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The first thing I did was hit the streets of Hong Kong. I didn’t even bother to shower or change my clothes.

I knew I couldn’t walk around in a $20,000 suit without attracting attention, so I used Google Maps to find the nearest clothing store.

I also didn’t want the hotel concierge to see me in my hungover state, which is why I used my phone.

The store was a mainstream corporate chain – a Chinese version of The Gap.

I browsed until I found what I needed:

A black hoodie with a zipper down the front…

Jeans…

Several t-shirts…

Tube socks…

And running shoes.

I also grabbed a pair of sunglasses from a counter display.

The girl at the register greeted me in Chinese.

“Do you speak English?” I asked.

She shook her head ‘no,’ so I stayed silent as she rang up my purchases.

It was probably for the best. She got one whiff of the alcohol on my breath, noticed my day-old scruff and bloodshot eyes, and avoided eye contact for the rest of the transaction.

I didn’t want there to beanypossibility that Dario or Niccolo might find out what I was doing by hearing from the credit card company’s fraud department, so I paid in cash.

After all,meof all people purchasing from a Chinese version of the Gap? Highly suspicious.

After I paid, I only had a few hundred Hong Kong Dollars left – about $38 US.

That was when I realized I needed a source of funds for my plan.

I returned to the hotel and dropped off my new clothes, then showered, shaved, and brushed my teeth.

I was still too nauseated from my drinking binge to eat, so I skipped breakfast.

I put on my second suit, which was freshly laundered and pressed.

Then I grabbed the check from the safe (the one for $227,000 the El Dorado casino gave me after I played poker with Han) and left the room.

I dropped off my rumpled suit with housekeeping to be dry-cleaned, then headed out again.

I searched Google Maps until I found a nearby bank our familydidn’tdo business with – one of those giant international conglomerates with a branch in every first-world country.

I walked into the lobby and asked for a manager who spoke English.

I got to speak with someone immediately – probably because of my Rolex and suit.

The manager was a thirty-something man with a chubby face and glasses. He took me into his small office and asked with a British accent, “So, Mr. Rosolini – how might I help you today?”

“I’d like to open an account with your bank,” I said as I slid the check across his desk.

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