PART 3 — THE MAN WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD
“You should never have married my granddaughter.”
For several seconds, nobody moved.
The elderly man stood three feet away from me, one hand gripping the back of an empty chair.
Joon had gone completely pale.
Young-ho looked as though he had just seen a ghost.
And perhaps he had.
Because the voice coming through my phone belonged to my daughter.
But the voice I had just heard in front of me belonged to a man I had buried eighteen years ago.
“Mom?”
Emily was still on the line.
“Mom, what happened?”
I couldn’t answer her.
I couldn’t even breathe properly.
The elderly man’s eyes remained fixed on mine.
Those eyes.
I’d seen them across breakfast tables.
In family photographs.
In the rearview mirror when he taught me to drive.
At my wedding when he walked me down the aisle.
Beside my hospital bed when Emily was born.
“No,” I whispered.
The man took one small step toward me.
“Annie.”
“Don’t call me that.”
He stopped.
Only my father had called me Annie.
My name was Anne.
To everyone else, I had always been Anne.
But when I was a little girl and frightened by thunderstorms, my father would sit beside my bed and say:
“Storms can’t scare my Annie.”
I hadn’t heard that name spoken in that voice since before his funeral.
“Who are you?”
The old man’s face crumpled.
“You know who I am.”
“No.”
I backed away.
“You don’t get to walk into a café eighteen years after my father died and tell me I know who you are.”
Joon spoke suddenly.
“We need to leave.”
My head snapped toward him.
“Nobody is leaving.”
“Anne—”
“You knew he was alive?”
Joon said nothing.
That silence was enough.
I turned toward Young-ho.
“You?”
Young-ho looked down.
My stomach dropped.
“You knew too.”
“I suspected.”
“Suspected?”
“I didn’t know until recently.”
The man stepped closer.
“I can explain.”
I turned on him.
“You have about thirty seconds before I call the police.”
“Mom?”
Emily’s frightened voice came through the phone again.
I lifted it.
“Emily, stay where you are.”
“Why?”
I stared at the man.
“Because there’s someone here.”
“Who?”
My mouth wouldn’t form the words.
The elderly man answered for me.
“Hello, Emily.”
Silence.
Then I heard my daughter inhale sharply.
“Grandpa?”
The old man’s eyes filled with tears.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
Emily made a sound I had never heard from her before.
Not quite a sob.
Not quite a scream.
Then the line went dead.
“Emily!”
I stared at the phone.
“Emily!”
Nothing.
I immediately tried calling back.
No answer.
I grabbed my bag.
“I’m going to my daughter.”
Joon moved toward the door.
“I’ll come.”
“No.”
He stopped.
“You stay away from her.”
“Anne, please.”
“You lied to her.”
“Yes.”
“You married her because of whatever insanity this is.”
His jaw tightened.
“I married Emily because I love her.”
“Your father said otherwise.”
Young-ho spoke quietly.
“I said the inheritance was part of why he approached her.”
I looked at him.
“That distinction isn’t helping your son.”
Joon ran both hands through his hair.
“None of you understand.”
“Then explain it.”
He looked toward the old man.
“No.”
My father—or whoever this man was—pulled out the chair beside him.
“I think it’s time.”
Joon gave a bitter laugh.
“You think?”
“You’ve had years.”
“So have you.”
Something passed between them.
Hatred.
Old hatred.
Not the anger of two men who had recently discovered each other’s existence.
They knew each other.
I looked at Joon.
“How long have you known this man?”
Joon didn’t answer.
My father did.
“Since before he met Emily.”
The room seemed to tilt again.
I gripped the edge of the table.
Joon closed his eyes.
“Don’t.”
But my father continued.
“Joon came looking for me first.”
“Why?”
“Because he believed I destroyed his family.”
Young-ho stepped forward.
“You did destroy our family.”
My father turned toward him.
“I saved your father’s life.”
“You let him spend thirty years believing he killed three people.”
