“You’re after my money, and I’m after you?”
The agreed-upon hour had passed, yet nothing substantial had been discussed.
Ding Zhitong cursed inwardly, but her expression remained unchanged. She leaned closer to Gan Yang and asked softly, “Where do you live?”
Two buttons of her shirt collar were undone, revealing her collarbone. She wore no jewelry, but a faint scent wafted from her, crisp and cool in the 15°C room temperature.
“Four Seasons…” Gan Yang’s heart fluttered, his voice catching in his throat.
“Alright,” Ding Zhitong maintained her posture, nodding at him. “Let’s have dinner tonight.”
She then stood up, opened the conference room door, and called Li Jiaxin to escort the guest out.
As Li Jiaxin accompanied Gan Yang out of the conference room, Ding Zhitong stood by the glass wall, holding a whiteboard eraser. She said to him, “I’ll send you an invitation later. See you tonight.” Then she meticulously erased every word on the wall from 2008 to 2010.
Gan Yang watched her silhouette, laughing at himself. He never thought this would be easy, but to say he wasn’t disappointed would be a lie.
Following protocol, Li Jiaxin escorted the visitor to the ground floor lobby and through the security gates. Upon returning to the office, she eagerly asked Ding Zhitong, “How did the meeting go?”
“We didn’t finish. We’ll continue tonight,” Ding Zhitong replied briefly, offering no further details.
“Dinner? Shall I make reservations?” Li Jiaxin inquired.
Ding Zhitong said, “It’s just me and Mr. Gan. You don’t need to come.”
People might find it strange, but she didn’t want to explain. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been gossiped about for allegedly using unethical means to close deals, especially not this time.
From dusk till nightfall, Ding Zhitong worked at her computer. The notes from the earlier meeting still lay on her desk. At first, she dared not look at them, but as the appointed time drew near, she couldn’t avoid it any longer. Opening the memo, she saw fragments of words, years, and numbers. As she read, she could almost see Gan Yang writing and speaking in front of her.
She tried to interpret it solely from a business perspective, but couldn’t help wondering what he had been doing since then. How had he been? Her thoughts drifted elsewhere.
That evening, they met at a restaurant on the third floor of IFC.
The place used to be bustling, but with fewer tourists lately and it not being a weekend night, even the usually packed terrace had only a few tables occupied, while the interior was empty.
Ding Zhitong deliberately chose a secluded spot, ordered food, and requested a bottle of wine. Though the outdoor temperature wasn’t high, the night breeze carried moisture from Victoria Harbour, making it feel more humid than inside. Gan Yang had removed his suit jacket and tie, unbuttoning his shirt collar, appearing much more relaxed than earlier in the conference room.
Ding Zhitong, now wearing only a silk blouse, reached over to pour him wine. “I’ve considered what you told me this afternoon,” she said.
With only a small lamp illuminating their intimate space, coupled with her choice of words, Gan Yang couldn’t guess what she was about to say. He took a sip of wine, waiting for her to continue.
Ding Zhitong went on, “Li Jiaxin told me that the second-largest shareholder opposing the next round of financing for Training Box had suffered losses in an A-share IPO, which is why they’re averse to these capital market operations. Now I understand what that means.”
“What does it mean?” Gan Yang asked, looking at her.
“A company might be just short of breaking even, but to meet the targets set in the financing agreement, they’re forced to expand product lines, increase production, and liquidate inventory. They have no energy left to properly run the business, improve the supply chain, or manage internal affairs. When the deadline in the agreement arrives, if the targets aren’t met, there’s nothing left, not even the bones,” Ding Zhitong explained matter-of-factly. In her few years in the industry, she had seen numerous companies rise rapidly, only to collapse and be discarded by capital like worn-out shoes.
Gan Yang smiled wryly, realizing she still refused to discuss personal matters.
But Ding Zhitong changed the subject, saying, “You asked me last time how I’ve been since we parted. Do you still want to know?”
Nearby, someone was celebrating a birthday with cold fireworks, their white flashes making her expression hard to read.
Gan Yang looked at her and said, “I’ve reflected on it since I left. These things have to start with oneself; we can’t force others. Whenever you feel like talking about it, you can tell me.”
Ding Zhitong was completely taken aback by his response, feeling something shift inside her. It had been a long time since she’d felt this way, but she stuck to what she had planned to say: “Since you’ve told me about yourself today, let me tell you about me too.”
Gan Yang listened.
“It was tough in the second half of ’08,” she began, speaking of the time just after he had left. Her tone was light as if telling a story. “Before, they’d only cut the bottom third of analysts in a cohort. But those two years were different. Even those who had just been promoted and received awards at the beginning of the year could be laid off. The logistics department was swamped, collecting phones, BlackBerries, laptops, and access cards every day. The Bloomberg terminal keyboards thrown out from the trading floor piled up like small mountains at the door. Empty desks just sat there, work uncompleted, with the remaining staff having to take over without even time to worry…”
“Where did you rank then?” Gan Yang interrupted.
She took a sip of wine and said, “I got the highest score, ranked first.”
“Both years?” Gan Yang asked.
She nodded. Those two years had been very difficult for her, but when it came to work, she felt a hint of pride, waiting to hear his reaction.
Gan Yang said nothing, just looking at her.
Ding Zhitong suddenly thought that if Wilson were sitting across from her, he would surely say, “Tammy, you’re amazing!” But Gan Yang wouldn’t. He just looked at her with a gaze that was part proud, part concerned.
Her heart fluttered again, seeming to skip a beat. Ding Zhitong avoided his gaze, looking out at Victoria Harbour’s night view, and joked, “When I got the high score the first year, I suspected it was because of the JV incident, that the higher-ups were trying to win me over. It wasn’t until I ranked first again the second year that I felt I was pretty good.”
