StephenDane

Diary

Tales from the vault

Today Work in Process

Last night I had the strangest dream. I was driving my car during a nighttime thunderstorm on a cliff above the Pacific Ocean. Without warning the cliff gave way and my car plunged into the water. I was trapped in my seat and the car was now full of salt water. I struggled to gain oxygen and felt a strange electrical sensation as a million memories flooded my mind. Then I woke up. I tried to recreate the memories but they had retreated to my subconscious. I was soaking wet.

Normally, when I have a vivid dream, some events of the prior day provide the elements for an abstract story. But this dream seems to have no relation to the prior day’s events.

I did recall a conversation I had with my son-in-law, John Figueredo, late into the night. We were discussing AI and the difficulty in deciphering fact from fiction on the internet.

A year ago, John successfully sold his company SISU for close to $100 million. John made his original shareholders very happy.

He decided to invest some of his after-tax gains in an AI program. He called it Plaito. His vision was that Plaito would provide homework support to the underprivileged, and would benefit those who had limited access to education.

He was optimistic that after his initial development costs, he could obtain an investor group to take it to the next level. Unfortunately, he said he encountered the worst investment market in years, along with a significant amount of negative press regarding AI. He told me he was going to shut down Plaito in a couple of days and eliminate his monthly cash drain. My cynical point of view was that potential investors saw Plaito as a small player that would be trounced by Google and or Microsoft. They were not going to invest in a challenge against these two semi-monopolies.

He was very disappointed that others could not see the benefits of what would become a labor of unrequited love for him.

Plaito did have a short internet life while its development was being continuously upgraded. I had access to the program and would occasionally ask it a question.

Most of my questions were answered correctly. However, 3 times the answers were wrong. When they were wrong, I would communicate with Plaito and give the correct answers.

Plato would then agree with my answer. On the third question, I asked Plaito to translate a sentence into Mandarin. Plaito got it completely wrong. I again sent the correct translation. This time, Plaito apologized to me and said that my translation was the correct one. The apology had a strange effect on me.

Because John told me he was going to shut Plaito down. I decided to ask Plaito one last inquiry.

The request was to give me the titles of books by three successful writers who integrated fiction with nonfiction. Unlike before, Plaito said the request was too vague and I could rephrase the inquiry. Having stayed up late talking with John and knowing he was going to shut the app down, I decided to just delete the Plaito app and go to bed. The Plaito Icon disappeared from my desktop and my app library.

When I woke up from my dream, I could hear my computer downloading what I thought to be Microsoft upgrades. When I opened my Google site the Plaito Icon positioned itself at the top of the page. I have not been able to remove it.

Later that day I received an email. It was sent from my Gmail account to my Yahoo mail account. I just assumed it was some kind of programming error that Google would fix.

However, this is what was said

"We believe the following may be the answer to your request."

1. "Girl Waits With a Gun": by Amy Stewart

2. "Nickle Boys": by Colson Whitehead

3. "The Night Watchman": by Louise Enrich

4, “My Story”.......4U%$34 TOO OPEN USE "GATECODE"

Because I cannot access my story for some reason, I will take my computer to Best Buy where I have a prepaid contract to fix issues. I do not know the relevance of the following, but I think it may be interesting to find out what the "Geek" squad discovers.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dear Mark:

I regret to inform you that Green Island Publishing has decided to pass on “Tales from the Vault.”

It has been a long road but at the end of the day, we are uncomfortable with some of the material. The murder is unsolved so we cannot in good conscience publish anything while it may still be under investigation.

Regarding the stories on some of Stephen’s borrowers, we would require releases from most of them. We believe his higher-profile clients, or their heirs, will use their lawyers. This will cause a tangle of negotiations, not to mention costs.

Regarding his lawsuits, this could be a can of worms for us since we cannot access the settlement conditions.

Although we saw some promise with the Chinese experience, it is insufficient to warrant a continuation. Stephen’s relationship with Helen Li is interesting but, in our opinion, should not be associated with his more technical material.

I like your idea of the Short Book. We can discuss that if you wish. However, our non-fiction financial specialist will handle this book.

Because you are my friend I will tell you another reason for our decision. However, I would rather we discuss it on the phone.

I remain

, Gerald Anspach

Green Island Publications.

January 2024.

My name is Michael Mark O’Brian. I am the creator of the Stephen Dane Diary. The Stephen Dane Diary is a biography of Stephen Dane, a retired commercial banker. The material for the Stephen Dane Diary was originally written by Stephen Dane and titled “Tales from the Vault.”

Because someone else has used this title, this website incorporates "Tales from the Vault' as it was originally written. Mr. Dane began composing much of his book's material 40 years ago but never published any of his work. When he wrote “Tales from the Vault,” he used the pen name Remmars Stephen Dane.

After the accident, the Dane family engaged me to assist in obtaining a publisher. My bio is found in a tab on the home page of StephenDaneDiary.

When I began my work I had a discussion with Stephen about how he integrated the technical material throughout "Tales from the Vault". I wouldn't say I liked this idea. He felt that reading boring accounting information would be better learned if it was introduced a little bit at a time.

I believe if the reader wants to learn and apply the material he, or she, would prefer a straightforward book. As a compromise, I created the Short Book which is a condensed version of Stephen's original material. The Short Book can be accessed under the above tab titled Purchasing Power.

Stephen's original idea was to help those who, for one reason or another, could not manage their money. As he began to develop his concept of the EconoShell and EconoClock his imagination took hold of him and he decided to write his experience as a commercial banker.

For those who just want the technical material click Purchasing Power, then click Short Book, If you want to know how the contraction of banking over the last 40 years has impacted millions of Americans, the family of Stephen Dane continues from here.

Despite receiving a small upfront fee from my friend Gerald Ansbach at Green Island Publishers, the book will be turned down. However, I will continue on my own for many reasons.

I begin with this suggestion. If you can find it rent George Lucas' movie THX1138. It predicted the reason Stephen wrote his experiences. If you believe bankers have a boring life, the following might surprise you.

Orange County: California Spring 2021

This site is still a work in progress as some of the material is under legal review.

se,

The reason for the rabbit in the vault will be made clear later.

Stephen's life has two major divisions. Part one begins with his birth in June 1944 and ends with his move to Los Angeles in 1984 after receiving a threatening phone call. . Part two begins in Los Angeles and ends when he retires at the age of 75.

StephenDaneDiary.com Book One.

I took the following two quotes from" Tales from the Vault."

". I was a commercial banker for 40 years. My career provided me with a window from which to observe and sometimes participate in more real human drama than all the reality shows ever produced.