“I had no choice.”
“You always had a choice.”
Their voices were rising.
People in the café were staring now.
I didn’t care.
“Stop.”
Both men fell silent.
I pointed at the chair.
“Sit.”
Perhaps it was the tone I had used raising Emily.
Perhaps everyone was simply exhausted from decades of secrets.
But they sat.
Joon remained standing.
I looked at my father.
“If you’re really him, prove it.”
He reached slowly into his coat.
He removed a worn leather wallet.
From inside it, he pulled a photograph.
He placed it on the table.
I didn’t want to touch it.
But I did.
It showed a little girl sitting on the hood of a blue station wagon.
Me.
I was six years old.
My front tooth was missing.
My hair was in two crooked braids.
I remembered that day.
We had driven to a lake.
My mother had forgotten the sandwiches on the kitchen counter, so my father bought me a hot dog from a roadside stand.
There was writing on the back.
My father’s handwriting.
ANNIE — LAKE GEORGE — 1974.
I looked up.
“Anyone could have gotten this.”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
Then he said:
“You fell into the water that afternoon.”
My fingers tightened around the photograph.
“You told your mother you slipped.”
My chest tightened.
“But you didn’t slip.”
“No.”
“You jumped because I told you there were coins at the bottom.”
I stared at him.
“You panicked because you couldn’t swim.”
I could hear my heartbeat.
“I pulled you out.”
He smiled sadly.
“And you made me promise never to tell your mother because you thought she’d never let you near water again.”
My eyes burned.
No one knew that.
Not even my mother.
I sat down.
“Oh my God.”
His face broke.
“I’m sorry.”
I slapped him.
The sound cracked through the café.
Nobody spoke.
My palm burned.
My father didn’t move.
“You let me bury you.”
“Yes.”
“You let me stand beside a coffin and think my father was inside.”
“Yes.”
“You let Emily cry herself to sleep for months.”
His eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“You let Mom die believing you were dead.”
That one broke him.
He looked away.
My anger became something so large I could barely contain it.
“You don’t get to cry.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
I leaned across the table.
“My mother spent the last seven years of her life visiting your grave.”
His face twisted.
“She talked to you.”
He covered his mouth.
“She brought flowers every Sunday.”
“Anne—”
“She apologized to a dead man whenever she thought she’d failed you.”
“I know.”
“How could you possibly know?”
His answer made me freeze.
“Because I watched her.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“From a distance.”
Something inside me snapped.
“You watched?”
“I couldn’t approach her.”
“You could have walked up to her.”
“No.”
“You could have told her you were alive!”
“If I had, she would have been in danger.”
“From whom?”
He looked toward Joon.
Joon shook his head.
“Don’t do this here.”
My father ignored him.
“From the people who caused the factory fire.”
Young-ho laughed bitterly.
“They’re all dead.”
“No.”
My father looked directly at him.
“One is still alive.”
Young-ho stopped smiling.
“Who?”
My father didn’t answer.
Instead, he turned to me.
“Do you remember what I told you before I supposedly died?”
I tried to think.
Eighteen years.
Hospital visits.
Funeral arrangements.
Grief.
Everything blurred together.
“You weren’t sick.”
“No.”
I stared at him.
We had been told he’d suffered a massive heart attack while traveling.
The body had supposedly been too badly damaged after a secondary accident during transport for an open casket.
At the time, I’d been devastated.
I hadn’t questioned it.
“Whose body was in the coffin?”
“A man who had no family.”
I felt sick.
“You faked your death.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because someone tried to kill me.”
My anger faltered.
“Who?”
“Someone connected to the company.”
Young-ho leaned forward.
“The factory closed in 1989.”
“The company did.”
My father looked at him.
“The money didn’t.”
Young-ho went still.
My father tapped the envelope.
“The company owned patents.”
“What patents?” I asked.
“Industrial battery technology. Primitive by today’s standards, but valuable later. Very valuable.”
