The silence in the Chairman's office after Jin-woo left was a different kind of quiet. It was no longer the sterile hush of power, but the electric stillness after a lightning strike. Ha-ru remained standing behind his desk, his fingers pressed to the cool glass surface. The ghost of his own impulsive smile still tingled on his lips. What have you done?
He had just hired a walking, talking hand grenade and handed him a corporate security pass. The board's reaction would be volcanic. Director Park would likely have an aneurysm. It was, by every metric of his old life—the life of hypotheses, peer reviews, and measured conclusions—an act of professional insanity.
