Tuesday morning was a different kind of quiet. Not the soft hush of a city before it wakes, but the taut silence before an orchestra plays its first note. Lin Ze felt it as he tied his tie, as he laced his shoes, as he ran his fingers over the edges of the folders stacked neatly on his kitchen table. Each document was a fact. Each fact a shield.
He tucked the salt jar into his briefcase as a joke, then took it out. Superstition had no place in a room that would be full of numbers and eyes. He slipped his phone into his jacket pocket and left.
At Harbor Tower, Zhang Yu was already waiting in the lobby. He looked crisp, but a bead of sweat at his temple betrayed his nerves.
"Are you ready?" Zhang asked.
"No," Lin Ze replied, then smiled. "Which means yes."
They took the elevator to the 17th floor. The door opened to a reception area where the air smelled like polished wood. A secretary greeted them with a polite nod and led them to Conference Room 17C. It was long and narrow, with a mahogany table that could seat twenty. Eleven chairs were occupied. A few faces familiar, a few new. Mr. Huang sat at the far end, flanked by two other board members. Mei Zhao sat to his right, her expression unreadable. E. Liu was there too, at the far left, eyes down, a pen in her hand.
Lin Ze and Zhang took the seats closest to the door. It was both strategic—easy to leave—and symbolic—not claiming center stage.
"Good morning," Mr. Huang said, tapping his gavel lightly. It was more prop than necessity, but it made him feel official. "We are here to discuss concerns regarding the management of the Harbor Private Trust. Specifically, the recent media attention and its impact on our reputation."
He looked directly at Lin Ze. The first arrow.
"Mr. Lin, the board is concerned that your public profile has grown… excessively," Mr. Huang continued. "Your association with influencers, your apparent relationship with Ms. Su, your presence in gossip columns—it undermines the seriousness of the trust. We question whether you are fit to represent us."
Lin Ze leaned forward slightly. "The scholarship fund is serious," he said calmly. "The work we do is serious. My personal life, which you reference, does not affect the disbursement of funds, the audit process, or the lives we change. If the concern is about perception, then I suggest we focus on facts that matter to students."
Mr. Huang's lips thinned. "Perception is reality in philanthropy," he said. "Perception affects donor confidence."
"Then let's talk about donors," Lin Ze said. "Our donations have increased thirty percent since the scholarship went viral. Our audits are public. Donors appreciate transparency. They know where their money goes. The current smear campaign, which seems timed with this meeting, is just noise."
Mei Zhao interjected, her voice smooth. "We're not here to discuss smear campaigns," she said. "We're here to ensure compliance. Our legal counsel, Mr. Zhang, will be afforded time to present, but the board must first vote on whether to freeze further disbursement pending review."
"That is not standard procedure," Zhang Yu said immediately. "A freeze occurs only when there is evidence of wrongdoing. We see none."
Mr. Huang tapped his gavel. "Evidence is what we seek," he said. "We will review the financial statements now. Mr. Lin, you will explain the documents you have brought."
Lin Ze breathed in. He opened the first folder, the blue one. "These are the scholarships disbursed in the last twelve months," he said. "Student IDs redacted for privacy. All signed. Here are bank statements showing the transfers. Here are acknowledgments from the universities."
He slid copies down the table. Board members thumbed through them. A few nodded, impressed. Mr. Huang did not.
"Here," Lin Ze continued, opening the green binder, "are the portfolios. These are the investments made with remaining funds. Real estate purchases approved by the board. Equity stakes in tech firms, logistics companies, renewable energy—diversified. The returns have been audited quarterly. We have had a twelve percent ROI, above market. Our management fees remain at two percent, the industry standard."
He paused. "Speaking of management fees," he said, sliding a smaller red folder forward, "I noticed an increase in consultant retainers in the last quarter. Specifically, two companies—Tianyu Management and EastSea Advisors—received new contracts totaling twenty million yuan. I did not sign these. Who did?"
The room stilled.
Mr. Huang looked annoyed. "Those retainers were approved by the board's finance subcommittee," he said. "Routine."
"Routine?" Lin Ze echoed. "Then why did the management fees jump by fifteen percent when the volume of investments remained the same? Who owns these companies?"
"They provide specialized services," Mei Zhao said. "Market analysis. Policy consulting. They are necessary."
Zhang Yu leaned forward. "For transparency," he said, "could we see the contract? The names of the owners?"
Mr. Huang's jaw tightened. "This is irrelevant," he snapped. "We are here to discuss your conduct, not ours."
"On the contrary," Lin Ze said softly. "We are here to discuss the trust's integrity. Integrity is compromised by secrecy. If the board can approve fifteen percent increases without explanation, then the trust is at risk. From the inside."
A board member at the center, an older woman with silver hair and gentle eyes, cleared her throat. "Mr. Huang," she said, "I was not aware of these fees. Were they discussed?"
"They were in the finance committee minutes," Mr. Huang said.
"Which most of us never see," she replied. "Perhaps we should?"
Mr. Huang's grip tightened on the gavel. "This is a distraction," he said, his tone rising. "The issue is Mr. Lin's ability to represent us. His… relationships. His interactions with media. His judgment."
"Speaking of judgment," Lin Ze said, keeping his voice calm, "I have here a series of emails." He pulled the folder Han had given him from his bag. "Between Mr. Huang and Mei Zhao."
Mei Zhao's eyes flicked. Mr. Huang paled.
Zhang Yu placed a hand on Lin Ze's arm. Not yet, it said. Lin Ze looked around the table. Board members leaned forward. Interest. Shock. Potential allies. He made a decision.
"These emails discuss 'restructuring scholarship disbursement' and 'appointing a new external representative,'" he said. "They reference my removal. They reference diverting management to Dongyang Shipping. I have copies for all of you."