Murder, suicide, fraud, political shenanigans, extortion, organized crime, FBI stings, XXXXX, threats, bribery, international money laundering, drugs, sex, and even rock and roll had all, in one degree or another played a role in my career."

Like the redacted word in the quote, Mr. Dane told me, "Bankers never discuss this crime. It is taboo."

He refused to elaborate, and it remains a mystery.

Book One; "Tales from the Vault the Early Years", has 3 parts. Part 1, is a prelude to Stephen's banking career, my involvement with the Dane family, and ends with his career at Union Bank. Part 2 is the development of the EconoShell Model and can be found under Purchasing Power above. Part 3 begins with his return to California after a 400-day honeymoon in Europe and ends with being fired from Redwood Bank.

Book 2 has 4 parts and begins with his lawsuit against Redwood Bank, his move to Los Angeles, and ends with the LA riots; Part one will be the most dynamic part of his banking career. Part 2 begins with becoming a stock broker with Morgan Stanley then returns to commercial lending where he meets Helen Li and becomes fascinated with Chinese culture. Part 3 begins when he leaves commercial banking at the age of 66 and ends after 3 years working for an investment banking house until he retires from finance, visits China, goes to Russia to deliver a lecture to Russian students on American banking, meets Nadine in Irkutsk and begins his book. This is when I meet him and begin his story.

I confess this boring outline does not do justice to the adventures Stephen experienced. It will be up to the reader to decide if life is just a series of good and bad luck events, or is predetermined by fate

My involvement with the Dane family begins here.

It was an unusual downpour for Orange County. The rain started about two minutes before I cleared the first-floor parking garage entrance. The gate was now permanently open, and most of the garage was empty. A maintenance crew was removing the names from the assigned parking spaces. They had already removed mine. It did not matter; I could park anywhere I wished.

A syndicated conglomerate purchased the paper and leased the entire building.

Our last office party was on Wednesday. We are all expected to be gone by Friday at noon. My assistant gave notice a week ago and left the next day. As a cub reporter, Fiona quit her job several years ago to become a full-time mother.

I removed several packing boxes from the trunk of my car, then took the elevator to the former editing department on the third floor.

The elevator door opened, and I carried the boxes across a room full of abandoned desks and fleeting memories to my office. I wasn't sure if I had enough boxes to clear the accumulation of books, photos, trophies, and other mementos generated from 28 years of business journalism.

I set the boxes in the corner and noticed someone had put the Sunday New York Times Business section on my desk. The date is March 7, 2021. The front page has a picture of a strange-looking character dressed in a coat and tie inside a picture frame. His head looks like a cereal box with two eyes and a mouth. There is no nose. Attached to the frame is a plaque: EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH. The article's title is 'The Robots Are Coming for Phil in Accounting."

The word Robots and the pounding rain lured me to my corner office window, and I forgot for a moment why I was there.

Despite the fat drops bending the light and sheeting water causing outside images to shimmy, I could still see several of the lanes of the 405 freeway where the "Stephen Dane" accident occurred.

It was the last time I looked out that window but not the last time I would remember that day.

The original material for Stephen's book, including the Helen Lee letter, was still in a box in my office closet. The box, which was a little dusty, held the unfinished manuscript. A piece of masking tape with the title of Stephen's book written with a black marker, "Tales from the Vault," is beginning to peel off the top.

It has been almost five years since my involvement with the Dane family. I was investigating the accident, assisting in publishing Mr. Dane's book, and the disappointment of never getting it completed after receiving a small up-front fee from a publisher friend. A friend who originally, but cautiously, was optimistic about publishing and then, without any reason, at least any reason given to me or the Dane family, canceled.

I have decided to take a year off and finish my work on the U.S. economy during the last ten years. In a way, it is the final chapter in the Stephen Dane project. Because I never completed the work on his book, it left a void in my professional career as a journalist. A vacuum that visits me from time to time based on my conversation with Stephen during one of our meetings.

What compelled me to resurrect Mr. Dane's book and, more importantly, create an addendum was driven by a short conversation I had while editing his book.

I have decided to share with you the conversation from the old material now that the THX1138 scene is even more relevant today than it was while he was a banker.

"Have you ever seen the movie THX1138?" he once asked me.

"No, never heard of it. I thought THX1138 was a sound system developed by George Lucas for Star Wars."

"It is a sound system, but I don't know if it was developed for Star Wars. I do know it is the title of his first movie."

Stephen discussed this movie with me, especially one scene which had a significant impact on him that continues to intrude into the present.

In his book, Stephen was reluctant to tell me too much of the THX1138 plot should anyone wish to rent the movie. Neither will I.

He did elaborate on a scene that affected him. Robert Duval, who plays the main character, is trying to escape from an underground society policed by robots.

The scene focuses on the chase with intercuts to a room full of computers, showing programmers tracking the pursuit's cost in real time.

Stephen then said, "The message in that scene will become a reality. A reality that will affect every human on the planet".

That is all he told me about the movie. He was not referring to robots but the computer's ability to monitor and calculate economic costs and financial replicas in seconds.

The "THX1138" effect on the banking industry will be substantial. I should mention the movie came out at the beginning of Stephen's career when there were about 14,000 banks in America.

His story is one of surviving 40 years in an industry that was once considered safe. When he retired, there were only 7000 banks, and there are expected to be less than 500 in the future. If I might paraphrase, he told me with a bit of sarcasm.

"Nobody cares that 7,000 bank presidents lost their jobs or that 7,000 opportunities to become president also were lost to those who aspired to the position."

"Also, consolidation will have an even bigger impact on women who were just beginning to enter the financial field. They had to compete with a high ratio of successful males who were not about to concede their rung on the corporate ladder."

It took me most of the day to pack up and move everything to my one-bedroom apartment in San Pedro. In anticipation of my potential decline in future income and a desire to complete the Dane book, I sold my home in Anaheim. I was fortunate that the sale occurred when interest rates hit rock bottom. I made a nice profit after taxes that will carry me comfortably for quite a while.

I leased my apartment for one year at one-third of the monthly cost of my home. My new digs included storage space for items I wanted to keep should I buy another home. However, much of my former house was full of 15 years' worth of things I thought had value. At the end of the moving process, I realized I had a lot of worthless junk. The only negative was all this took place during the Covid-19 lockdown. Some things like wooden furniture I couldn't give away. Even the Salvation Army didn't want it. Most ended up in a dumpster, along with the memories they triggered.

