Jeju trip preparations intensified. Min-Joon was busy.
The penthouse was a hive of controlled activity. Min-Joon's staff moved with the quiet efficiency of trained operatives, packing designer luggage for the weekend getaway. For Kim Min-Joon, the trip was not a holiday; it was a demonstration of status and a calculated break mandated by his schedule—a brief pause before launching the next major financial offensive. He was confined to his study, attending to last-minute international calls, ensuring that his financial empire would not falter even for a weekend.
He was pacing as he spoke into his headset, his voice a low, precise instrument of power. "Yes, the Q4 projections are firm. Do not let one moment of market uncertainty destabilize our position. I want all systems green before I leave Seoul. We are K.M. Holdings, not a provincial savings bank. Understand?" The intensity emanating from him was palpable, a fortress of pure focus.
This intense, focused energy emanating from Min-Joon was precisely what Kang Seo-Yun needed. His preoccupation was her most reliable cloak.
She watched him from the doorway of his study—a figure of imposing power, deeply engrossed in a document on his desk. His concentration was absolute, rendering him deaf and blind to anything outside the world of numbers and mergers.
Her heart pounded, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of the marble floors. She felt a surge of cold confidence. He built the cage, but I learned the lock, she thought. Today was the day she had to retrieve the final key—the access codes for his ultra-secure private accounts, the liquid capital that would fund her escape and her new life with Joo-Hyuk. The codes were stored on a secure, encrypted flash drive, which Min-Joon kept in the floor safe beneath the large, antique Korean chest in his study.
The chest itself was a beautiful, heavy relic, a gift from his father, symbolizing the weighty tradition of the Kim lineage. It was precisely this symbolism that gave Seo-Yun confidence: Min-Joon trusted the weight of tradition and the appearance of loyalty. He had given her the safe combination on their first anniversary, stating, "My wife should have access to everything I own. It is a sign of my complete trust. We are partners in wealth, Seo-Yun." She remembered the moment with cold amusement; he had confused access with intimacy. "It's not trust," she murmured under her breath, a faint, bitter smile playing on her lips, "it's ownership."
Waiting for a specific time, when the housekeeper was running errands and Min-Joon was on a particularly long, high-priority call with a Zurich-based bank, Seo-Yun made her move.
She entered the study silently. Min-Joon was talking in crisp German, his back turned slightly toward the antique chest. "Die Hebelwirkung ist minimal, Herr Schmidt. There is no counter-offer possible." The conversation was technical and demanding, fully occupying his attention.
She walked straight to the chest, kneeling gracefully. The heavy lacquered wood felt cool beneath her fingertips. She pushed the chest slightly, hearing the faint scraaaaape of wood against marble—a sound instantly masked by Min-Joon's commanding voice on the speakerphone. "The market will respond favorably," he insisted, his voice rising slightly in argument.
The safe was a small, circular steel vault set into the floor. She traced the cold steel with her glove-covered finger. She took a deep, steadying breath. This was not about love or revenge; it was an operation, and she needed Min-Joon's professional focus.
She began entering the combination. Her fingers moved with rehearsed confidence: [First Anniversary Date] – [Her Mother's Birthday] – [The Acquisition Date of KM Holdings]. She thought of Joo-Hyuk, his reckless energy, and the promise of a life unscripted. The numbers were a calculated blend of personal significance and professional milestones—a perfect reflection of Min-Joon's view of life. His whole existence is a balance sheet. No room for error, no room for me, she finalized in her mind.
Click.
The lock turned with a soft, metallic sound. Min-Joon, miles away in his mind, continued his German negotiation: "...the leverage risk is minimal, provided we maintain the three-point strategy and the local regulators do not interfere."
Seo-Yun slowly pulled the heavy steel door open. Inside, illuminated by a tiny internal LED, were stacks of documents, a handful of rare gold coins, and one small, black, industrial-looking flash drive. It was labeled simply: M-Data.
She reached in, her hand brushing against a thick bundle of cash—petty change to Min-Joon. The sight of the cash meant nothing; it was the intangible data on the drive that held the real power. She retrieved the flash drive. The cold plastic felt heavy with the weight of her future. She pulled her hand out quickly, tucking the drive into a deep, stitched pocket inside her cashmere sweater.
As she stood up, the flash drive securely tucked into her hidden inner pocket, her gaze fell upon Min-Joon's desk. Next to his laptop, there was a framed photograph—not of her, but of himself, taken years ago, standing proudly in front of the nascent KM Holdings logo. He was younger, perhaps more idealistic, but the ambition in his eyes was already burning fiercely.
A wave of strange emotion washed over her—not guilt, but a fleeting moment of clarity about the man she was betraying. "You poor fool," she whispered, her voice tinged with a complex pity that was almost as cutting as contempt. "You are just as much a prisoner of this company as I am." He wasn't malicious; he was simply incapable of seeing the world outside his own success. He hadn't just built an empire; he had built a perfectly gilded cage for himself and for her.
She closed the safe door softly, spinning the dial for a second to ensure the lock was fully engaged, then gently nudged the chest back into place.
Just as she finished, Min-Joon concluded his call with a decisive, "Danke. Montag, Herr Schmidt." (Thank you. Monday, Mr. Schmidt.) He turned, his professional focus slowly dissolving back into the domestic sphere.
"Seo-Yun? I didn't hear you come in. Is everything ready for the flight tomorrow?"
She gave him a casual, weary smile. "I just wanted to check on you, darling. You've been on that call for ages. Are you done with Zurich?"
"Done," he confirmed, rubbing the back of his neck. He let out a sharp sigh of relief. "A clean execution. We're clear for the weekend now. Did you finalize the wine selection for Jeju? I specifically asked for the '98 Pétrus."
"I did," she lied smoothly, her hand subtly resting over the pocket where the flash drive lay. "The Pétrus is packed. Everything is perfect, Min-Joon. Just the way you like it. We just need to load the car tomorrow morning. I even packed your new Italian loafers."
"Excellent. You are, as always, efficient," he praised, and the compliment was given the same measured approval he would give a subordinate who closed a deal well. He looked at her, truly looked at her, for the first time all evening, but his focus quickly settled on her expensive diamond earrings. "That green dress from the gala was a sensation, by the way. Truly reflected our standing."
Seo-Yun allowed herself a small, internal smirk. Efficient. Yes, she was that. In three days, her efficiency would be the sole cause of his ruin. She had the key, and now all that remained was the final logistical step: using the Jeju trip as the perfect, unassailable alibi for her and Joo-Hyuk's escape. She realized he would only ever see her as an extension of his status. She had won the first crucial battle of the betrayal.