"Those are private correspondence!" Mei Zhao burst out, her composure cracking. "Confidential!"
"They concern the trust," Lin Ze said. "They concern a plan to freeze funds and install a manager without due process. They concern a conflict of interest. Mr. Huang, do you deny writing these?"
Mr. Huang slammed his gavel down. "Outrageous!" he said. "You cannot present stolen emails! This meeting is about your conduct!"
"It is now about yours," a board member at the far end said quietly. He was younger, maybe mid-forties, with a sharp suit and an expression that suggested he was tired of politics. "I second Mr. Lin's motion to question these contracts."
"Motion?" Mr. Huang scoffed. "There is no motion."
"Then let's make one," the silver-haired woman said, her voice firming. "I motion that we postpone any decision on freezing the scholarship funds until we have reviewed the management contracts and the emails presented. We need an independent audit. If funds are being misused by the board, we must address that first."
"I second," the sharp-suited man said.
Mr. Huang looked like he might explode. Mei Zhao glared. Several other members looked uncomfortable. E. Liu kept her eyes on the table but smiled faintly.
"We will vote," Mr. Huang said through clenched teeth. "Those in favor of postponing and auditing?"
Hands rose. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. A majority. Mr. Huang's hand did not rise. Mei Zhao's did not. Two others remained still.
"Motion carries," the secretary announced, her voice trembling slightly. "We will not freeze the funds at this time. We will commission an audit of management contracts. The compliance review will focus on processes, not personalities."
Mr. Huang slammed the gavel again. "Fine," he spat. "But this is not over. Mr. Lin, consider yourself under observation. You may continue your work—for now."
"Understood," Lin Ze said, meeting his gaze. "I welcome observation."
The meeting adjourned with tension still thick. People milled, some whispering, some glaring. E. Liu approached Lin Ze as he gathered his documents.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "You did it."
"You did it," he said. "You gathered the evidence."
"I still have a job, for now," she replied. "But Mr. Huang will not forget this. Be careful."
"You too," he said.
Zhang Yu exhaled deeply once they exited the room. "Well," he said, wiping his brow. "That was fun."
"Fun is one word," Lin Ze replied. "Terrifying is another."
They met Su Yanli in her office. She poured whiskey into three tumblers and slid one to each of them. "Emergency medication," she said.
He declined, taking water instead. Zhang downed his. She sipped.
"Mr. Huang will retaliate," she said, placing her glass on the table. "He hates losing face. Mei Zhao will too. Han's mother… we'll see."
"She'll be angry at him," Lin Ze said. "He gave me the emails."
"Her anger at him may save you," she replied. "Family conflicts are useful. But be careful. Angry people make reckless decisions. They might try something desperate."
"We'll prepare," Zhang said. "I'll start the audit process. I'll choose the auditors. Independent, but not antagonistic."
"I'll handle the PR," Su said. "Meiqi's video is trending. Our donors are supportive. I'll feed that narrative."
"Meiqi," he said, remembering. He checked his phone. Her video of scholarship essays had millions of views. The comments were full of gratitude. Someone had posted: "I got a scholarship because of this trust. My life changed." Another: "My sister studies because of this money. Don't let rich people ruin it."
He typed: "Thank you" under one comment. He rarely commented. This time, he wanted to.
A new message popped up. Unknown number.
: "Well played." : "Round three?"
He didn't have to guess. Han.
He typed back.
: "Whenever you're ready." : "I have salt."
Han replied with a laughing emoji. An actual emoji from the stone-faced heir. Progress.
—
That evening, he took a walk along the river. It was windy. Waves lapped against the concrete embankment. He thought of the meeting. Of Mr. Huang's red face. Of Mei Zhao's shocked eyes. Of the silver-haired woman raising her hand. Of E. Liu's quiet courage. Of Han's calculated gift. Of Su's subtle guidance. Of Zhang's careful preparation. Of Meiqi's creative defense. Of Qin's ethical questions.
He realized he wasn't alone. He had allies. Some expected. Some unexpected. The trust wasn't just money. It was people. And people could be messy, corrupt, greedy—but also brave, principled, surprising.
His phone buzzed again. A text from his mother: "I watched that lady's speech. The one with the brooch. She reminds me of your grandmother. Strong. Tell her I said thank you."
He smiled. He would tell Professor Qin. He took a photo of the river, the lights shimmering, and sent it to Meiqi. She responded with a heart and a caption: "Shine brighter than the smear."
As he turned to go home, he saw a figure leaning against a lamppost ahead. The man straightened as he approached. It was Mr. Huang.
"Mr. Lin," he said, his tone polite, his eyes cold. "That was quite a performance today."
"Thank you," Lin Ze replied, wary.
"You have made powerful enemies," Mr. Huang continued. "You think your righteousness protects you. It doesn't. The board is a hydra. Cut one head, another grows."
"Then I'll cut them all," Lin Ze said, keeping his voice even.
Mr. Huang laughed softly. "Youth," he said. "So confident. Be careful, Mr. Lin. You exposed yourself today. You think you won. You merely delayed. I've been in this game longer than you've been alive. You are clever. But are you ruthless?"
"I prefer not to be," Lin Ze said.
"Then you will lose," Mr. Huang said, stepping closer. "Because those who are ruthless will take what they want. Remember that."
Lin Ze met his gaze. "I remember everything," he said. "Including the names on those shell companies."
Mr. Huang's face flickered. He smiled a thin smile. "Good night," he said, turning away.
"Good night," Lin Ze said.
He watched the man walk into the darkness, like a warning blending with the night. He exhaled, feeling the weight of the day settle on his shoulders. He reached into his pocket and felt the salt jar. He laughed softly, shook it like a rattle, and whispered to himself, "Round three."