Bruce King Tong Leung

Rest in Peace, Sir. I'll always remember the day I called you in 2003 to ask permission for your daughter's hand in marriage. You gave me your blessing. You blessed my life.

We love you, Bruce. We will keep you alive forever with memories and visits to your grave. I promise.

Chris Schneider

I first met Bruce when he was a small child in Hong Kong. He was a few years younger than I. I'm not sure how we were related exactly, but we always considered each other cousins-"cousin" being the safe default when you weren't quite sure of the precise family connection. My father and Bruce's father were like cousins, which I believe made us something like "cousins-in-law." Our family tree was more of a family hedge maze, but we were pretty sure we shared a common great-great-great-grandfather somewhere in the ancestral mists. Bruce and I often talked about taking a trip together to our ancestral village in China. He did, but I did not. This remains a regret that I will always carry.

My siblings and I always thought of Bruce as exceptionally smart and driven. More importantly, he was warm and caring toward all of us. Whenever we needed help-mostly with dealing with the IRS or the State Franchise Tax Board, because nothing says "family bonding" like tax emergencies-Bruce was always ready and willing to help us sort through our financial chaos.

Bruce had what I can only describe as a unique work style. By "unique," I mean he operated like a tax-preparing ninja. He was not someone who would keep you updated on the process-communication seemed to violate his professional code. He didn't answer phone calls during tax season, leaving us wondering if he'd been abducted by auditors or simply buried under an avalanche of W-2s. There were times we became genuinely worried about deadlines, envisioning ourselves explaining to the IRS why our taxes were late because our accountant had vanished into thin air.

But for over four decades, Bruce took care of my taxes flawlessly, proving that his mysterious methods were actually genius in disguise. In my early career, I had complicated company stock options that looked like hieroglyphics to me. Bruce ensured I got every tax break legally available-and maybe a couple that bordered on creative interpretation-navigating tax law like a grandmaster playing chess. He successfully defended me through an IRS audit, emerging victorious with his characteristic quiet confidence.

This year, because of Bruce's deteriorating health, I decided to tackle my own taxes for the first time. The result? The IRS demanded more money because of a disallowed deduction. Clearly, I am not Bruce.

But Bruce wasn't just about numbers and tax codes. He lived life to the fullest-working hard and playing even harder. He had a passion for collecting finely crafted knives because, apparently, every accountant needs a hobby that makes people slightly nervous. He loved Chinese martial arts movies and amassed a collection on VHS tapes and DVDs large enough to stock a small video store.

And then there was his appetite-legendary among those who knew him. My wife Waiming and I loved cooking for Bruce because he showed his appreciation by consuming what could only be described as a terrifyingly impressive amount of food. Watching Bruce eat was like witnessing performance art, a master at work.

Today, we gather here to remember Bruce. I know that for Michelle, his siblings, his children and grandchildren, and his many relatives and friends, this is a profoundly sad occasion. But I can tell you with certainty that Bruce would want nothing more than for us to move forward, to live our lives productively, and to take solace in knowing that he-Bruce-did it his way.