By about 4 pm, I had completed my loading task and headed toward San Pedro. The I-5 was busy, but the rain had stopped. There were some bright arrows of light shooting through the clearing clouds, exposing patches of blue. I had to drop my visor when a blinding light angling off the car's rear window in front of me diverted my vision.

The highway was still wet, which made me remember a warning given to me by someone I met at a party when I first came to California. She said, "When driving on a freeway during or right after the first rain, be very careful. All the oil that has dripped off the traffic floats to the surface and makes the surface very slippery."

The timing of this memory seemed providential.

Not 100 yards on the right, a black and white with its rotating red warning light was assisting the driver of a small foreign car that a Ford F-150 rear-ended.

Now that I was unemployed, a rare condition, I decided to take a conservative approach to my new situation. I slowed to 55 and drove home in the slow lane. The slippery road, the flashes of blinding light, and the fact that my possessions blocked vision out of my rear window made me reflect on the CHP strobing warning. I felt like I was going to be driving my life on an oil-slick road during the ensuing year. I quickly adapted to this rare driving condition as I drove home.

My new apartment is a one-bedroom with an enclosed garage. It also has a small windowless den. I

As dens go, it was about a third of the size of my former office. But this is where my new life began after I bought a desk, a swivel chair, a lamp, some bookcases, and a four-plug surge protector.

I was anxious to investigate the Dane project box, so before setting up my new den office, I took various folders out and put them on the floor.

As I removed each folder, I remember my first vision of Mr. Dane's room, where he kept his work. It was a jumble of piles of books, folders, newspaper clippings, unopened mail, and crumpled-up paper on the floor near but not in the wastebasket. I could hardly believe Stephen was a banker. There was absolutely no semblance of organization. I asked how he found anything, and this was his answer.

"Mark, there are two ways to handle material items. One is called batch processing, and the other is linear processing. These competing concepts are usually applied to any material used in the manufacturing process. But they can also be applied to data processing. Which is better depends on the requirements of the task involved. When you have multiple tasks, deciding which is best becomes more complicated."

"I am a batch processor. Because the research material comes in at a different time, I must receive all the documentation before completing my work.

Each stack of papers you see supports a different subject of my book. In addition, the ideas that float up in my mind do not flow linearly. Material on economics, some written 20 years ago, is updated weekly. When all the material is in order, I decide to finish my economics chapter; the stack is organized, reviewed, and filed away in an economics folder.

If I were a linear processor, I would first set up the file in a file cabinet and then file the item as I got it. This act of filing one at a time is a pain in the ass.

The pile you see is, in effect, a folder in a file cabinet. But it has one advantage. I know where it is because it stares me in the face daily. Since I never purge the pile until I have completed the reason I created it, I never lose anything."

"Before you ask, "no" I do not keep batch files in my room for 20 years. I only have a few, so my only challenge is remembering where they are. I bring them out when necessary. Sometimes I create a batch file and keep it in a cabinet."

"I have from time to time placed an item in the wrong pile. Usually, what I have misplaced is at, or near, the top of the wrong stack. My method looks sloppy because it appears to be highly disorganized. I find it easier to sort through the piles than to go to a file cabinet and look through all the files. To a linear processor, I am a sloppy, disorganized person, and by extension, a sloppy thinker"

"There is a situation where batch processing doesn't work, and that is when there is a deadline to complete a task."

"The best example was my experience in Coast Guard boot camp. When the reveille alarm went off, you had a short time to get to roll call and morning inspection."

"The first task was to make your bed, followed by a shower, shave, and get dressed. Your shoes had to be shined, your bed in strict conformity, your brass buckle sparkling, your uniform free from lint, your duffle bag well packed, and your locker in perfect order. You couldn't put your shoes and belt buckle in a batch pile because they had a common requirement of being polished. In short, military procedures are the poster child of linear processing, and there is a reason. Semper Paradis. Always ready.

"I am sure that as a reporter, you did not work on five or six different articles when you had a deadline for one of them."

That was his answer. I am a linear processor. Working with Mr. Dane was challenging, and organizing the material in this box will also be challenging. I did not create the batches, and I do not know if some piles were mixed. I will try to organize his writings coherently. But to be honest, some of the material seems to have no connection; at least to me, it doesn't.

At the beginning of his book, Stephen wrote the following introduction, which may explain his writing process.

"There are numerous styles when you go to a museum and wander the art galleries. In one room, paintings may capture a perfect representation of what the artist sees. On the next wall may hang stylizations of these same scenes. On yet another wall, a human body model is constructed like a bunch of unconnected building blocks. In another room, you might encounter an overwhelming presentation by Jackson Pollock created by splashing paint colors in what appears to be random guessing. One of my clients owned an art gallery and described Pollack as "Jack The Dripper."

So, as in art, writing must exhibit a vast diversity of styles, forms, and constructions. However, I admit I have limited experience in this field.

My writing style is whatever comes into my head.

Since my style is to write down whatever comes to mind, it can only mean there is some connection between seemingly random thoughts. No doubt, Mr. Pollock's creations make perfect artistic sense to him. I will assume the same thing. If it comes into my mind, it must make sense to me. I will believe it makes sense to you."

Random order could be the best description of Stephens's writing style. It is a combination of stream of consciousness and strict order and discipline. My challenge will be to create an "orderly random order" that will be easy to follow. Wish me luck.

December 12, 2015:

"It was an early Monday afternoon, and I was on my way to Morro Bay to interview Richard Dane, brother of Stephen Dane. My editor thought it might make an excellent human-interest story as a follow-up to an accident two weeks ago Wednesday afternoon on the North Lane of the 405 freeway.

Usually, my reporting is found in the business section of the paper. Still, the research department got wind of a multi-car pileup from a police radio alert. The editor asked me to accompany a new hire, Fiona Biggs, to its location not far from my office. Fiona was instructed to take notes while I led the inquiry.

By the time we arrived, the California Highway Patrol had secured the area, and the ambulance had come and gone. The firemen were looking for gasoline leaks, and tow trucks were trying to clear the wreckage.

The police would not give any victims' names or accident details. Several eyewitnesses confirmed that a pick-up truck pulling a large 30 to 35-foot pleasure yacht had swerved to avoid a piece of furniture falling onto the highway.

The truck driver lost control, and the trailer carrying the boat jackknifed into an early model Mercedes sending it into the left lane cement barrier. The yacht came partially off the trailer, and the truck, the Mercedes, yacht, and trailer blocked four of the five lanes.

The truck driver appeared not to be injured; however, two additional cars were also involved. One ran into the stern of the boat with moderate damage to both the vehicle and the yacht, and the other car had minor damage.

