Alexandra looked beyond her bank of computer screens to the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of her new office. Outside was a forest of skyscrapers in hues of grey, silver and gold, piercing the clear blue sky. Suspicious, she wondered what foreign dignitary was visiting: it was rumoured that many of the factories upwind of Shanghai were closed when a VIP came to town. It could be true. Most days the view from her office on the fiftieth floor was tinged with a layer of pink-grey smog that hovered just above the city.

The section of the Huangpu River her office overlooked was a working waterway. Always busy. Supply boats and tourist vessels sailed back and forth at all hours on a river as thick as treacle. The main port was a purpose-built island a few kilometres from Shanghai but, watching these dark, squat boats come in and out, it was easy to feel like the whole world was being assembled in China. An ocean liner had carried her grandparents up this same river all those years ago. What had they thought when they first caught a glimpse of the Bund?

What would Romy make of it now?

Alexandra took a sip of water and eyed the green pyramid atop the Fairmont Peace Hotel. Her grandmother called it the Cathay. The grand facades of the old bank buildings remained, but inside were designer clothing stores, chic nightclubs, restaurants and rooftop bars.

Alexandra flicked her gaze back to her screen and examined the latest report from an analyst as alerts for gold and silver out of the Shanghai Futures Exchange floated across the screen. She’d been tracking the spot prices all morning out of SHFE and cross-checking them against London, Dubai, Nepal, India and Pakistan. When her hands were flying over keys like this, buying and selling and smashing the price, her heart usually beat with the intensity of a track sprinter. Not today.

Perhaps it was just the market. The upcoming US election was making everyone a bit shaky and most wanted to play it safe with gold. She’d been calling it for a while now, and the boys in her team were just starting to catch up. She’d beaten Hugo’s London crew on a deal twice last week and he’d sent a text.

Nice, A. x

Alexandra watched figures dance and float across her screen. Not great. The numbers weren’t working today. She’d already traded two hundred million. She sipped the green tea and lemon juice (no sugar) she’d had delivered from Happy Lemon and leaned back in her chair, twiddling a pen in her free hand.

At their team breakfast at the Mandarin Oriental that morning, they’d decided over coffee and crumpets that they wouldn’t move more than two hundred today. They wanted to tease out the market. It was eleven o’clock in the morning and her job was pretty much done. She sifted through a pile of research material one of her analysts had sent over with a list of new mines being proposed in Central Africa, Mexico, Canada, China and Australia. She liked to know about any new developments in case she needed to alter her long-term price projections.

Bert Engles, the gruff Dutch CEO, strode past her desk with a thumbs-up and a grin. ‘Very nice, Alexandra. Top week again. Keep it up.’ He adjusted his monogrammed gold cufflinks. ‘I won’t let them send you back to London at the end of next year. We are smashing everyone, young lady.’

Alexandra didn’t bother to point out she wasn’t solely responsible for the day’s successful trades. Usually these comments made her bristle, but today she just didn’t care.

Bert was like every other boss she’d had. Hugo. Jerry. When Jerry had told her about the unbelievable opportunity in Shanghai for eighteen months, he couldn’t help flicking his eyes across to Hugo’s corner, where his partner reigned over the City. The pair probably arranged her transfer over a bottle of Montrachet and the foie gras tortellini at the Ivy. Little did they know that Alexandra had been deliberately focusing on deals with the Shanghai office and building her contact list since she’d broken up with Hugo. She needed to get out of London, Shanghai was booming and China was far closer to her grandparents than Europe. Alexandra hoped to visit Australia every month. A Shanghai posting also meant she could explore her mother Sophia’s homeland—her history—without dredging up painful war memories for her grandparents. Shanghai had ticked a lot of boxes.

As she’d left Jerry’s office he’d said, ‘We thought it would be a good fit since Shanghai’s the centre of precious metals. Besides, your language skills will really help you.’

She closed the door of his office on the way out, wondering how French and German would help her in the Shanghai markets. He’d asked her some vague questions about her ‘Asian heritage’ a while back. Perhaps he thought some Chinese blood made her a native speaker.

She scanned the fluorescent river of numbers flowing uninterrupted across her screens. All numbers to stockpile gold. To fill a vault, or make some fine jewellery.

What would her parents make of her job if they were still alive? Would they be proud?

Alexandra reached down and rummaged through her handbag for her mother’s diary. Opening it, she ran her fingers over the scrawl as if it were braille. As if she could bring her mother back to life.

She was pretty sure the numbers in the diary were some kind of genetics probability formula. She’d hoped to figure it out herself, like she always did. But it was tricky and, if she were honest, she’d need to ask for help to solve it—something that always made her uneasy. What was her mother trying to solve?

