The elevator ride was the longest sixty seconds of Soo-hyun's life.
He stood between Ha Jeong-woo and one of the security guards, the walls of the car reflecting his pale, hollow-eyed face back at him from three different angles. Choi Ji-eun had been left behind in the corridor, her face unreadable, her tiny nod still burning in his memory. He didn't know what she had planned, or how she would execute it, but he clung to that nod like a drowning man clings to driftwood.
The elevator descended two floors and opened onto a different level—one Soo-hyun hadn't seen during his rushed tour with Ms. Park. This corridor was wider, more polished, with cream-coloured walls and soft ambient lighting that suggested a luxury hotel rather than a clandestine medical facility. The antiseptic smell was still there, but beneath it lingered something else: expensive cologne, leather polish, the subtle aroma of money.
Ha Jeong-woo led him past several closed doors, each bearing a brass plaque with numbers and letters that meant nothing to Soo-hyun. They stopped at a door marked "Consultation Suite A." The lawyer swiped his card, pressed his thumb to a biometric scanner, and pushed the door open.
Inside was a room that could have belonged to any high-end corporate office—dark wood furniture, a plush leather sofa, a bar cart with crystal decanters, and a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out onto a glass-walled operating theatre below. Through the window, Soo-hyun could see a surgical table, gleaming instruments, and a team of medical staff in blue scrubs, moving with the choreographed precision of professionals who had done this many times before.
"Please, sit." Ha Jeong-woo gestured to the sofa. "Can I offer you something to drink? Whisky? Brandy? We have a very fine single malt from Islay."
"I don't drink."
"Pity. It helps with the nerves." The lawyer poured himself two fingers of amber liquid and settled into an armchair opposite Soo-hyun, crossing his legs with casual elegance. "Let's not waste time with pleasantries. The contract is prepared. All you need to do is sign, and we can proceed with the preliminary evaluation tonight."
Soo-hyun's jaw tightened. "I want to see my mother first. I want to know she's safe, that she's being treated properly. Then I'll sign."
Ha Jeong-woo's smile flickered, a brief twitch of annoyance quickly suppressed. "That's not how this works. You sign first, and then we'll reunite you with your mother. It's called leverage, Mr. Kim. I'm sure you understand the concept."
"I understand that you're a liar and a murderer," Soo-hyun said, his voice cold and steady. "I understand that you've taken dozens of people—maybe hundreds—and carved them up like animals. And I understand that you're desperate, because Kang Tae-joon is dying, and if he dies, you lose everything. Your job, your status, your cozy relationship with the Kang family. That's why you're rushing this. That's why you can't afford to wait."
The smile vanished from Ha Jeong-woo's face. For a moment, the mask slipped, and Soo-hyun saw what lay beneath: cold, calculating fury, barely contained by a veneer of professionalism. The lawyer set down his glass with a soft click.
"You're very perceptive, Mr. Kim. But perception is only useful if you can act on it. And you can't act on anything right now. You're in my building, surrounded by my people, and your mother is in a room that only I can access." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a silken whisper. "Sign the contract, and she lives. Refuse, and she dies. It's that simple."
Soo-hyun looked at the contract on the coffee table. The same document he'd seen in the Gangnam office, with the same blank signature line. His name was already typed in the header. The compensation amount was still 150 million won. The clauses were still broad, vague, and terrifying.
He remembered Choi Ji-eun's nod. Her eyes, bright with a plan he couldn't see. He didn't know what she was doing, but he had to buy time. He had to give her space to act.
"I'll sign," he said slowly, "but I have conditions. I want my mother moved to a real hospital. Seoul National, not one of your front clinics. I want a guarantee that she'll receive a kidney transplant within six weeks, from a verified donor. And I want a third-party medical review of every procedure I undergo. No hidden biopsies, no 'research protocols' that aren't clearly explained."
Ha Jeong-woo stared at him for a long moment, then laughed—a genuine laugh, warm and amused. "You're negotiating. I have to admit, that takes courage. Most people in your position are too terrified to even speak."
"Most people in my position don't have a lawyer who's been investigating you for three years."
The room went very still.
Ha Jeong-woo's eyes narrowed. "Choi Ji-eun. That rabble-rousing little activist. You think she can save you? She's a nobody. A freelance nuisance with a handful of pro bono cases and a mountain of debt. I've had her under surveillance for months. She can't sneeze without my office knowing about it."