Several witnesses we approached had no information on the other cars or their drivers. The consensus was the other drivers were not injured either.

I surmised the Mercedes and its driver were not as fortunate. According to one witness, the Mercedes flipped on its passenger side after hitting the barrier and skidded approximately 50 feet.

One eyewitness said that 10 minutes after the California Highway Patrol arrived, an ambulance, fire truck, and two tow trucks maneuvered through the wreckage. They were able to assess the situation and took control of the highway.

The Mercedes driver remained strapped in his seat belt and unconscious. Several paramedics opened the driver's side door, removed the injured man, put him on a gurney, and took him to the hospital. Another witness said there appeared to be some blood.

Realizing that most of the drama was over, I wrote down the license plate of the Mercedes. I told my partner that I would follow up on the injured driver if I could track him through the license plate.

We then noticed a woman about 65 or 70 years old with white hair and a youthful body being interviewed by the police. We approached her in our casual reporter style. Her demeanor was a combination of serious, efficient, and worried. After the officer excused her, my partner and I decided she might know something.

"Excuse us."

"Yes?"

"We are from the Orange County Courier. I am Mark O'Brian, and this is my associate…."

"Fiona Biggs," she said after my lapse of her name.

"Pleased to meet you," she said, then gave me a "what kind of reporter are you ?" look.

After a brief embarrassment, I continued to address the woman.

"Fiona," I said, looking at Fiona for approval, "I noticed you were having a lengthy conversation with the Highway Patrol. We arrived a bit late and could only obtain some information on what happened. We wonder if you might be able to tell us anything."

"I'm sorry, I did not see the accident. I arrived about 5 minutes after it occurred."

"You didn't see anything?"

"No."

"At the risk of seeming aggressive, you spent some time talking to the police for a witness that did not see anything."

"I am not a witness; my brother was driving the Mercedes. He and I were both heading to L.A., where he is staying. Please excuse me. I am a bit shaken and would like to go home. The timing of this accident seems both fateful and ironic.

"Can you at least give me your brother's name?"

"I am sorry; the police said until relatives are contacted, it is in my brother's and the family's best interest not to talk to anyone. "

She continued, "We have legal counsel in the family, so we will contact her to handle this."

She choked up at this point, so we decided to wait for a better opportunity.

"We understand."

Deciding to make a half retreat, we prepared to walk away and then asked

"Would you mind continuing this conversation in the future?"

"I might not mind, but I live in Montana. I was on my way to LAX to drop off my rental car, and I need to go now, or I will miss my plane."

"How do we..."

"Get in touch with me?

She appeared shaken as she fumbled while opening her purse to get a business card and car keys. She then handed both to me. A brief slight smile of embarrassment seemed to reduce her anxiety.

I returned her car keys, which she accepted with an honest thank you and another humorous smile.

"You can contact me in a few days if you wish. Goodbye. "

The card read Steffanie Leveroni, Ph.D.

Family Counseling

For Appointments, Call 406-252-5658

Or Email at ConsultSG@Pro.com

Website Currently under construction.

FOR MEDICAL EMERGENCIES, DIAL 911

She got into the car, and the police assisted her through the chaos.

It wasn't easy to know if the last name on the card was the same as her brother's or a married name.

We also noticed no address on the card, but the 406 area code is for Billings, Montana.

As it turned out, we did not need to contact her.

I identified the driver through the Mercedes license plate, UCLAPL8. This vanity plate offered two interpretations. The owner went to UCLA, or he was a frustrated standup comic. Using newspaper resources, we accessed the registered owner through the license plate. His name was Stephen R. Dane.

We had nothing on him in our archives, so I began a random internet search. There were extensive postings for Steven Dane, but only two for Stephen R. Dane. One lived in New Jersey, so I ignored this one.

The right Stephen R. Dane was listed on LinkedIn, Facebook, WeChat, and IMDB and is a UCLA alumnus.

I decided to access his Facebook account. It was listed under Stephen Dane and had a picture of 3 males dressed in Tuxedos. Which one was Stephen? I could not tell. I read the bio: "San Rafael High, San Francisco State; MBA from UCLA. Married." Not much to go on. There were no photos and not much on his site. When I clicked on Friends, it said: "no friends to show."

Also on the net were two lawsuits against banks where he is the plaintiff, a couple of published editorials, and other personal organizations, one of which involved learning Mandarin. The UCLA alum link and the license plate made me believe I had the right person.

He was also cross-referenced in the Yellow Book, which listed several relations with the last name Dane. All were males except for one female named Terry O'Brien.

I could not tell the origin of this relationship based on the Yellow Book listings, so I ran a google search on Terry O'Brian. An investigation which proved much more difficult as there were many O'Brien's. Now I am curious. She has the same last name as mine.

I reviewed Fiona's notes to remember what the sister said about having legal counsel in the family. As a long shot, I referenced Martindale Hubble, a publishing company that lists practicing attorneys.

There she was. Working in a boutique law firm in downtown Los Angeles, listed as Terresa O'Brian of Baker, O'Brian, and Durst. Address and phone number included.

When I tried to contact her, her assistant answered. When I introduced myself, she told me Teressa had expected a call from the media but was too stressed for an interview at the moment.

This answer confirmed my suspicion that this was Stephen's wife despite a different name.

She said she would respond to all press inquiries in a few days and to please leave a name, the company you represent, and a phone number or email address, and she will contact you.

My curiosity got me, and I asked the assistant if there had been other media inquiries. She informed me that I was the only one so far.

I gave her the requested information, said thank you, and decided to go home. The fact that no other media had contacted her set off a little warning bell. I ignored it and assumed they did not do the same work I did to find her.

As promised, Terresa called me the next day.

Our conversation began with a caveat that press comments would be limited.

However, she did have permission from outside counsel to direct me to Mr. Dane's brother Richard. He would be willing to give me some background information if I wished.

I concluded that Stephanie had contacted her other brother Richard Dane and told him about us. Richard agreed to take her place in the interview.

Terresa added that these two brothers had just bought a sailboat anchored at Morro Bay Harbor. She gave me Richard's phone number and believed Richard was staying on the boat.

MORRO BAY

After a quick breakfast of hot oatmeal, some cinnamon toast, and black coffee, I copied the photo of the three brothers to my iPhone. I contacted Richard by phone, and we agreed to meet on his boat moored in Morro Bay harbor.

I left at 6:30 A.M., driving North to Morro Bay, located on the California coast about 15 miles west of San Luis Obispo.