“How valuable?”
He looked at me.
“At its peak, the licensing portfolio was worth more than seventy million dollars.”
Nobody spoke.
I looked at Joon.
Now I understood the account.
The inheritance.
The documents.
But not the marriage.
“Where did the money go?”
My father answered.
“Into trusts.”
“For whom?”
“My children.”
I almost laughed.
“You had one child.”
He said nothing.
I remembered the birth certificate.
My stomach tightened.
“No.”
My father lowered his eyes.
“I had two.”
I stood again.
“I need air.”
“Anne.”
“You cheated on Mom.”
“Yes.”
“With Young-ho’s sister?”
“Yes.”
Young-ho looked away.
I felt as though every memory of my childhood had been taken out of a box and rewritten.
“Does that mean Joon and Emily are related?”
“No,” Young-ho said quickly.
I looked at him.
“My sister wasn’t Joon’s mother.”
That took me a moment.
Young-ho continued.
“Joon is my son. My sister was his aunt.”
I tried to map it in my head.
My father’s daughter in Korea was Young-ho’s half-sister through their mother.
That made Joon connected to her through Young-ho, but not biologically connected to my father.
So Emily and Joon were not blood relatives.
At least that nightmare wasn’t real.
But something else was.
“What happened to your daughter?” I asked my father.
His expression changed.
“She died.”
“When?”
“Twenty-two years ago.”
“How?”
He hesitated.
Young-ho answered instead.
“She was murdered.”
My breath caught.
Joon finally sat down.
My father closed his eyes.
Young-ho continued.
“She discovered that someone had been stealing money from the licensing accounts.”
“And?”
“She contacted your father.”
My father nodded.
“She wanted to expose everything.”
“Who killed her?”
“We don’t know.”
I looked at Joon.
His fists were clenched.
Suddenly I understood something.
“This is why you approached Emily.”
He looked at me.
“You thought her grandfather killed your aunt.”
“Yes.”
My mouth went dry.
“You targeted my daughter.”
“I wanted information.”
“You dated her for information.”
“At first.”
“You made her fall in love with you for information.”
His eyes hardened.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“But it did.”
“Yes.”
“And then you married her.”
“Yes.”
I felt physically ill.
“You don’t get points for accidentally falling in love with someone you deceived.”
“I know.”
“Then what did you need from her?”
Joon looked toward my father.
“Access.”
“To the trusts?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Emily was listed as a contingent beneficiary.”
I frowned.
“Why Emily?”
My father answered.
“Because after my Korean daughter died, her share was supposed to pass to Anne.”
He looked at me.
“But after my staged death, I couldn’t safely contact you. So I amended the structure through an attorney.”
“To Emily?”
“Yes.”
“And Joon knew?”
“Eventually.”
Joon stared at the table.
“I discovered it while investigating my aunt’s death.”
“And you married Emily so she could access the money.”
“No.”
“Then why did you have her sign those papers?”
His silence returned.
I leaned closer.
“Tell me.”
Joon finally looked up.
“Because I found the person who killed my aunt.”
Young-ho’s chair scraped against the floor.
“What?”
Joon looked at his father.
“I found him three years ago.”
Young-ho’s face went white.
“You told me you were still investigating.”
“I lied.”
“Who is it?”
Joon didn’t answer.
“WHO?”
My father spoke quietly.
“Joon.”
Joon looked at him.
“Enough secrets.”
Something about my father’s tone made Joon’s face change.
Then Joon reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a small USB drive.
He placed it on the table.
“This contains copies of the old company ledgers, bank transfers, police reports and recordings.”
Young-ho stared at it.
“And the killer’s name?”
“Yes.”
“Then say it.”
Joon shook his head.
“Not until Emily is here.”
I grabbed my phone.
“I’ll call her.”
Before I could dial, a message appeared.
From Emily.
MOM. DON’T COME TO THE APARTMENT.
