The elevator descended in silence. Kangmi adjusted her briefcase, feeling the weight of what was inside—the Red Paper, secured in a locked compartment. Nam stood beside her, hands clasped in front of him like always.
"The courthouse is forty minutes away," Nam said. "Traffic should be light."
Kangmi nodded. Her phone buzzed against her palm. A message from her secretary: filing deadline confirmed at 2:30 PM. She checked her watch. Ninety minutes. Enough time, but not much to spare.
The elevator chimed and opened into the parking garage. Their footsteps echoed off concrete pillars, the sound lonely in the vast space. Nam's car waited in its reserved spot—a black sedan with tinted windows that reflected the fluorescent lights above. He opened the rear door for her without a word.
She slid into the back seat. The leather was cold against her legs, even through her skirt. Nam settled into the driver's seat and started the engine. The purr was quiet, expensive.
They pulled out of the garage into midday sun.
This would be the biggest RICO case in Korean history. Kangmi's fingers tightened on the briefcase handle.
Nam took the highway entrance. The sedan accelerated smoothly onto the open road. Kangmi glanced at her watch again. Still time.
"Ma'am."
Something in Nam's voice made her look up. It wasn't the usual professional distance. There was an edge to it.
She followed his gaze through the windshield.
Someone was standing in the middle of the highway. Just standing there, blocking the road ahead like it was the most natural thing in the world. Nam's foot moved to the brake.
"Don't stop," Kangmi said.
"There's nowhere to go."
---
Earlier
"You sure about this?" Zack leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His expression said he already knew the answer and didn't like it.
"We have to retrieve the Red Paper." Daniel's voice came out flat, matter-of-fact. "Prosecutor Kangmi Choi has it. We need to get it back."
Hudson was scrolling through his phone, frowning at the screen. "But what is this Red Paper? You keep saying we need it, but you haven't explained what it actually is."
"The Red Paper holds evidence against Charles Choi. I'm not exactly sure what that evidence is, but it's significant." Daniel looked at each of them in turn. "Significant enough that people will kill for it."
Hudson's frown deepened. "Then why do you want to retrieve it? It makes no sense. If it's evidence against Charles Choi, shouldn't we want the prosecutor to have it?"
"James Lee wants me to retrieve it."
Zack raised an eyebrow. The silence stretched out between them.
"I don't feel good about that guy," Zack said finally. "If the Red Paper is related to Charles Choi, then why does he want it? Charles Choi is dead. The Red Paper shouldn't matter anymore."
Daniel had thought about this. Had turned it over in his mind until the edges were worn smooth. "I asked myself the same question until I came to a conclusion. Prosecutor Kangmi Choi is in danger, and it's related to the Red Paper. We have to intercept her if we want to save her."
"Intercept." Vasco's frown was different from Hudson's—less suspicious, more worried. "You mean we're gonna hurt her?"
"We're gonna stop her car," Daniel said. "That's it. No one will get hurt."
Zack laughed, but there was no humor in it. The sound was sharp and bitter. "You really think she is just gonna hand it over? Oh sure, take this crucial evidence, have a nice day?"
"We have to at least be there before someone else gets it."
"Technically we'll be committing a crime." Zack pushed off the wall, standing straighter. "Stopping a prosecutor on her way to court. Taking evidence from her. That's not exactly legal."
"Aren't we breaking the law almost every time?" Vasco's voice was quiet, but firm. He'd thought about this too. "But to punish evil, there's no other way."
Zack looked at him, then at Daniel. He sighed. "Well, that's true too."
---
The car slid sideways before it stopped.
Kangmi's briefcase hit the floor with a heavy thud. She grabbed for it, her fingers closing around the leather handle. Her knuckles went white with the force of her grip. The Red Paper. She couldn't let it go. Not now.
The figure in the road didn't move. He just stood there in the middle of the highway, hands in his pockets like he was waiting for a bus. Sunlight caught on white fabric—a suit, she realized. White suit in the middle of the day.
Nam's hand went to the door handle. "Stay in the car."
"Nam—"
He was already out. The door slammed behind him.
Kangmi watched through the windshield, her heart hammering against her ribs. The man in white pulled something from his mouth—a cigarette. Smoke drifted up in a thin gray line before he dropped it and crushed it under his shoe. He didn't look down. Didn't need to.
He wore a white suit with a black shirt underneath. His pants matched the suit jacket, crisp and clean despite standing in the middle of a highway. Something about the casualness of it made Kangmi's stomach turn.
Nam walked forward, shoulders squared. "Who are you? You need to move."
The man tilted his head. Like he was considering the question. Like it was interesting.
Kangmi couldn't see his face yet. Too much glare came off the windshield, washing everything in white light.
"Don't force me to be rough. I said move." Nam's voice was harder now. He knew how to handle threats.
The man's shoulders shifted. It might have been a shrug. Might have been him stretching, loosening muscles.
Nam took another step forward.
The man moved.
One step. That was all.
Nam stopped.
The distance between them hadn't changed, but everything had. The air felt different. Heavier. Kangmi could see the man's face now through the windshield. He was young—couldn't be more than mid-twenties. His face was almost handsome, in a cold sort of way.
But his eyes looked wrong.
She leaned forward, squinting against the sun. The contrast was backwards. The dark parts were where light should be. The light parts were where dark should be. Inverted. Unnatural.
Her phone slipped from her hand and hit the leather seat.
Nam raised both hands, palms out. A gesture of peace. "We don't want trouble. Just let us pass."
The man said nothing. His face showed no expression at all. He might have been looking at an empty road for all the reaction he gave.
"I'm getting back in the car," Nam said slowly, clearly. "We're leaving."
He turned.
The man's hand came out of his pocket.
Nam hit the pavement before Kangmi registered the movement. One moment he was standing, the next he was down. The man's fist had been in his pocket and then it wasn't, and Nam was on the ground with blood streaming from his nose in a dark red river.
Kangmi's hand shot out and clicked the door lock down. The sound was loud in the silence of the car. Mechanical, final.
The man in white walked toward the car. Each step was unhurried, deliberate. He stopped at Nam's body and looked down for just a moment before stepping over it like it was a piece of litter. Nam wasn't moving. But he was breathing—Kangmi could see his chest rise and fall in shallow, pained gasps.
The man stopped outside her window and knocked three times.
The sound was almost polite. Gentle, even.
Kangmi didn't move. Couldn't move. Her hand was still locked on the briefcase handle.
"The briefcase." His voice was quiet, but it cut through the glass like he was sitting right beside her. "That's all I need."
Her fingers tightened until they ached.
"You can keep everything else. Your files, your career, your life." He said it like he was being generous. Like he was doing her a favor. "Just the briefcase."
She looked at Nam on the pavement. Blood pooled beneath his face. But his chest was still rising. Still falling. Still breathing.
"I'm not a patient man."
The words hung in the air between them. Kangmi stared at the man through the window—at his inverted eyes, at the slight curve of his mouth that might have been a smile. At the absolute certainty in his posture that told her he would get what he wanted.
One way or another.