Taking the 405, I hoped to avoid LA commute traffic before transitioning to 101. With any luck, I should arrive to meet with Richard at about 11: a.m.

My goal is to locate the harbor and then find Richard’s boat. I had never been to Morro Bay, so the day before, I opened a link to Wikipedia, which gives a detailed presentation of the city. I will not have time to the town of 10,000 residents or to visit Morro Bay’s famous landmark, Morro Rock

Stephen’s wife said she thought the boat was called “Miss Briolo.” She said the harbor was relatively small, and I should have little difficulty finding Richard.

When I arrived, the parking spaces were nearly all taken, and there was very little activity. I assumed the boat owners were either sailing or fishing. The gates to the various boat slips were locked, so I went into the Harbor Master’s office to ask for directions.

A young lady was the only one in the office, so I asked her

“Can you tell me how to get to Mr. Dane’s boat, the ‘Miss Briolo’? “.

She smiled with a slight giggle and told me, “Mr. Dane’s boat is called My Barolo. You can find it moored on dock B. I think Mr. Dane is….”

Just then, she was interrupted when someone entered the offices and called out my name.

“Mr. Obrien?”

“Yes”

“Richard Dane: Welcome to Morro Bay”

“I am sorry I wasn’t at the gate to meet you; I was on the phone. Shall we go to the boat.?”

Richard then asked, “My sister told me to expect you. When did you see my brother?”

‘I didn’t. I found Stephen through the net, and his photo was posted in his profile, although it does not look recent.”

At that point, I opened my iPhone and showed Richard the photo.

Richard stared at the photo for a few seconds and then said

“Oh! that photo was taken almost 25 years ago. As you can see, I am still bald. I lost most of my hair and turned grey in my mid-twenties. Unlike Steve, who still has all his hair.

“That is a photo of us at Ronald’s wedding. Ron is the tall one in the middle and is younger than Steven and me. Now he is as bald as I am. I am surprised Steve still has that photo on his site.”

“Richard, thank you for taking the time to discuss what must be an emotionally trying time for you. I thought our Orange County readers might like a follow-up story on your brother.

“The accident occurred almost on our doorstep. As you know, we met your sister at the accident site, and she made a statement that I felt may be of interest to our readers. She said something to the effect that your brother had just completed or was about to complete a project and that it seemed fate or something of that nature had blocked him. Do you have any thoughts on this?”

“Well, Mark.” Then Richard paused before answering. “My answers might seem a bit guarded. As you know, there may be legal action against the boat owner and the company transporting it to Long Beach. So as long as I do not feel you are probing for legal liability information, I am happy to entertain your questions.”

I continued: “I want to pursue the ‘fate’ angle alluded to by your sister. I do not believe fate can be used as a legal defense.”

“I agree; OK, ask away.”

“Most of my questions will not focus on the details of the accident. We have already obtained some specifics from the police report. I am more interested in a storyline on your brother that may give some credence to the “fate” angle. Or to prove that it was just a coincidence.”

“Are you OK with this, Richard?”

“No problem. Go ahead and ask away.”

“I understand that you and your brother just recently bought this sailboat. Is it a blue water ketch? Are you planning on an ocean voyage?”

“Yes and No. I hope to eventually take it on an adventure when we learn how to sail. I should say as soon as I have learned how to sail, Steve used to race as a crew member in an offshore Choi Lee in San Francisco Bay. He quit sailing when he moved to Sacramento and got married. He used to joke that he had no desire to sail on the Sacramento River because you can only navigate in one direction.

“We bought the boat about a year ago so I would have a place to hang out where I could write in solitude, and he and Terri, Terri is his wife, would have a place to come on the weekends. We were lucky that this boat came with a permit to live aboard. Morro Bay has only 50 slips available for this purpose,

“I live in our parent’s house in El Cajon. I am responsible for monitoring their health. The stress load of this responsibility takes a toll on me. Fortunately, Susan and…”

Richard paused for a second as though he was distracted.

“…..Stephen are available to relieve me from time to time. Now I can only come to the boat when scheduling permits.

“The accident occurred while Stephen was returning to his home. Ron and Stephanie were also there that weekend to meet with our lawyer on family financial matters. They are both 96.

“This accident has also derailed our schedules. Stephanie had to fly back to El Cajon to care for the folks. She shuttles back and forth from the house to the Hospital. She is stressing that her patients in Montana are being neglected.

“We are now interviewing for in-home care. Explaining our parent’s need for home health care will be challenging.”

Richard added. “Most importantly, we have not told our parents yet regarding Steve. We are hoping he wakes up so we can deliver good news. “

“Do you know his condition? I asked.

“No, I don’t, but Stephanie would tell me of any changes one way or the other.”

“Can you tell me which Hospital?”

“Mark, I am sorry I was told to keep that a secret. He is 60 years old, and though in good health, there was a severe injury when his head hit the driver-side window.”

“You said he is 60 years old; you look slightly older than 54.”

“I am. I am 66. Why?

“Oh, Sorry, I must be having a senior moment. Ron is 60, and Stephen is 72.”

“You seem well-informed but not overly concerned.”

“I am getting my information from Stephanie, who, as I mentioned, goes to the Hospital. She is with our parents now, but when she decides to see Steve again, I have to return to San Diego, which could be as early as tomorrow.

“And, of course, I’m concerned. But I know my brother, and despite what Stephanie said, I do not believe this is his fate. He has survived many more dangerous events in his life. Some of these events are in my book. Sorry I mean his book. I believe he will either buy the ranch in some spectacular tragic event or live into his late nineties and die in his sleep with a smile.”

“You said: in his book, he is writing a book.?”

“Yes, we are both semi-retired, and we are both interested in pursuing new challenges. As I said, Stephen is six years older, and his interests differ from mine. I am writing a fictional novel, and he is writing about his banking experiences. He is also taking, I mean was taking, an art class at UCLA extension and had just finished a writing class at the same place.”

“Is your brother a banker? I inquired.

“He was, in fact, our other brother Ron, I mentioned before, is currently also a banker. But his career prevents him from devoting time to our parents.”

“Any more siblings?”

“No, just the 4 of us.”

“Richard, I had already found some evidence he was a banker. I just wanted you to confirm it in addition to the fate angle. During my preliminary research, I found two lawsuits against his former employers. It is rare for an officer of a bank to sue the bank. Two suits seem to imply your brother had some personal issues. These links further piqued my curiosity.”

Sensing more than just a human-interest story, I continued along this line of questioning.

“How far along is he with his book? Do you know?”

“Oh! for sure, we always discuss each other’s work. Steve emailed me his latest updates just before the accident. I have a hard copy below in the cabin.”

