Chapter_38

The story sounded increasingly familiar. Poor, Smart, Desire—they were all more or less the same.

With no time left for grooming, Ding Zhitong threw on her clothes, ran her fingers through her hair, and dashed out the door. She hurried downstairs and hailed a cab to Midtown.

Once in the car, she called JV, trying both his cell and landline. The phones rang until voicemail picked up, with no answer.

Sunlight poured through the gaps between skyscrapers, illuminating the traffic and the hurried crowds on both sidewalks—reminiscent of a zombie apocalypse. It was rush hour, and the roads were congested. The taxi inched forward, stopping and starting. Glancing at the time, Ding Zhitong decided to get out two blocks early. She slung her laptop bag over her shoulder and sprinted the rest of the way.

Upon reaching the office, JV was indeed absent. While opening the XP Energy project model and reviewing core parameters, scenarios, and sensitivity analyses to locate relevant data tables, she continued trying to reach JV. She called, left messages, and sent emails and texts, but his whereabouts remained unknown.

With the analyst responsible for the model missing, she, as the assistant, had to step up. Initially, she suspected JV might be sabotaging her, recalling Song Mingmei’s words: “People like that won’t change unless they feel the pain.” But then she reconsidered—JV’s actions would harm himself as much as her.

Moreover, who said she couldn’t handle it?

Deborah’s status already showed “In a meeting,” so Ding Zhitong could only message her the truth: I can’t find JV.

Deborah replied directly: Are you familiar with the model?

Prepared for this, Ding Zhitong answered without hesitation: Yes.

Deborah responded: Good, then you make the changes.

She then sent over the phone number and meeting code.

Ding Zhitong’s heart raced, unsure if it was from running two blocks or the impending pressure. She recalled the diaphragmatic breathing Gan Yang had taught her. Inhaling through her nose, and exhaling through her mouth, she took deep breaths to calm herself before donning her headset, dialing the number, and announcing herself after connecting.

XP Energy’s CEO and CFO were online, along with two institutional investors, DeborAh and Mr. Mac, the MD from the industry group. Ding Zhitong noted their requirements, located the corresponding modules, modified variables, and briefly explained her analysis methods and results.

At that moment, she genuinely appreciated Qin Chang’s wisdom in urging her to thoroughly understand the model. Following his advice, she hadn’t limited herself to her assigned tasks but had paid attention to every modification and update since the draft stage. As the pages multiplied and the relationships grew more complex, with increasingly intricate scenarios and variables, she even created blank spreadsheets to imitate the modules she couldn’t comprehend, finally grasping the logical relationships between all the components and variables. What had started as preparation for the future slacking off had now saved her.

Of course, she might have just been lucky. She didn’t encounter any issues requiring rebalancing, and the final multiples and rates of return were reasonable, meeting the client’s expectations.

The meeting continued, but her part was done. Ding Zhitong kept her headset on, listening. Lack of sleep and skipping breakfast left her feeling dizzy, but the satisfaction from the past half hour was overwhelming.

After the meeting, Deborah sent an email to both her and JV.

The message was brief, consisting of two sentences:

“Well done, Tammy.”

“JV, let’s talk when you arrive at the office.”

Ding Zhitong read the email. She should have felt proud, but an uneasy feeling crept in. JV still hadn’t appeared, his phone was unreachable, and the man who usually grew like a mushroom in his spot had suddenly vanished.

That evening, Deborah flew back to New York from Oklahoma City, allowing Ding Zhitong to leave work earlier. As she left the office around 7 PM and got into a taxi, her phone vibrated in her bag.

She was accustomed to being called back for all-nighters, but when she checked, the screen displayed an unfamiliar number. She answered, and a businesslike female voice asked if she knew someone with a long, difficult-to-pronounce name. Ding Zhitong had never heard it before and was about to say “wrong number” when the caller added: He had several missed calls from you on his phone from this morning.

Ding Zhitong then realized they were referring to JV.

The caller was a nurse from a hospital in the Bronx. JV had been found unconscious in his room by his roommate and taken to the hospital by ambulance. He was unresponsive, and his roommate knew nothing about him except his name. Unable to reach the landlord, the hospital had to search his phone for clues, finding a series of missed calls from her.

Ding Zhitong had never experienced anything like this and was momentarily stunned. The nurse, thinking the line had gone dead, asked if she was still there. She finally replied, “I’ll be right there.”

After changing the destination with the driver, she wrestled with her thoughts. The Bronx was notoriously unsafe, and she could easily not go—they weren’t close colleagues, and it wasn’t her responsibility. Although Deborah was on a plane and HR had gone home, she could wait until her boss landed. The man was already in the hospital; a little longer wouldn’t matter. But after deliberating, she told herself to go and check.

As it turned out, the trip was unnecessary. By the time she reached the hospital, JV’s landlord had been contacted, leading them to his emergency contact—his girlfriend, who was studying nearby and on her way.