My blood went cold.
Another message arrived.
Someone has been inside.
Then a photograph.
Emily’s living room.
Drawers pulled out.
Papers scattered across the floor.
The wall safe open.
I looked at Joon.
“What was in that safe?”
His face changed.
“The original trust certificate.”
Young-ho stood.
“We have to go.”
My father grabbed his arm.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever broke in may still be watching the building.”
I called Emily.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
I typed:
WHERE ARE YOU?
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Finally:
I’M SAFE. I THINK.
My hands trembled.
WHERE?
She replied:
THE OLD FACTORY.
Joon shot to his feet.
“No.”
“What?”
“She can’t be there.”
“Why?”
“That building was demolished years ago.”
My father slowly shook his head.
“No, it wasn’t.”
Joon stared at him.
“What?”
“The public section was demolished.”
My father looked toward me.
“The original basement still exists.”
Young-ho whispered:
“The archive.”
My father nodded.
“What archive?” I demanded.
“The records everyone thought burned in the fire.”
Then my phone rang.
Emily.
I answered immediately.
“Emily!”
She was whispering.
“Mom, listen to me carefully.”
“Where are you?”
“I told you.”
“Get out of there.”
“I can’t.”
My heart stopped.
“Why?”
“Because someone locked the door behind me.”
Joon grabbed his coat.
“Ask her what she sees.”
“What do you see?”
Emily breathed heavily.
“Boxes. Filing cabinets. Old photographs.”
Then she went quiet.
“Emily?”
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“Mom… there’s a wall covered in pictures.”
“What pictures?”
“Of us.”
Nobody at the table moved.
“What do you mean, us?”
“You. Me. Grandma.”
My skin prickled.
“How old are they?”
“All different years.”
She began crying.
“Someone has been photographing our family for decades.”
My father closed his eyes.
He looked almost defeated.
Then Emily said:
“There’s one of Grandpa.”
I stared at the man sitting across from me.
“When?”
“The date says 2019.”
My father looked confused.
“That isn’t possible.”
“Why?”
“I wasn’t in Korea in 2019.”
I couldn’t understand.
Then Emily whispered:
“Mom… I don’t think it’s Grandpa.”
“What?”
“The man in this picture looks exactly like him.”
I stared at my father.
He stared back.
“Emily, listen to me. Don’t touch anything.”
“Too late.”
“What did you touch?”
“A folder.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does it say?”
She hesitated.
“PROJECT MIRROR.”
My father stood so quickly his chair fell backward.
“Tell her to leave.”
“She said she’s locked in.”
“Then break something. A window. Anything.”
I grabbed the phone.
“Emily, Grandpa says—”
I stopped.
The absurdity of that sentence almost destroyed me.
“Emily, find another exit.”
“I’m trying.”
Then I heard something through the phone.
A metallic sound.
Emily stopped breathing.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“Someone’s opening the door.”
Joon took the phone from me.
“Emily, hide.”
She didn’t argue.
I heard movement.
Then silence.
A door creaked somewhere on her end.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Heavy.
Emily whispered:
“Someone’s here.”
Joon’s voice became urgent.
“Do not move.”
The footsteps stopped.
Then a man’s voice came through the phone.
In Korean.
“Emily Carter.”
My daughter didn’t answer.
The man continued.
“You’ve caused quite a lot of trouble.”
Joon looked at my father.
My father’s face had turned completely white.
“You recognize him,” I whispered.
He nodded.
“Who?”
My father looked at me.
“The man who tried to kill me eighteen years ago.”
Young-ho stared at him.
“You said only one person from the company was still alive.”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
Before my father could answer, Emily screamed.
The call disconnected.
“EMILY!”
I grabbed my coat.
This time nobody tried to stop me.
Twenty-five minutes later, our taxi stopped near an abandoned industrial district on the edge of the city.
Joon led us through a broken gate.
Young-ho followed.
My father moved surprisingly quickly for his age.