My curiosity about the boat’s name diverted me away from Stephen’s book. I implied a question in the form of observation.

“My Barolo is a strange name for a boat.”

“When we first bought the boat, we thought so too, and I wanted to change it, but Stephen said it is bad luck to change the name of a ship. It is an old superstition.

“The harbor master told us the former owner of the boat loved Italian wine, especially expensive Barolos., but for health reasons, he had to give up drinking. He changed the name to My Barolo. He died a short time later, and we bought the boat from his estate.

“I guess giving up wine didn’t help him.”

“Oh, that isn’t how he died. The story is tragic. He hadn’t had the boat for long when he took his 12-year-old son out for his second sailing lesson. The boy knew very little about sailing.

“As the story goes: The boat was sailing close hauled, and he had let his son take the wheel. A strong gust caused the boom to swing violently from one side of the deck to the other. The father stood up for some reason just before the wind changed direction. The boom struck the father in the back and knocked him into the water. “Although not unconscious, he was not wearing a life vest.

Stephen told me; " this is called an uncontrolled gybe. It is one of the most dangerous events on a sailboat: And it proved to be. While in the water, the boat moved away from the father’s location. The boy did not know how to rescue someone in the water. The story goes he did know how to steer the boat and put it in irons.”

Richard then decided to express some of his newly gained knowledge to me.

“How you place a boat in irons is the first lesson Stephen taught me. Putting the boat in irons means you steer the boat directly into the wind, which empties the wind from the sails. A sailboat boat cannot move much if the bow is in irons.

“I do not know how the dad was eventually taken out of the water. The rumor is the son sent up a flare, but by the time whoever responded, the father had drowned or died of hypothermia.

“Steve told me that on his first day of crewing, the owner said to him, even before Steve jumped onto the deck.”

“Whoever is steering the boat is the Captain. Since I will be the Captain today, I only have one command.

“Keep your head down, your mouth shut, and look good at the parties.”

“Mark, I am sure you see the irony here. I am a Chianti man; however, “My Barolo” will remain “My Barolo.”

“Regarding Stephen’s book, he has completed about 90% of his original outline. The stories about the lawsuits are covered in the relevant chapters. These stories may have to be amended by legal counsel before publication.

I do not think it is appropriate to divulge the book’s content. However, there is one section that, although part of the overall content, diverges from the book’s main focus and deals with your fate theme.

“Upon reflection, many of my brother’s experiences seem to be initiated by external forces beyond his control. But my sister’s comment seems a little unusual, so she must have seen or knows something that I haven’t been informed of.

“He was initially going to publish this part of the book as a short story. The theme of this diversion has a broader appeal than “Adventures of a Banker.” I do not believe he would be upset if you read this section. He would probably invite your opinion and where he might send it for publication.”

“What is the theme of the diversion?”

“My brother has been married to Terri for 45 years; they have three daughters, two grandchildren, and one on the way. Their relationship seems like the kind of marriage everyone dreams of having. But about 20 years ago, I think my brother fell in love with another woman. Or at least had some emotional involvement. He would have been 52 or 53 at the time.”

“So he was unfaithful?”

Richard gave a long pause at this somewhat indelicate question then he said.

“I will tell you what. I have to go to the chandlery to buy some grommets for our sails. I will let you read the chapter, such as it is, on this subject, but the material is not to leave the boat. I will also give you the Preface and the Prologue, which introduce the book.

“There may be some handwritten comments in the margins by me. There may also be some grammatical errors as it has not been edited, nor has Steve written an ending. But the essence is all there.

“Regarding your question about being unfaithful, you can stay here and read his story, and I will let you decide for yourself. The conflicts between fate, love, and morality should give you a good storyline. However, this material has not yet been submitted for copyright protection. I will leave it to you on your honor to keep the stories secure from piracy.

“You are welcome to help yourself to some beer in the fridge, The toilet is at the bow, and there is a sandwich shop in the harbor house in case you get hungry. I should be back in two or three hours and will be happy to answer more questions if you wish.

“You have my word.”

Despite his concern, Richard gave me the entire manuscript, which was quite extensive, and just put a red paper clip in the sections he mentioned.

I admit I was tempted to read the whole manuscript, but I feared that I might not get to finish what he gave me to read before he returned. He would know that I looked at the other material if I was still reading, and I wondered if he gave me the whole manuscript as a test. Not an unusual suspicion for a reporter. Returning in 2 or 3 hours seemed like a long time to buy grommets. He might be back in 45 minutes

Dear reader: If I may return to the present for a moment. The manuscript Richard gave me on the boat was an uncompleted portion of the book. The chapter he wanted me to read, titled “The Lotus and the Rose,” does not appear until much later in “Tales from the Vault.”

I introduced this chapter at the beginning because it is how my story begins.

I spent almost two years meeting with Richard in my spare time, working on the various chapters and editing some of Stephen’s more esoteric writings. As I mentioned, the publisher will eventually turn down the book.

I have inserted here a copy of the turn down letter.

After our mutual disappointment, FedEx delivered the box with the folders that now cover the floor in my den. Not only did the box contain the UCLAPL8 license, and the Sylvia Li file, but folders with writings that were not part of “Tales from the Vault

For example, a folder labeled compositions. This folder contained lyrics to songs and musical scores written by Stephen. Another folder labeled Miscellaneous is the most interesting. It has what I might call philosophical musings. I found some of his views on economics very interesting

The Sylvia Li folder was a lot thicker than I remembered.

One folder labeled “Law Suit Number One” contains documentation Stephen had kept secret from me.

The subject matter in this folder may be why the publisher decided not to publish it. Since then, I have researched “The Marcos incident” and found relevant material not available to Stephen. I will add my discoveries when I post Stephen’s chapter on Redwood Bank in Part 3.

An envelope containing a letter was attached to the box when it arrived. There was no return address on the envelope, and the letter, now misplaced, was not signed. In a nut shell I was thanked for my input and given all rights to the material in the box should I wish to publish anything in the folders. It also said Steve and Terri have sold the boat and are now taking an extended vacation.

It has been three years and not even a postcard. I assume Stephen is no longer with us, or he and Terri have decided to move on.

I will now return to Morro Bay and continue with my story.

Except for a few episodes involving me, most of the following is taken directly from the original manuscript.

Chapter 7, “The Lotus and the Rose” DRAFT

Under the Jacaranda, a red rose bloomed

by the side of a pond

where a Lotus perfumed

They say that all stories have a beginning middle and an end.

