Chapter 6 — When the Wind Crosses the Porch

Tu Hau did not hide. He sat in a noodle shop near the fishing wharf, his back facing the door, his hands holding a bowl of cooled broth. The hook-shaped scar on his left hand stretches from the base of his thumb to his wrist, white and shiny like scratched ink.

Mai and Quan sat opposite. Hau didn't look at them right away. He ordered more iced tea, waited for the waiter to leave before saying, "I knew you would look for it."

“Then why did you take me so long to find it?”

“Because no matter how long or how quickly, what has happened cannot be changed.”

Quan placed a copy of the scholarship paper on the table. “You delivered this paper to the school?”

Hau nodded. “I delivered as ordered.”

"Whose?"

“For the person who has the right to sign.”

“You signed for seven households?” Mai asked.

Hau looked at his hand. "I signed one sheet. The remaining six sheets are signed by other people."

“Signatures are the same.”

"Because someone taught them to sign. I'm not that person."

“But you bring the documents, you open the warehouse, you receive the money.”

Hau took a sip of tea. "I received money for my wife's medical treatment. That's the truth. I also did something wrong. Those two things can be right at the same time."

Mai was not prepared for such a direct answer. She was waiting for a denial, a statement of blame. Hau just sat still, leaving the uncomfortable part in the middle of the bowl of noodles.

“Who told you to open the warehouse at 9:17?”

“Vinh.”

“What about the woman?”

“Good.”

“Where did the three file boxes go?”

Hau looked out the shop door. A fish seller pushed his cart past, the sound of the wheels grinding on the cement floor. "One box goes to the salt factory. Two boxes get on the bus to go to the province. That's all I know."

“Do you have a map of the boundary?”

“Yes. But the original is no longer available.”

“What did you do with it?”

“I gave it to your father.”

Quan looked up. “What other maps does your father have?”

“He said he sent a copy to a third person.”

Mai remembers her father's envelope: ask why the house has two keys. “Who is the third person?”

Hau shook his head. "I do not know."

“You lied.”

"I'll tell you what I know. If I knew better, I wouldn't be sitting at this bar waiting for you to ask."

Mai pulled out her phone and turned on the recording. Father's voice rang out, "9:17. I'll meet you where there are no cameras." After listening, Hau's face stiffened.

“Where is this gang?”

"Not important."

"Important. The person who talked to your father that day was not Vinh."

Mai stopped the tape. “Who do you know?”

Hau did not respond. He took a small folded piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to Mai. On it is an address at the end of the embankment, next to the water level measuring station.

"He met the other person here. I didn't follow. But I saw Hao's car."

Quan held a piece of paper. “Why only now?”

"Because I no longer get calls from the hospital asking for hospital fees. My wife passed away two years ago."

Hau said his wife's name very softly. Mai suddenly understood that many people in this story had lived long enough with debt that could not be paid, to the point that they used silence as a way to pay it off.

“Can you testify?”

"I can say what I see. Nothing more."

“So let's talk.”

Hau looked at Mai, then put the bowl of noodles aside. "I used to work as a security guard for the warehouse. Vinh hired me by the day. Hao gave me a list of seven households, saying they had agreed to transfer the land. I saw there was a problem with the signature and told her father. He said if I testified, he would put my name on the record. I was afraid of losing my job, afraid that my wife wouldn't have money for treatment. That day I signed a form confirming receipt of the documents. I thought it was just a delivery note. Later I found out it was used to say that seven households had agreed."

“My father knows you signed.”

"I know. He didn't curse. He just told me to find a day when I can tell the truth."

“That day is today?”

Hau smiled sadly. “That day is late.”

He gave Mai a small memory card. "There are photos in here that I took with an old camera. Photos of the warehouse lock, photos of the car, photos of the map. I keep them because I'm afraid one day all the blame will be blamed."

Quan received the card and checked that there were no signs of being tampered with. They agreed to immediately back it up and send it to lawyer Thu and an independent person in the province.

Before leaving, Mai asked: "How did my father die that night?"

Hau looked down at the floor. "He left the warehouse at 9:36. No one hit him in front of me. But he had chest pain and sat down on the cement steps. I was about to call a car, but Vinh told me to wait because he was just dizzy. Hao brought water. Ten minutes later her father stood up and walked toward the embankment. I don't know where he went."

“You didn't call an ambulance?”

“I was wrong.”

“Do you remember who said what?”

“Her father said: ‘Don't let her know.’”

Mai stood still. That statement doesn't sound like someone hiding a sum of money. It's like someone trying to push a girl out of a flood.