Gan Yang was speechless. He had always known that no one could easily reach where they were today, especially a Chinese girl in a white-shoe investment bank on Wall Street. But hearing it from her lips, even spoken so casually, felt different. For a moment, he thought of the past, when she had flown from Denver to New York to Ithaca without sleep just to celebrate his birthday and the feeling of embracing her in bed that morning.
Ding Zhitong seemed oblivious and continued, “…IBD analysts are essentially department property, working with one VP today, another tomorrow. If you’re unlucky, you might never get proper guidance, leaving before the two years are up, making it even harder to get promoted to manager.
“But I met a great mentor, my current boss. He was also a Chinese international student, without connections or background, who built his foundation and trust bit by bit on his own. Unlike some other international students, he never felt that teaching others would put him at a disadvantage. He rose through the ranks because of this, always being the best at coordinating teams in the entire department. He taught me that helping others and benefiting oneself aren’t mutually exclusive.
“People often say that in our field, the more aggressive and loud you are, the better. You might think we’re just a bunch of sophisticated egoists focused solely on making money. But the truth is, we want to make money and accomplish meaningful things, and these two goals aren’t always at odds.”
Gan Yang finally understood. She was reminiscing with him but hadn’t forgotten her position. He felt a moment of disappointment, then found the situation increasingly interesting.
“Do you remember your first project?” he asked.
“XP Energy,” Ding Zhitong replied without hesitation. Of course, she remembered. It was during that time she flew from Denver to Ithaca for his birthday, lied to him about overtime, and was too tired to properly engage with him in bed. And there was JV, who stopped breathing in the ICU.
“What happened to that company?” Gan Yang asked intentionally.
Ding Zhitong narrowed her eyes, instantly realizing his intent.
In June 2008, when oil and natural gas prices peaked, XP Energy completed a private placement, with stock prices soaring to $14,000 per share. Yes, $14,000. Every executive in the company received multi-million dollar bonuses, with the president alone getting over $100 million. He bought boats, islands, and even an NBA team that he relocated near his home to watch them play. Then, during the crisis that erupted in 2009, the stock plummeted to $0.30 per share. Yes, $0.30.
Countless experts later analyzed this roller-coaster ride. Essentially, when everyone expected oil and gas prices to rise, the company raised funds by issuing stocks or corporate bonds, frantically acquiring land to expand its scale, and using expected production volumes to drive up stock prices. In reality, the company had no money and might not even complete the extraction. Once oil and gas prices fell, or in a situation like 2008 when they couldn’t continue to raise funds in the market, they instantly collapsed, no different from a Ponzi scheme.
“And what about your first deal after moving to Hong Kong?” Gan Yang continued to probe.
“You’ve researched the projects I’ve worked on?” Ding Zhitong countered, realizing he had come prepared.
Her first deal in Hong Kong was a round of financing for an online retail platform.
The platform claimed to have been established for five years, with 5 million active members, possessing capabilities in independent design, procurement, management, marketing, and a global supply chain. They also registered seventeen or eighteen proprietary brands, all with English names.
When Ding Zhitong first started due diligence, she tried ordering a few items from their website. Upon receiving the goods, she knew it was just a one-time business. Any random elderly lady shopping at the Sheung Wan market would have drawn the same conclusion.
A few years later, the platform indeed failed in two consecutive IPO attempts and quickly vanished.
On a whim, Ding Zhitong checked again. The official website could still be opened, but the homepage was advertised six months ago, with all links redirecting to an unrelated English website. Many people were commenting, asking when they could cash out their stored-value cards.
Back then, all members of that project team were graduates from prestigious universities, as were the collaborating lawyers and accountants. Even the worst business, when written up as investment materials and packaged as a financing project by these people, would be believed – believed with real money.
At that time, Ding Zhitong suddenly recalled a phrase she had once heard – “If it’s all about telling stories, why not believe mine? Mine is a bit more credible.”
“Of all the projects I’ve done, you picked these two?” She knew there were more problematic ones than just these two.
Both parties understood implicitly. Gan Yang didn’t spell it out, he just smiled.
Ding Zhitong could only mock herself: “Yes, it’s that ugly, but what can I do? I’ve been doing this for so long, it’s too late to change careers.”
“How is it too late?” Gan Yang asked, “Don’t most investment bankers jump to PE?”
Ding Zhitong shook her head, not taking it seriously.
Indeed, many did move from investment banking to private equity, but most were analysts with only a year or two of experience. Private equity firms, often being one party in acquisition deals, needed people who could build merger and acquisition transaction models. At the manager level, they were less competitive, able to do the same things but more expensive. For someone like her, it was a career until retirement.
Gan Yang continued looking at her and said, “Come to LT Capital. I want you.”
The words were so ambiguous that now it was Ding Zhitong’s turn to laugh, feeling awkward enough to turn her head and gaze at the moonlit sea view beyond the terrace.
Gan Yang asked seriously, “What are you laughing at?”
“You think you’re Blackstone or Sequoia?” Ding Zhitong retorted, “Besides, isn’t PE in the same industry?”
One Cao Cao, one Yan Song, both playing the bad cop role – no point in arguing who’s more noble. If they still had anything in common now, it was probably their obsession with money.
But Gan Yang threw her earlier words back at her: “As you said, I want to make money and also accomplish something meaningful.”
“What thing?” Ding Zhitong asked.
He looked at her and smiled, shaking his head: “I can’t say now.”
“Then what would it take for you to tell me?” Ding Zhitong looked at him and asked.
Gan Yang answered, “I’ve already said, come to LT Capital, and I’ll tell you.”
In the night, Ding Zhitong’s hair swayed gently in the breeze. Looking across at him, she suddenly found the situation becoming interesting.
You’re after my money, and I’m after you?