Hong Kong, China. October 8 1998

My name is Bolin Li, and I am the CEO of a significant corporation that, for reasons of security and continued operation, will remain nameless. In 1998, my life of boardrooms and balance sheets was violently interrupted when I was kidnapped and held for ransom by Hong Kong's most infamous gangster, a man known only as "The Gambler." The following is my complete account of what happened, a memory I have tried, and failed, to forget.

It was Friday afternoon, the 16th of January. A crisp, clear day that seemed to promise a tranquil weekend. I was in my office on Salisbury Road in the heart of Hong Kong. My office is a place of serene power, a place where I felt in control. It looks out over Victoria Harbour from the 10th floor of the building, a panoramic view of bustling ferries and towering skyscrapers that was a constant reminder of my success. There are two ways up to my office: the stairs or the elevator, both of which were always secure. Or so I believed.

I had just finished a conference call with my business partners, Lui Wei and Wang Yong. We had been discussing the week's business, preparing for the final push before the weekend began. It was about 6 p.m., and the office had closed an hour earlier, but I stayed behind. I was driven by my usual compulsion to finish up some last-minute paperwork, to be fully prepared for Monday morning's challenges. The only sounds were the soft hum of the air conditioning and the scratching of my pen on the paper.

Then, there was a knock on my office door. It was a firm, single rap, not the tentative tap of a subordinate. I assumed it was the cleaning lady, so I didn't even look up from my work as I replied, "Enter." It was not. The door opened slowly, and a man walked into the room. He was a familiar face from the papers, a name whispered in hushed tones in financial circles. It was The Gambler. He was a striking figure, impossibly calm, and impeccably dressed. He wore a charming black business suit, tailored to perfection, with a golden silk tie that shone against a crisp white shirt. A gold watch with a leather band sat on his left wrist.

I rose from my desk, my mind racing. I greeted him and asked what he was doing in my office, my voice steadier than I felt. I knew who he was, and a cold dread, a fear I had never experienced before, settled in my stomach. He walked to my desk with a slow, deliberate pace, his eyes never leaving mine. He placed a hand on the edge of the mahogany and informed me, in a low, even tone, that he intended to kidnap me for ransom.

I had no interest in being taken hostage. My first thought was of escape, of getting to the safety of the hallway. I moved to the door to exit my office. But when I pulled the door open, I saw two tall men, much taller than I was. They were Westerners, a stark contrast to the Hong Kong skyline behind them. Both were at least 6 feet tall, with broad shoulders, blond hair, and a powerful, muscular build that their expensive suits couldn't hide.

That’s when I noticed one of them was pushing a cart with a large wooden box. The box was about the size of a man, dark wood and beautifully carved with many dragons on the outside. It was a work of art, which, in that moment, only made it more horrifying. Two brass hinges were on the top, and a large, heavy lock was on the side. The two men, without a word, forced me back into my office, bringing the box with them.

The taller of the two Westerners, his face a stone mask, grabbed me while The Gambler opened the box. The lid swung up with a soft creak, revealing a dark, silk-lined interior. The Gambler looked at me, a hint of something that might have been amusement in his eyes, and told me he would keep me in the box until he received the ransom.

I protested, but it was useless. The man holding me picked me up and forced me into the box. I felt my lungs tighten with panic, but his strength was overwhelming. He was a professional, and I was just a businessman. I was forced to sign a letter stating I was alive and well, a final, chilling act of control. That's when they closed the lid and locked me inside.

The darkness was immediate and absolute. The box was about five and a half feet long, just long enough for me to lay flat, and it was lined with a shockingly soft, red silk. There was enough room for me to roll over and shift my weight if I needed to. I could see small shafts of light coming in through air holes, but I couldn't know how much time was passing. Time became a series of small, terrifying sounds: the creak of the cart as it was rolled out, the distant chatter of the city streets, the rumble of a car engine.

I could not read my watch inside the box. There was no light. My only sense of the passage of time came when The Gambler would open the lid. He would open the box to feed me, a quick, efficient exchange of a small bowl of rice and some water for the brief, precious gift of light. It was during these moments that I would see the time on my watch, and in those fleeting seconds, I would see that days had passed. I was a prisoner, not just of a man, but of time itself.