We reached a concrete building hidden behind newer warehouses.
The basement entrance stood open.
“Emily!”
I started down the stairs.
Joon caught my arm.
“Wait.”
“My daughter is down there.”
“And whoever took her may be too.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
The words came out with such force that I looked at him.
For all his lies, the terror in his face was real.
He loved her.
That didn’t erase what he’d done.
But he loved her.
We descended together.
At the bottom was a long corridor.
One fluorescent light flickered overhead.
A door stood open.
Inside was exactly what Emily had described.
Boxes.
Photographs.
Files.
Hundreds of them.
But Emily was gone.
On the table lay her phone.
I ran to it.
The screen was cracked.
Beside it was the folder marked PROJECT MIRROR.
My father picked it up.
His hands began trembling.
“What is it?” I asked.
He opened the folder.
Inside were two photographs.
One showed him.
The second showed another man.
They looked almost identical.
Same eyes.
Same jaw.
Same smile.
I stared at the pictures.
“Who is that?”
My father sat down slowly.
“My brother.”
I looked at him.
“You don’t have a brother.”
He swallowed.
“Yes, I do.”
Young-ho backed away.
“No.”
Joon looked between them.
“What?”
My father stared at the second photograph.
“My twin brother.”
I felt as though the floor had disappeared beneath me.
“You had a twin?”
“He died before you were born.”
“Apparently not,” Joon said.
My father didn’t answer.
Then Young-ho picked up another document.
He read the first page.
His face changed.
“There’s a payment record.”
“To whom?” Joon asked.
Young-ho looked at my father.
“Your brother.”
“What date?”
Young-ho swallowed.
“Three weeks ago.”
Nobody spoke.
Then I saw another sheet beneath the photographs.
A list of names.
My father’s.
Young-ho’s.
Joon’s.
Emily’s.
Mine.
Beside every name was a date.
I found Emily.
TODAY.
Beside her name were two Korean words.
I translated them slowly.
TRANSFER COMPLETE.
My stomach turned.
“Transfer of what?”
Joon grabbed the paper.
Then my father’s phone rang.
He looked at the number.
His expression hardened.
“Who is it?” I asked.
He answered on speaker.
Nobody spoke at first.
Then a man’s voice came through.
A voice almost identical to my father’s.
“Hello, brother.”
My father gripped the phone.
“Where is Emily?”
“She is safe.”
“If you hurt her—”
“I don’t want to hurt her.”
“What do you want?”
The man laughed softly.
“The same thing Joon wanted when he married her.”
Joon went still.
“What?”
“Access.”
“To what?”
“You still don’t understand?”
The man sounded almost amused.
“The money was never the valuable part.”
My father closed his eyes.
“What did you find?”
“Not what I found.”
A pause.
“What Emily found.”
I stepped closer to the phone.
“Let me speak to my daughter.”
The voice stopped.
“Anne.”
Hearing my name from that voice made my skin crawl.
“Where is Emily?”
“She is standing right beside me.”
“Put her on.”
A few seconds passed.
Then:
“Mom?”
“Emily!”
“I’m okay.”
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Emily, listen to me—”
“Mom, there’s something you need to know.”
Her voice sounded strange.
Shaken.
But determined.
“What?”
“The man with me showed me the original records.”
“Don’t believe him.”
“I didn’t.”
She paused.
“Until he showed me Grandpa’s signature.”
I looked at my father.
“What signature?”
Emily continued.
“The order that started the fire.”
My father went motionless.
Young-ho stared at him.
Joon whispered:
“No.”
Emily started crying.
“Mom, Grandpa didn’t survive an attempt on his life.”
I could barely breathe.
“What are you saying?”
“He wasn’t the victim.”
Silence swallowed the room.
Then Emily said:
“He was the one they were trying to expose.”
I looked at my father.
He slowly lowered his head.
“Tell me she’s lying.”
He didn’t answer.
