Helen Chan

Helen Chan has a foul mouth. She only swears in Cantonese but sometimes says things that would make a sailor blush. Me too. To spare your ears, I bleeped out the English translations in The Pell Heist. If you’re desperate to know what Helen is saying, however, scroll down and enter your email address. I’ll give you translations (enter at your own risk) and, from time to time, news about my upcoming novels.

Helen Chan was my cleaner. All purpose. Industrial strength. She found bodyguards for my clients traveling in Asia and sometimes ran background checks for situations that required extra leverage. I once asked her to investigate my boss, Cohiba. But that’s another story. I referred clients to Helen all the time, like the Connecticut billionaire who arranged a discreet affair through Ashley Madison. Discreet, that is, until glossy photos arrived in his mailbox, him puffy from blow, nose deep in two-legged party favors, the kind of sleaze I hate that Helen knows how to fix 

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