Ding Zhitong didn’t leave, waiting until the Indian girl arrived at the ER. Only then did the doctor explain JV’s condition. The conversation exceeded her vocabulary, but she caught a few key terms: extremely high white blood cell count, bacterial infection, and suspected acute meningitis.

Calculating the time, she realized Deborah’s flight should have landed. She called her from outside the ER. Deborah seemed relieved, saying, “Hand over the work to him. There’s not much left on the XP Energy project. I’m sure you can handle it alone, Tammy.”

The tone was encouraging, but Ding Zhitong felt strange. The man hadn’t even regained consciousness, yet she was supposed to wait and hand over work. What would his girlfriend think if she overheard?

But when the two women sat facing each other in the ER waiting area, the Indian girl shared a lot with her.

After months of working together, Ding Zhitong finally learned where JV came from, what kind of family he grew up in, and how he had reached this point in his life.

The “bro” wasn’t a second-generation immigrant. He had been sent to stay with a friend in the US for school in his teens. To cover his study abroad expenses, his family couldn’t afford to send his two younger sisters to college. During his student years, he would wake up at 4 AM to work at a nearby snack shop until 8:30 AM when classes began, study all day, and then work elsewhere afterward.

The story became increasingly familiar. Poor, Smart, Desire—they were all more or less the same.

Finally, the girl revealed that she and JV had been separated for some time. The reason for their breakup was simply a lack of time together. She had asked him to change jobs, but he refused. She was surprised he still kept her as his emergency contact.

The last part hinted at lingering feelings, but Ding Zhitong had a different theory. What other choice did he have? JV’s lifestyle made it impossible to meet anyone else.

About an hour later, JV was moved to the ICU, making the work handover impossible.

Ding Zhitong sat with the girl for a while longer. As she left, the girl thanked her. Feeling guilty, Ding Zhitong recalled Qin Chang’s words on the taxi ride back to Manhattan: “Before you even make it through this year, your body will give out, and you’ll lose all your friends.” JV seemed to be a cautionary tale.

In the following days, the middle office continually forwarded incoming orders. Looking at those numbers, everyone in the group realized that the stock price trend after the additional issuance might be even better than previously estimated. They had caught the tailwind of rising oil prices, and the entire project seemed likely to conclude successfully, with hefty profits.

However, another piece of news arrived alongside this: JV, lying in that Bronx hospital, never regained consciousness. Two days later, in the dead of night, his heart stopped due to severe hemolysis and organ failure.

When the news reached M Bank, Ding Zhitong was summoned for rounds of talks with the IBD department head, HR, compliance, and company lawyers.

They made her recount the events repeatedly, extracting promises not to accept any media interviews or discuss the matter with colleagues. She mechanically repeated herself, agreeing to all demands, barely distinguishing between the groups of people sitting across from her.

“What kind of interactions did you have with him? What was your impression of him? How was your recent work arranged? When did you notice he started feeling unwell? Did you see him take anything? Not food, but medications or…”

The expression used here was “taking anything,” and while she wasn’t sure of the exact implication, she could guess the insinuation.

“I never saw him take anything. We just had a lot of overtime recently,” she answered truthfully.

The questioner interrupted her, as if finally satisfied, and said, “You can go now. Get some rest tonight.”

For the first time in months, she left work in the early evening, exiting the office building. It was also her first real experience of the benefits of matrix management—one person’s issue barely affected the overall operation, with someone always ready to fill the vacant position.

Outside, dusk was falling, and the first lights were coming on. The streets were filled with people coming and going. She hadn’t walked far when she stopped in front of a shop window and took out her phone to dial Gan Yang’s number.

The few seconds waiting for the connection felt both endless and fleeting.

Three hundred and fifty kilometers away, Gan Yang sensed something was wrong as soon as he saw her name on his phone screen. She shouldn’t be calling at this time on a workday.

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.

“I call you, and the first thing you ask is what’s wrong?” she laughed in response.

“Is the project finished?” He still felt something was amiss.

“Not yet, but it’s close…” she tried to cover, maintaining a normal tone while looking at the shop window display. Instead, she saw a face reflected in the glass—exhausted yet alert, like a frightened bird putting on a brave front. She barely recognized herself until she felt tears welling up and saw the reflection crying too. She quickly lowered her head, wiping away the tears, though no one around her paid any attention. Everyone was lost in their world.

“What’s wrong, Tongtong? What happened?” Only Gan Yang heard her sobs.

His words made her cry even harder. He grew increasingly worried, waiting until she regained control and explained what had happened.

He sighed in relief and said firmly, “Go home and wait. I’m coming to you right now.”

She nodded, still tearful.

“Did you hear me?” he asked again.

Finally realizing he couldn’t see her nod, she murmured, “Mm-hmm. I’ll go home and wait for you.”

The call ended, and she could almost picture him immediately setting out to drive to New York. Although she wasn’t sure what good his presence would do, the mere thought made her feel much better.

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