“Dad.”
Nothing.
“Tell me.”
Finally, he whispered:
“It’s more complicated than that.”
I laughed once.
A terrible, empty sound.
“That sentence has destroyed enough lives.”
Young-ho grabbed my father’s jacket.
“Did you start the fire?”
“No.”
“Did you sign the order?”
My father looked at him.
“Yes.”
Young-ho punched him.
Joon pulled his father backward.
“Stop!”
Young-ho screamed:
“My father blamed himself his entire life!”
“I was trying to shut the factory down!”
“Then why did three people die?”
“Because my brother changed the order!”
The room went silent.
My father pointed toward the second photograph.
“The order I signed was to evacuate the building and destroy the prototype.”
“Why destroy it?” I asked.
“Because we’d discovered what it could really do.”
Joon frowned.
“It was battery technology.”
“No.”
My father looked at him.
“That was the cover.”
Young-ho stared.
“What was the prototype?”
My father looked toward the folder marked PROJECT MIRROR.
“A verification system.”
“For what?”
“Identity.”
I frowned.
“In the 1980s?”
“Biometric identification was primitive then. But our system wasn’t designed around fingerprints.”
“What was it designed around?”
“Family relationships.”
I felt cold.
“DNA?”
“Eventually.”
Joon slowly looked at the list of our names.
“That’s why Emily could access the account.”
My father nodded.
“The financial trust was never just an inheritance.”
“What was it?”
“A lock.”
I stared at him.
“And Emily?”
“The final key.”
My phone buzzed.
A message from Emily.
One photograph.
A metal case.
On its lid was the same symbol printed on the PROJECT MIRROR folder.
Beneath the photograph she had written:
HE SAYS ONLY I CAN OPEN THIS.
Then another message appeared.
MOM, JOON KNEW ABOUT THE CASE.
I slowly lifted my eyes toward him.
Joon saw my expression.
“What?”
I turned the phone around.
He read Emily’s message.
His face went pale.
Young-ho looked at his son.
“Is that true?”
Joon said nothing.
I stepped toward him.
“You knew.”
“Anne—”
“You knew what Emily was being used for.”
“I knew about the case.”
“And you married her to open it.”
“At first.”
There it was.
Finally.
The complete confession.
I slapped him.
Hard.
He didn’t defend himself.
“You used my daughter.”
“Yes.”
“And all that nonsense about finding your aunt’s killer?”
“That part was true.”
“Was any part of your marriage real?”
His eyes filled with tears.
“Yes.”
“Which part?”
He looked toward Emily’s broken phone.
“Everything after I fell in love with her.”
I wanted to hate him.
Perhaps I already did.
But before anyone could say another word, my phone rang again.
Emily.
I answered.
“Emily?”
“Mom.”
“Where are you?”
“I know how to get out.”
“Then go.”
“I can’t yet.”
“Why?”
“Because I opened the case.”
My father whispered:
“Oh God.”
“What was inside?”
Emily didn’t answer immediately.
Then she said:
“No money.”
“What?”
“No documents either.”
“Then what?”
“A video.”
My father closed his eyes.
“A confession,” he whispered.
I looked at him.
“You knew?”
He nodded.
“Whose confession?”
Before he could answer, Emily spoke.
“Grandma’s.”
My heart stopped.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
I could barely hold the phone.
“What did she confess to?”
Emily was crying now.
“The factory fire.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Mom—”
“Your grandmother never went to Korea.”
My father looked at me.
And the expression on his face told me another piece of my childhood was about to disappear.
“Yes, she did.”
I turned toward him.
“When?”
“1989.”
“Why?”
He couldn’t look at me.
“Because she knew about my other daughter.”
I felt nauseated.
Emily continued.
“Mom, Grandma came here to confront Grandpa.”
My father sat down.
“And according to this recording, she saw something that night.”
“What?”
Emily took a shaky breath.
“She saw who started the fire.”