The address on the piece of paper leads to an abandoned water level measuring station. Inside there is still an electrical panel, wires removed, and walls covered with salt. Quan found an unlocked plastic box under the stairs. Including a photo of a land map, the time on the camera corner of the photo is 9:23. Father Mai stood next to a man with his back turned. The other person held a briefcase with the Land Clearance Board logo.

Mai enlarges the photo. The man's left hand has a fish-shaped silver ring.

“The queen doesn't wear a ring,” Quan said.

“Nor Vinh.”

“This person could be Liu.”

Luu is a surveying officer who signed and approved the map. They found the full name on the public list: Luu Van Thanh, now retired.

On the wall of the measuring station, there is a line written by Father Mai in chalk: "One and a half meters is not an error. It is one family."

Mai touched the word. She imagined him standing alone in this room, trying to get the numbers back into place. She didn't know why he didn't bring everything straight to the press. She only knew that he chose to take steps, perhaps to avoid making those receiving aid money get dragged into a lawsuit.

Lawyer Thu called while they were still at the measuring station. She looked at the documents and said there was an important point: the power of attorney of the seven households was not notarized, so it was not enough to transfer land use rights. But the money receipt could cause Mai's father to be accused of being an illegal money keeper.

“You need to prove that the money went to the right people,” Thu said.

“There is a thank you letter, but it's not enough.”

"Find documents to repair the boat, buy medicine, pay off hospital debt. Small amounts can connect the cash flow."

Mai remembers the blue-covered notebook. Each name comes with a number and reminder. She sent photos of each page to Thu.

"If everything matches, your father is not the squatter. He is the temporary custodian."

“What about the money Vinh delivered?”

"The purpose must be determined. If it's private money, Vinh can say her father owes it. If it's money from the cooperative, that's another way."

Hanh called Mai, her voice urgent. The sealing tape in front of the gate has been removed. A group of people came to measure the roof and said they would make an enforcement report because the family arbitrarily moved the files.

Mai and Quan will be back soon. They saw Vinh standing outside the yard with an officer wearing a blue shirt. Hanh hugged the sewing machine, not letting anyone touch it.

“We just inventory assets,” the officer said.

“Where is the inventory decision?” Mai asked.

He gave a photocopy without a receipt. Mai took a photo and asked to write down each person's name. Vinh pulled her aside.

“I told you, don't make your mother tired.”

“You just illegally removed the seal.”

“Ice is only a temporary measure.”

“There are no records.”

“You can sue.”

“I will sue if necessary.”

Vinh looked at the phone that was recording. “You think posting a video will save the house?”

“No. But it makes me speak more carefully.”

Hanh walked out. “Vinh, please go home.”

“Do you still want to protect this house?”

“I defend the fact that people should not speak for my husband.”

Vinh went silent. He told the inventory team to step back, then looked at Hanh for a long time. “You know he received money from me.”

"I know."

“So you know he promised to pay.”

“He didn't promise to pay you back.”

Vinh did not reply. He left, leaving behind officers and a yard full of shoe prints.

That night, Mai opened Hau's memory card. There are twenty-seven images, but the last image is corrupted. Duy used software to recover part of the image: a time table, line 9:17, the visitor was Luu Van Thanh. Next to it is a note "original received - transferred to project room".

Mai and Quan looked at each other.

“Luu is the third person,” Quan said.

“But why did my father meet him at the measuring station?”

“To get the original back.”

Hanh heard it and entered the room. “Luu is not the third person.”

“Do you know him?”

"Luu was the one who gave me the scholarship letter. But the one who gave the orders was someone else."

"Who?"

Hanh took out key number 17 and placed it next to the memory card. “That person used to be the head of the cooperative.”

Mai felt another piece click into place. The old manager has died, but the son is now deputy director of Huong Duong company. Vinh is not the only decision maker.

The wind blew a leaf onto the porch. Mai put away the memory card and locked the file box. Tomorrow she will find the son of her former homeroom teacher. She didn't know what he would say, but for the first time the case had a name behind the signatures.

Before going to sleep, Hanh said: "Tomorrow, if you had to choose between saving the house and saving my father's honor, what would you choose?"

Mai looked at her mother. "I don't want to choose. But if I have to choose, I will choose the truth. A house is only worth keeping if the people who live in it don't have to keep lying."

Hanh nodded and turned away. She hid her left hand in her pocket. Mai saw a flash of silver on her ring finger, like a fish eye.

Her mother is wearing a third person's ring.