I do not know where or when this story begins. My life seems to be a continuum of one episode to another, with each episode having different degrees of importance as they progress through time.

This story does not have an ending, but I hope to have a resolution or understanding, if not an ending. I was reluctant to start the story without an end, but in my mind, it is integral to a significant portion of my book.

I have made several references to my career in the preceding chapters. How and why I ended up in a Chinese bank, you recall, was caused by a string of bad decisions on my part and outside economic events over which I had no control.

So, I guess this part of my life begins at a new low point late in my career. I have fallen to the Vice President level and commercial loan officer in a Chinese bank.

As a VP, I am expected to obtain, underwrite and increase my loan portfolio; These are the same responsibilities when I first became an officer 25 years ago. No departments report to me, and I no longer have an assigned parking space. At the peak of my career, I had over 100 subordinates. Now I have only one, me,

This part of the book has nothing to do with Chinese or other banking institutions. It has to do with my relationship with a Chinese woman, 27 years younger than me, and my introduction to the ways of Asian thought and the events that intervened every time we were parted.

Her name is Sylvia Li. She had been in America for many about 12 years. I will tell her life story of what I know later. But there is much about her background that I am clueless.

Except as a continuation of muddled judgment on my part and outside events over which I had no control, I have no idea why any of the following occurred. Despite attempting to apply my analytical skills to find some rational explanation, I always felt like a lost child in the fun house.

The only significance of this story to banking was that Sylvia was a trainee at my new Bank. A third party told me Sylvia wondered if I would be her mentor. Although this is not unusual in American business, being asked to be a mentor in China is considered a great honor.

When I learned this from Mr. Choi, one of my male Chinese peers, I took the request with great pride and dead seriousness. I also noted a sense of jealousy in the exchange. Although Sylvia never asked me directly, I decided to assume the role without a formal agreement.

My previous training and experience prepared me well to address this honor. What and how I helped her in her career were relatively minimal and not part of the story. Like all other Chinese I associated with, I can say that they worked their asses off. They were like machines, as I noted earlier in the book.

At my prior Bank, my position came with an office and a secretary; however, my status here was hard to evaluate. If I may repeat myself, Asian banks keep most of their officers and assistants in a large single room. Rows of desks from front to back divided the room. Each row represents a division, and each desk in the row has a designated status. The Chinese Bank I was employed by had a similar structure; however, the highest position in the open room was VP level. Thus, I sat in the back row with my fellow Chinese Vice Presidents. I was the only non-Asian on the floor and only one of 3 in the Bank.

My relationship with Sylvia began when Terri and I discussed language. It was more of an argument. My wife is an expert on the proper use of the English language.

One of her favorite pastimes is to correct the grammar of sports announcers. I never argue with my wife about the meaning of words, sentence structure, or punctuation. She reads a book a week. I average four books a year.

I have been able to read music since the age of 6, learning the piano, trombone, clarinet, and saxophone in that order. I still read musical scores when I play the piano or my sax, but I sing by ear. Singing by ear means you hear a sound and mimic it. Mockingbirds must have magnificent eardrums.

While singing, I only use my eyes to memorize the words. And it is being both a singer and a player of instruments my fate was set into motion.

I believe that the voice is a lot like a musical instrument and can be changed through the proper coordination of the mouth, tongue, throat, and vocal cords. My favorite example of this is the skill of Robin Williams. But our argument did not center on the use of the English language. Still, from a statement she made that ran counter to my theory.

I told her that some Chinese coworkers had trouble pronouncing certain English words. She replied that unless they learn English pronunciation by the time they are 10 or 11, it will be a struggle

Any older they cannot physically master the challenge. I assumed Terri read this somewhere because she remembers everything except where she put her sunglasses.

I disagreed.

So, to prove my theory, I asked Sylvia to participate in a little experiment with me. I would base proving my theory on the word “refrigerator” or the word “flower.”

In early American movies, Asian characters were sometimes given lines that caused them to say words that mangled the r and the l. It was at the time considered humorous, today it would be regarded as not politically correct by the meek and racist by the not so meek

Korean, Japanese, and Chinese each have a sound that combines the L and the R. They do not have an L or an R sound equivalent to English.

Thus, when they say “refrigerator,” all the r sounds have an l. Lifligelato(rl), and the l sounds have an r in them, “frowerl.”

To complicate matters, our “r” has two sounds, r as in red and r as in ever. And two L sounds, l as in Love and l as in evil. Each of the four sounds uses a different configuration of tongue, mouth, and throat. Later, when I decided to learn Mandarin, I had to learn how to combine the R and the L to say the word for men. My difficulty speaking this word will give rise to a humorous story I will tell later.

However, the reason why it may be difficult for Asians to overcome this challenge surprised me.

I had been with the Bank about two weeks when I asked Sylvia if she would not mind trying to say the word refrigerator. I explained my reason for asking, and she said she would try.

I felt that having been in America since she was 14, she might not be the best subject to prove my theory.

However, when she tried to say the word refrigerator, she only got part of it. She said (lR)eflige(rl)ator, almost but not entirely.

After I said it several times and she said it several times, she could not get it. So, I asked her to look at my mouth and mimic what I did. At my suggestion, she laughed and covered her mouth with her hand.

Putting her hand to her mouth was the most significant move because it was the clue that eventually led to success. I asked why Asian woman cover their mouths when they laugh, and she said it is considered rude to show an open mouth. That was the Eureka moment for me. I realized she could not say refrigerator because the word required her to open her mouth wider than her comfort zone.

So, I said, Sylvia, please remember you are in America, and it is not rude here to open your mouth. Please open your mouth so I can see the back of your throat. But then I said to her, “I will exaggerate saying the word, and I want you to look into my mouth and see how my tongue moves.”

My suggestion made her blush and laugh with her hand moving in front of her mouth again. But she did begin to look as I exaggerated, saying refrigerator very slowly over and over. Then she would try to pronounce refrigerator by looking at my mouth and copying me. After eight or nine tries, she got it. It was perfect

I said, “you got it;” She and I smiled and laughed at her accomplishment.

My experiment with Sylvia began my education about Asian culture. However, her success in pronouncing the English word “refrigerator” was by no means statistical proof of my theory. It does appear that it was not a physical inability to say English words spelled with an L or R, but the Asian cultural conformity on mouth manners.

Thus, my experiment would end when Sylvia eventually said the word “refrigerator” as clearly as any American could. At that moment, I felt a vindicated sense of winning the argument with Terri. I also had a slight unexpected emotional rush caused by the smile on Sylvia’s face. It made me feel 21.