Young-ho stepped closer.
“Who?”
There was a pause.
Then Emily said:
“It wasn’t Grandpa.”
My father covered his face.
“It wasn’t his brother either.”
I stared at the phone.
“Then who was it?”
Emily started to answer.
But another voice interrupted her.
The twin.
“That’s enough.”
“Emily?”
“Mom—”
A struggle.
Then the line went dead.
I screamed her name.
Seconds later, a new message appeared.
An address.
And beneath it:
COME ALONE IF YOU WANT YOUR DAUGHTER BACK.
I stared at the screen.
Joon read it over my shoulder.
“You’re not going alone.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No.”
“He has Emily.”
“He wants you too.”
I looked at him.
“Why would he want me?”
My father answered.
“Because Emily isn’t the final key.”
I turned slowly.
“What?”
His eyes filled with something I hadn’t seen yet.
Shame.
“Emily can open the case.”
He swallowed.
“But she cannot activate what is inside.”
My chest tightened.
“Who can?”
My father looked directly at me.
“You.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because Project Mirror was built around two bloodlines.”
He looked at Young-ho.
“Mine.”
Then back at me.
“And your mother’s.”
I shook my head.
“What does Mom have to do with this?”
He whispered:
“Everything.”
Then he told me the secret my mother had taken to her grave.
A secret that explained why she’d really traveled to Korea in 1989.
Why she’d known about the factory.
Why someone had watched our family for decades.
And why my father’s twin wanted both Emily and me.
“My company didn’t create Project Mirror,” my father said.
“Your mother did.”
I couldn’t speak.
“She wasn’t just my wife, Anne.”
He looked at the folder.
“She designed the original system.”
Young-ho whispered:
“That’s impossible.”
“No.”
My father shook his head.
“She was the only person who knew what Project Mirror could become.”
“And what can it become?” I asked.
My father looked at me.
“A way to prove ownership of assets hidden under thousands of identities.”
Joon’s eyes widened.
“How much?”
My father didn’t answer.
“HOW MUCH?”
He looked toward the photograph Emily had sent.
“Enough that seventy million dollars looks like pocket change.”
Nobody moved.
Then my father’s phone buzzed.
A video had arrived.
He opened it.
Emily appeared on the screen.
She was sitting in a chair.
Not tied.
Not visibly injured.
Behind her stood my father’s twin.
He leaned toward the camera.
“Anne, you have one hour.”
Then he held something beside Emily’s face.
A photograph.
My mother.
Young.
Standing outside the factory.
Beside her was Young-ho’s father.
And between them was a third man.
Young-ho stared at the image.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“You recognize him?”
He nodded slowly.
“Who is he?”
His eyes moved toward Joon.
Joon looked confused.
Young-ho whispered:
“Joon’s maternal grandfather.”
Joon froze.
“What?”
My father shut his eyes.
And suddenly I understood.
This secret didn’t connect two families.
It connected three.
The twin smiled into the camera.
Then he said:
“Bring Joon with you.”
Joon stared at the screen.
“Why me?”
As though the man could hear him, the video continued.
“Because it’s time Joon learned why his mother really died.”
Joon stopped breathing.
He looked at Young-ho.
“My mother died in a car accident.”
Young-ho couldn’t meet his son’s eyes.
“Dad?”
Nothing.
“DAD.”
Young-ho finally looked at him.
And the truth was already written across his face.
Joon backed away.
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No. You told me—”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“To keep you alive.”
Joon’s voice cracked.
“Alive from whom?”
Young-ho looked at my father.
Then at the photograph.
Finally, he whispered:
“From your grandfather.”
Joon stared at him.
“My grandfather is dead.”
Young-ho slowly shook his head.
“No, son.”
My blood turned cold.
Young-ho pointed toward the third man standing beside my mother in the old photograph.
“He’s alive.”
Then he looked at the address on my phone.
“And if I’m right, he’s the man waiting with Emily.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
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