Soo-hyun's heart plummeted. If Ha Jeong-woo knew about Choi Ji-eun, then he knew about her plan. Whatever she was doing, he could stop it with a single phone call.
But then Soo-hyun remembered her face in the corridor. The calm, the control, the barely perceptible nod. She had known they were walking into a trap. She had known Ha Jeong-woo was watching. And she had gone anyway.
She wasn't trying to be stealthy. She was trying to be bait.
The realization hit Soo-hyun like a cold wave. Choi Ji-eun wasn't planning to rescue him tonight. She was planning to draw Ha Jeong-woo's attention, to force him into a position where he had to reveal his hand. Every moment the lawyer spent gloating over Soo-hyun was a moment he wasn't watching the other pieces on the board.
"Maybe you're right," Soo-hyun said, letting his voice waver, letting his shoulders slump in defeat. "Maybe she can't save me. Maybe no one can. But she gave me a reason to keep fighting, and that's more than you've ever given anyone."
Ha Jeong-woo's smile returned, but it was colder now, sharper. "You're trying to stall. It's admirable, but it's also futile. I have everything I need to compel your compliance—your mother, your medical records, your financial desperation. The only thing I don't have is your signature, and I'm going to get that whether you cooperate or not."
He stood up and walked to a panel on the wall, pressing a button. The window below them flickered, and the operating theatre came into sharper focus. Soo-hyun could see the medical team more clearly now—a surgeon with a mask, two nurses, an anesthesiologist. And on the table, covered with a sterile drape, was a figure he recognized.
His mother.
She was unconscious, an IV in her arm, her face slack and peaceful in a way that seemed wrong, deeply wrong. She looked like a sleeping ghost, trapped in a nightmare she couldn't wake from.
"No," Soo-hyun whispered, his voice breaking. "You said she would be safe."
"She is safe. She's breathing, her vitals are stable, and she's receiving excellent care." Ha Jeong-woo's voice was calm, clinical. "But her condition is fragile, Mr. Kim. The kidney failure has progressed more rapidly than we anticipated. She needs a transplant within days, not weeks. And I have a donor waiting. A perfect match. All I need from you is a signature."
Soo-hyun's vision tunneled, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He could see the surgeon's gloved hands hovering over his mother's abdomen, ready to make the incision. They were going to operate on her. They were going to take her kidney and give it to someone else, or maybe they were going to do something worse, something he couldn't even imagine.
"Okay," he said, the word tasting like ash. "I'll sign. Just stop. Please, just stop."
Ha Jeong-woo nodded slowly, as if this were a foregone conclusion. He walked to the table, picked up the contract and a silver pen, and handed them to Soo-hyun. "Sign here, and I'll call off the procedure. Your mother will be moved to a private room with proper monitoring. You'll see her tomorrow, after your initial evaluation."
Soo-hyun's hand trembled as he took the pen. He looked at the contract, at the dense legal text that would authorize the foundation to take whatever they wanted from him. Blood, bone marrow, organs, tissues, cells. His life, reduced to words on a page.
He thought about Choi Ji-eun. About her plan, whatever it was. He thought about the timeline—tomorrow morning, 8 AM. If he could stall until then, the sealed court order would go into effect. The properties would be swept. The evidence would be uncovered.
But his mother was on an operating table right now. She didn't have until tomorrow.
"Can I call my lawyer first?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "One phone call. Just to say goodbye."
Ha Jeong-woo considered this, then shrugged. "One minute. No longer."
He handed Soo-hyun his phone—a sleek black device that looked like it cost more than Soo-hyun's entire apartment. Soo-hyun dialed Choi Ji-eun's number with shaking fingers, praying that she would answer.
She picked up on the second ring. "Soo-hyun?"
"Ji-eun-ssi." He tried to keep his voice steady, to hide the terror from Ha Jeong-woo's watching ears. "I'm going to sign. I have no choice."
"Don't sign anything," she said, her voice urgent. "I'm outside. I have the police with me. A real detective, not the commissioner's people. I'm coming in."
Soo-hyun's heart leaped. "You're—"
The line went dead.
