West, old and new, modern and traditional.”

  Leo looked up at the pearl laden chandeliers hung high in the central portion of the ceiling that rose to almost twenty feet. The thousands of pearls glimmered beneath strategically placed lighting worthy of the hottest nightclub.

  “Mr. Lee,” a short man said as he came up behind them. “Mr. King. You're just the men I’d like to talk to.”

  Leo forced a pleased and relaxed smile. “What can we do for you?”

  “I’m Frankie Cheung, and I write Eat Out Hong Kong.”

  “The blog?” Errol said with an impressed cock of his brow.

  Frankie nodded. “I have quite a following, and I’m sure my readers will be eager to see what I think of your bold endeavor. First off, I’d like to congratulate you on your opening night.”

  Leo and Errol nodded.

  “Before I go off on how fabulous I find the food, I was just wondering what brought an American action movie hero slash heir to one of the most profitable conglomerates in all of China together with a world renowned French chef?”

  Errol laughed and clamp his hand over Frankie’s shoulder. “Leo and I go way back, but I don’t think it’s the story you really want.” He swept two champagne flutes off the silver platter brought around by one of the dozens of waiters and waitresses working the floor that night. Handing them to Leo and Frankie, he picked another one up for himself and raised it. “A toast; to good food, good company and many great reviews.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” Frankie gulped down the contents and looked around. “A lot of people question whether Hong Kong needs another luxury restaurant with that East meets West flavor. Do you think you’ll be able to compete with places such as Caprice, Chez Patrick and La Cabane?”

  “We know we’ve got some tough competition,” Errol said, “but we’re confident there’s room in Hong Kong for another fine cuisine restaurant.”

  “And we do have a few distinguishing factors,” Leo added. “Our décor is both luxurious and hip, but also traditional. He glanced down at the red marble flooring beneath his feet.

  “Good fortune,” Frankie said in recognition of the color’s significance.

  Leo nodded. “And as you can see… or rather hear, we’ve hired Bai Tseun, an exquisite violinist who’ll be the first in a long line of artists to accompany diners’ meals.”

  Errol nudged Leo with his elbow. “I’ll go check how things are going in the kitchen.”

  Leo nodded as he picked up another champagne flute from a passing waiter, setting his empty flute on the platter. “And if you’ll excuse me,” he said to Frankie. “I’ll make the rounds to ensure everyone is having a good time.”

  “Good talking to you.”

  Happy with his impromptu interview with the blogger, Leo meandered through the crowd who showered him with words of praise and promises to return to The Oyster House again and again. Proud of what he’d accomplished with Errol and Eddie, the Chinese chef personally trained by Errol himself, he sipped his champagne and tried to enjoy the moment.

  The flight from Paris had been long, and since getting off the plane he’d been in a whirlwind of preparations that often seemed as complicated as they were tiresome. Leaning against the glass door that opened onto the Chinese rock garden, he emptied his champagne flute and reached for another when a waitress came by. He had been away from Hong Kong for a while, filming and living his life away from his family fortune and expectations. Now he was back, and Oyster House was one big reason why…a venture he could call his own. He wanted to make a name for himself besides being his father’s son, the heir to his father’s legacy. Now that Oyster House was off to a fine start, he could relax. The night couldn’t run more perfectly, he thought as he took a sip.

  So far the press seemed happy enough with the restaurant, the critics were impressed, and the A-list guests were visibly enjoying themselves. In addition to the flutes of champagne and wine that circulated the large restaurant were platters of oysters, various hors d’oeuvre and mini portions of the many items from the menu.

  Fifteen minutes later, when Errol had yet to emerge from the kitchen, Leo headed down to see if any problems had kept him tied up. As he made his way, he once again grabbed a flute of champagne.

  “How’s everything going in here?” he said as he entered the bustling kitchen.

  Errol took one look at him and grinned. “Running like a well-oiled machine. You’d think everyone had been working with us for years. How are you holding up?”

  “Great. I�
�m having a great time.”

  “I think you might be having too much of a good time.”

  “Hey, man. The past twenty-four hours, no, forty-eight hours have been among the most stressful in a long time and I deserve a few gulps of champagne.”

  Errol laughed. “Don’t underestimate that stuff. Properly chilled it’s delectably refreshing, but when it hits… watch out.”

  Around them, employees scrambled to supply the growing crowd with a constant flow of fine food. It was a moment of fulfillment and true contentment for Leo. After so much hardship, the loss of his father, inheriting the overwhelmingly successful company his father had founded, and now opening a restaurant with a celebrity chef, it felt good to finally let go and enjoy himself.

  When a waitress came in to fill her tray with a fresh batch of champagne flutes, Leo glanced at Errol who shrugged and chuckled.

  “It’s your head, man,” Errol said. “And I can tell you, tomorrow you're going to wish it wasn’t.”

  Leo grabbed a flute, but he didn’t have time to drink it down that Errol’s word proved too true. The flute slipped through his fingers and crashed to the floor and the buzz of employees around him was suddenly too much.

  “And there you go.” Putting his arm around Leo, he patted his shoulder as he guided him out of the kitchen and to the right of the noise filled dining room. “Go sleep it off. I’ll keep an eye on the place.”

  “But there’s still so much to do,” Leo argued as he struggled to climb the steps to the second floor.

  “Nothing I can't handle. Besides, you wouldn’t want the press to get a shot of you walking around tipsy. Sleep it off, and I’ll come around later to give you an update.”

  Errol pushed the door to the large private lounge above the restaurant and settled Leo on the cushy leather sofa that took almost the entire far wall to the right. “Take it easy.”

  “Hey,” Leo called out before Errol walked out. “Thanks… for everything.”