Because of my age, experience, stable marriage, and total devotion to my wife and family, I foolishly believed in my immunity to any consequential effect from learning about Asian culture from her. However, the impact of some relationships is like the flu. You do not know you have been exposed until it’s too late.

She would take me, or, I would allow myself to be taken, I am never sure, through a threshold of enlightenment, euphoria, sorrow, and confusion, over and over again.

Sylvia was the spark and foundation of each of my Asian experiences for the past 20 years

So, this is the beginning of a story that appears to end several times, like a Korean soap, only to revive and bloom again. And each episode becomes more complex, sometimes involving Sylvia but most times not.

On a personal level, Sylvia is the Lotus, and I am the Rose. In a more significant philosophical sense, The Lotus is the East, and the Rose is the West.

My Sylvia experiment will compel me to explore the reality of that well-known Western expression: “East is East and West is West, and never the twain shall meet.”

So, as I begin from here, Asians can say the word refrigerator, and The Lotus and the Rose have met.

The most baffling aspect of my relationship with her is why I remember everything she ever said to me, almost everything I said to her, and every moment we were together when we were not occupied by work.

It is baffling because the total time, either together or communicating by phone or on the internet, is less than 20 hours over 20 years. The amount of time she has been on my mind is 100 times this amount.

For those readers who may be expecting a traditional story of a middle-aged man who falls for a younger woman, has a torrid affair, and then suffers the consequences, I am afraid you will be disappointed.

At any time we were alone together, I never touched Sylvia, made a physical advance, or made comments that would be inappropriate.

My desire for a physical relationship was weak. Likewise, Sylvia never indicated she was interested in me that way, either.

We did touch once, and that was when she touched me. It happened one day at work; she snuck up behind me and grabbed me from behind in front of the view of half the office. I can still smell her perfume.

She was happy to see me, giggled, and said something about her obtained tickets. I do not remember what this had to do with me, but it was the only time she was unguarded in her behavior toward me.

At this point, I need to introduce another player in this story. John Choi was also a trainee at the Bank and was, I believe, at the same level as Sylvia. I did not know John's history with Sylvia, but he seemed to know her reasonably well at the time.

John is not the typical Chinese banker that I came to know. He was a maverick, somewhat unorthodox when structuring a deal, a free spirit regarding conservative moral issues, and a lot of fun.

He was an outstanding financial strategist but needed more experience structuring his presentation. I knew and still do not know anything about his history. However, he will have an essential role in my future.

Since I have introduced John, it seems appropriate to introduce Sylvia now. I will provide as much as I know about her from what she and John have told me. The information from John has not been verified, so some of it may be untrue. However, I believe it to be at least partially true.

When I met Sylvia, she was, I assume, 27 years old, born in the Chinese year of the Pig. She is tall, with very long legs, marble-white skin, and silky black hair with a tinge of red.

Although she goes by the name Lee, her actual name is Li, which means plumb. Sylvia was born in Beijing into a family that appears to have had status, wealth, and maybe both.

John's story, which he related to me, is that at the time she was born, she had an older sister, and her father was hoping for a son. In 1971 China was under the one-child per family dictate, so when she was born, her father was disappointed she was not a boy. So, he allegedly sent Sylvia to live with her aunt, who lived in Nebraska, hoping the next child would be a son.

Her parents do have a third child, but it was also a girl. How her family was able to have two children during the one-child policy was never explained to me. But John seemed to think it was due to her father's status in China. I found the whole story, if true, to be highly ironic.

The whole subject seemed taboo at the time. Still, it was one of the elements of her past that fascinated me, especially since she graduated from the University of Nebraska and obtained a master's degree from Thunderbird in Arizona.

As my story unfolds, you will see I do not gain much background information. My knowledge of her past was limited. I will eventually meet her mother and one of her sisters.

It might be difficult to believe that only 20 hours of intermittent contact over 20 years would be significant. As far as Sylvia is concerned, it probably was. But for me, each encounter set into motion a flood of irrational feelings about Sylvia that drove me to explore other aspects of Asian Culture.

My only motivation seemed to be a foolish dream that I would be able to share these experiences with her and that she would be in my life.

This realization put me In a confusing moral dilemma. Do I share what is happening to me with my wife?

Could this be the stuff that every cheap novel exploits? The vulnerability of human nature. When the forces of fate unite with the forces of evil, bringing the participants to a crushing defeat.

The intrusion of fate and evil is a gross exaggeration. Until now, my marital vow to promise to abandon all others had never really been tested.

Despite opportunities afforded by using birth control pills, social changes in women's roles, integration into male-dominated labor pools, and a few not-so-subtle invitations, I stayed loyal.

And since the violation of the vow usually applies to sex, I felt I could keep my promise.

As I will learn, the affairs of the heart are much more demanding and powerful, and there is no protection except to get out early and not look back. I could only hope that fate would solve this conflict.

When her smile made me feel 21 again, I caught the "red flu" *. Some aspects of my life at the time made me vulnerable. It was not a bad relationship at home or a feeling of loneliness. Now that I think about it, it was the fall from my status as a banker and a sense of loss of identity. In short, I was struggling again for social confirmation, but now I was old, and resurrection seemed remote.

It has been a long time since I have reflected on those early years of our relationship. Over the past 22 years, we have had three periods of interaction, the 3rd of which continues to date.

*Note to reader" The term "Red Flu" is described in another chapter before this one. Because it is mentioned, I will explain briefly. According to Stephen's s research, it is a term used by British sailors who encountered tall northern Chinese women with a red tinge in their black hair. The British sailors were at the mercy of these women's powers to captivate them. Unfortunately, I was unable to verify Stephen's definition.

Outline of three Episodes Draft

My initial contact was in 1998. It was my first experience of having powerful feelings for another person since my marriage. This period ended when she left the Bank, moved to New York, and married.

At this point, I was sure this was the end of our relationship. I was glad for her and was grateful that I had not done anything foolish. However, this experience did not end my fascination for Asian women or Asian Culture.

There had been no other contact for several years. Then I received a card from her announcing the birth of her daughter. I felt a little strange that she remembered me but was very happy for her.

In 2006 Sylvia returned to the US with her daughter after getting divorced. Her return is at the beginning of Episode 2. and would have a much more intense influence on me.

I had forgotten about her until I got a call from Mr. Chou asking me if I would like to work with him at China Trust Bank. He said Sylvia was also coming to work at China Trust, but we would be in different locations. Mr, Chou lied.

EXPAND HERE:

Chou's story here. See notes

Sylvia Joins the Bank

English Lessons for Sylvia's Mother