He looked up at Ha Jeong-woo, whose face had gone pale, his eyes flickering with something like shock. The lawyer's phone buzzed, and he answered it, listening in silence for a moment. Then he looked at Soo-hyun with murder in his eyes.
"You think you've won?" he hissed. "You think bringing the police here will save you? This building is immaculate. There's nothing here but legal medical research. The donors are all volunteers. The contracts are all signed."
"Then why are you panicking?" Soo-hyun asked, a grim smile spreading across his face.
Because even as Ha Jeong-woo spoke, Soo-hyun heard it—the distant wail of sirens, growing louder, closer. The police were coming, but they weren't the only ones. Somewhere in the distance, Soo-hyun heard the thrum of a helicopter, the floodlights that would sweep the building, the megaphoned voice that would demand surrender.
Choi Ji-eun hadn't just brought the police. She had brought the press, the media, the whole relentless machinery of public scrutiny that the Kang family had spent years avoiding. And she had done it all while walking into Ha Jeong-woo's trap, letting him think he was winning.
"Your mother stays with me," Ha Jeong-woo snarled, grabbing Soo-hyun's arm. "I'll take her with me. She's a witness, and witnesses disappear."
But even as he spoke, the operating theatre below them went dark. The lights flickered and died, plunging the surgical team into confusion. Soo-hyun saw the surgeon step back, saw the nurses look around in panic.
A power cut. Deliberate. Choi Ji-eun had cut the power.
Ha Jeong-woo's grip loosened, and Soo-hyun twisted free, throwing himself toward the door. He ran down the corridor, past the brass plaques and the locked doors, toward the stairwell that would take him to the basement.
The building was chaos. Security guards ran past him, shouting into radios. The sirens were deafening now, the flashing blue lights spilling through the windows. Soo-hyun descended the stairs two at a time, his lungs burning, his legs screaming.
He reached the basement level and found the operating theatre door already open. The medical team had fled, leaving the table empty—his mother was gone. He looked around wildly, his heart plummeting.
A hand touched his shoulder.
"Down here." Choi Ji-eun's voice was barely a whisper. She was crouched behind a gurney, her hair disheveled, her face streaked with sweat. "I got her out. She's in the ambulance. They're taking her to Seoul National."
Soo-hyun's legs buckled, and he collapsed to his knees, his body wracked with sobs he hadn't known he was holding. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." Choi Ji-eun's voice was grim. "We found your mother. But we didn't find Choi Min-seok. And we didn't find Kang Tae-joon. They're gone. Somewhere in the building, or maybe they were moved last night."
Soo-hyun looked up at her, his eyes red and swollen. "What do you mean, gone?"
"I mean Ha Jeong-woo was ready for this. He had an exit plan. The power cut bought us time, but it also tripped an alarm that released lockdown protocols. Half the building is sealed off. The police are sweeping the floors, but they're finding empty rooms and shredded files."
Soo-hyun stood slowly, his hands still shaking. "So we didn't win?"
"We won part of the battle." She placed a hand on his shoulder, her grip firm and steady. "Your mother is safe. The clinic's operations are disrupted. The media is here, and they're broadcasting everything live. The Kang family can't sweep this under the rug anymore."
"But Kang Tae-joon is still out there." Soo-hyun's voice was hollow. "He's still dying. He's still looking for a heart. And Choi Min-seok is still a donor on a stretcher somewhere."
Choi Ji-eun was silent for a long moment. Then she said, "I think I know where they took him. There's another facility—one that isn't on any of my maps. I found a reference to it in a burnt document from the record room. It's in Yongin. A private estate owned by Kang Holdings."
Soo-hyun felt a chill run down his spine. "Then we have to go there."
"No. We have to wait. The police will sweep the building first, then they'll follow the trail. If we go now, we'll just get ourselves killed."
But Soo-hyun was already moving, walking toward the stairwell that led to the ground floor. His mother was safe. That was all that mattered. If he died tonight, he would die trying to save a stranger who had no one else.
"Kim Soo-hyun-ssi!" Choi Ji-eun's voice was sharp with frustration. "You can't go alone!"
But he was already gone, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridor, his heart pounding with a purpose he hadn't felt in years.
The night was far from over.
And somewhere in the hills of Yongin, a rich man's clock was still ticking.
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