She couldn’t answer that. But today she was going somewhere to find answers of a different sort. She picked up her handbag, made her way to the elevator and was in the vast marble foyer of her building in under a minute. Her driver was waiting outside so she climbed into the back seat and pulled her research folders from her bag. Today was a day for answers.

She stepped into the smart Population and Family Planning Department office, took a ticket and sat between a red-faced woman trying to give a bottle to a screaming newborn and a downcast old couple quietly holding hands. The elderly woman was clutching a piece of faded blue-checked cloth in her free hand.

Alexandra checked her watch—she’d promised the team she would be back in under an hour—and tried not to notice how slowly the red digital numbers were ticking over on the screen at the counter. Instead, she flipped her folder open again and started flicking through all her documents. Her mother’s adoption certificate (and three copies), passport (another three copies) and marriage certificate were all there. She closed her eyes, willing the numbers to move faster.

Her pocket started to vibrate and she pulled out her phone. It was a message from Zhang.

Still up for hotpot tonight?

She started to type a lengthy excuse and then deleted it. Instead she replied: Great. Thanks. Text address and time and I’ll meet you there after work.

The baby had almost finished the bottle when at last Alexandra’s number pinged on the screen. She gathered her handbag and took her folder to the counter.

‘Nong hao. Do you speak English?’

‘Of course,’ said the middle-aged woman with a smile.

‘Great. I have the passport of my mother here, Sophia Shu Cohen. Obviously that’s not her birth name. But I was hoping that you would be able to find her birth certificate. I’m looking for her birth parents, my maternal grandparents.’ Her words rushed together.

The woman took the documents out of Alexandra’s hands and started riffling through. She looked at the passport, cross-checking it with the name on the adoption and marriage certificates. Her mouth tightened as she read the faded 1946 on the adoption certificate.

She took a deep breath and started tapping away on the keyboard. Alexandra wished she could crane her neck through the gap in the glass counter to see what was being typed. The control freak in her wanted to own that keyboard. Mine that deep database.

The woman started shaking her head and then starting nodding, before shaking her head again.

Alexandra’s stomach was churning. She hadn’t really expected the birth certificate today. But surely this lady could tell her what forms she needed to apply for one?

‘Very sorry,’ said the woman.

Alexandra held her breath.

‘Even if we did have a certificate, I could not give it to you straight away. There’s paperwork.’

‘I understand. Of course.’

‘But there is no birth certificate. Sorry.’

‘I understand my mother might have a different Chinese name. But surely that would be connected somehow to this…’ She gestured to the adoption certificate.

‘There’s nothing. I’m sorry. During the war, our records…’ She grimaced. ‘There are years where we have some administrative gaps.’ ‘Nothing?’ Alexandra echoed, feeling tears spring to her eyes. She reached into her handbag for a tissue.

‘We are finding more every week.’ She nodded at the chairs behind Alexandra and she turned to look at the elderly couple, the woman now resting her head on the man’s shoulder. ‘These two come every second Wednesday, three hours on a train from Jiangxi. They gave up a child for adoption. They are still hoping…’ She shrugged. ‘During the war many people didn’t register births. Or deaths. It was just too hard; there were different governments.’

Alexandra wiped her eyes with a tissue. ‘It’s silly, of course. I just hoped there might be a little bit of information. Just a lead. Anything.’

‘I would say come back in a few weeks, but this adoption certificate was issued in Australia, not China.’ She tapped it. ‘How did your mother get to Australia?’

Alexandra suddenly felt uneasy. Had her grandparents been caught up in something illicit? What if she’d unwittingly exposed her grandmother to the Chinese authorities?

She started to gather her documents quickly, glancing at the cameras, half expecting guards in black to appear.

But the woman behind the counter smiled patiently, as if she were reassuring a child. ‘Do you know anything about where your mother was adopted?’ she asked.

‘I know my grandparents lived in Hongkou during the war—though my grandmother refers to it as Hongkew. They weren’t married then.’ She was nervous. What if she’d already said too much? The administrator nodded as if that made sense. ‘You should have mentioned that to begin with. Hongkew Ghetto. Your adoptive grandparents were Jewish, perhaps?’

‘Yes.’

The woman handed the document folder back to Alexandra. ‘My department has nothing to help you. But fill out this form with your contact details and I’ll see what I can do. I’ll need a copy of the adoption certificate too, please. Just sign the bottom.’

‘Thanks so much. Anything would help. This is all I have.’

‘Then you need to go to the Jewish Refugees Museum. They have many records. Tell them Min Wang sent you.’ She handed Alexandra a card with her name on it. ‘Good luck.’