The nights after I kicked Hanh out were relentless. Hong and her family started unlocking padlocks on doors and windows every couple of hours, just like the one in the photo below. I’d lock everything down, only to find more windows open again. Each time I confronted them, they played innocent, acting like they didn’t know what I was talking about.
Then came the moment that still haunts me. Hong’s sister was supposed to take my son to visit their mother for a few days. As I stepped out of my office to say goodbye, my son caught sight of me and started screaming, real terror, reaching for me like his life depended on it. I rushed to him, and when I picked him up, he clung to me with a grip so tight I could barely pry him off. He was only five months old, but he knew something was wrong.
I saw Hong’s aunt double over, as if she’d been punched. She knew what was planned for me, and seeing my son’s fear broke her. She left our house for good the next day, after five months of helping the nanny care for my son. She couldn’t take any more. But Hong just stood there, cold, her face unreadable as always.
I snapped. “FUCK YOU,” I said. “Nobody is taking my son anywhere.” I refused to let them leave with him. My son’s instinct saved us both; he calmed down the moment I made my decision. I’m convinced that if he hadn’t been there, they would have come for me that night. I think Hong stalled them because our son was still in the house, but the threat didn’t disappear. At 1 AM, in a neighborhood that was usually silent, motorcycles kept roaring by every few minutes, riders screaming out into the night; a warning, or maybe a signal, that the hunt wasn’t over.
That night, I tried calling the police from all three of my cell phones; each with a different provider, all showing full bars. Every call dropped. That’s when I realized: they were outside, using a cell phone jammer to block any signal from getting out. I kept every light in the house blazing and stayed up until morning, wired and alert.
Even my dogs seemed to understand what was happening. They positioned themselves in places they’d never slept before; spots with clear lines of sight to the garage and staircase. Every time I stepped out of my office, there they were, standing guard. They didn’t budge the entire night, and they never chose those spots again after that. They sensed the threat, the evil pressing in on us. I needed every ounce of help, from my son, from my dogs, just to make it through.
I shot a video that night, lying in bed next to Hong, still reeling from kicking her friend out. I was confused, not sure if I was being framed for something political or something criminal. The man on the airplane had mentioned hating the Communists and asked my opinion. At the time, I wondered if the setup was about making me look like an enemy of the Vietnamese government, just another layer to ensure that if honest police got involved, they’d see me as a troublemaker, not a victim.
The next day, I asked the neighbor kid, a 14-year-old I trusted, to buy me new locks. He once looked genuinely upset when someone insulted me in Vietnamese, and he wanted to learn English. He brought back the locks in unopened packages within fifteen minutes; just enough time to buy them and return, not enough to have keys copied. It was the first time in weeks I felt even a little safe.
I replaced every lock on every window, padlocks on all of them, just like the photo. No one in the house got a key. You couldn’t leave without me; every door, window, and the garage was locked down tight. For the first time in ages, I managed a little sleep, holed up in my office with the door locked, keys in my pocket. I told Hong if anyone needed out, she’d have to come to me.
But it didn’t take long for the harassment to ramp up again. The brick attacks started back up, more frequent than before. I called the U.S. Embassy over and over, but all they offered was, “Go to a nice hotel; we can’t help you beyond that.” After a few days of this, running on no sleep, I realized I wasn’t safe enough to rest in the house at all. I stuffed $350,000 worth of cash, U.S. dollars and Chinese RMB, into bags, then drove five miles through the city to the Caravelle Hotel in District 1. Once inside, I dead-bolted the door and finally let myself collapse. Fourteen hours of uninterrupted sleep in a room I controlled, a fortress of my own making. For the first time in months, I could breathe without looking over my shoulder.
When I woke up, I picked up Hong and made a straight shot for the airport, determined to get my money to Singapore. I left $90,000 (Part US dollars, Part RMB) in my home safe, just in case the Chinese RMB I carried was confiscated or stolen. The route I took from my house to the Caravelle is marked out in the photo below. At the airport, security flagged my cash at the x-ray. Two cops approached, inviting me for coffee, a thinly veiled shakedown. I bribed them with $1,900 and managed to get the rest of the money out to Singapore.
But I couldn’t escape for good; not yet. I returned to Vietnam, where the nightmare picked up right where it left off. New faces parked across the street at the coffee shop, six days a week, smartphones in hand, remotely controlling my computers, thanks to Hong’s help infecting them. For the next month and a half, I was never more than minutes away from being killed or arrested by the corrupt local police, all of whom were in on the scam.
The video below shows you how absolutely confused I was as to what and who was coming for me. This video was shot while in bed with Hong on May 5, 2011
The Locks I bought and the Route I drove to the Hotel are pictured below
My Dog Ginger Posted In Front of My Office Door!
I snapped this photo in the middle of the chaos; under siege, unsure who I could trust. My dog sensed everything. She planted herself in that spot, alert and unmoving, as if standing guard. For nearly a week, she barely left her post, even sleeping there. She knew before I did that we were at war, and her loyalty never wavered. Sometimes, the only thing that made me feel safe was knowing she was watching over me.
