Morning crept in through thin cloud, a gray light that made the city look half awake. Claire sat on the edge of her bed with the contract on her lap, the pages fanned like a storm map. She had told herself she would not look at it again. She had told herself she would find another way. The paper waited anyway, patient and heavy.
Her phone vibrated on the nightstand. A new message appeared.
Your father has a meeting at ten. You may want to be there. —Kangwoo
She stared at the words. No tone. No explanation. Only a quiet push. She replied with three letters and nothing more.
On my way.
By the time she reached Yoo Industries, the office felt tense enough to hum. Two junior staff whispered near the copier, and someone had left a stack of unopened mail on the reception counter as if the envelopes might turn into knives if touched. Claire walked straight to her father's office. The door was open. He stood by the window in a suit that had seen better days, talking to a man she did not recognize. The stranger had a square jaw, an easy smile, and a briefcase that looked expensive in a quiet way.
Her father turned when he saw her. Relief softened his eyes. "Areum. This is Mr Park. He represents a group interested in bridge financing. Nothing large. Enough to get us through the quarter."
Mr Park's handshake was warm and practiced. "Miss Yoo. I have heard good things about you. Your father says you handle operations."
"I do," she said carefully. "What group are you with, Mr Park?"
"A private fund," he replied. "Old friends. Old money. We like helping family businesses that deserve it." He smiled again. "And your family does."
It was the right script. Claire did not relax. He placed a slim folder on the desk and opened it to a single page filled with clean numbers. Interest rates, short term notes, a reasonable fee. It looked kind. It looked almost generous. The part of her that wanted to breathe reached for it.
Her phone buzzed again. She glanced down.
Do not sign anything. —Kangwoo
Her mouth went dry. She did not look at her father as she typed.
Who is Mr Park.
A moment passed. Then another message.
Not ours. Not random either. Ask for the origin of funds and written proof of their source. Then watch his face.
She slipped the phone into her pocket and lifted her chin. "Mr Park, before we continue, could you provide proof of funds and the source in writing. Bank statements are fine. We would also need to know the origin of the capital. Our auditors will require it."
The warm smile cooled. Only a little, but enough to notice. "Of course. I can send that this afternoon."
"We will need it now," Claire said. "If it is old money, it should be simple."
Her father looked between them, confusion creasing his forehead. Mr Park closed the folder with a soft click.
"I can return after lunch," he said. "We do not carry sensitive documents to first meetings."
He left a business card and a promise to call. When the door shut, her father turned to her, lines of worry deepening. "Areum, that looked like help."
"It looked like bait," she said quietly. She handed him the card. The address was a level in a tower she knew by reputation. Not a fund. A shell. "Please, wait. Let me check the registration. If it is clean, we can talk."
He sank into his chair, tired beyond sleep. "We are running out of time."
"I know."
She stepped into the hall and called Kangwoo. He answered on the first ring.
"You did well," he said.
"You sent him," she said flatly.
"Not exactly," Kangwoo replied. "Think of him as a reminder that outcomes can be managed. If you had accepted without checking, someone else would have. And your father would be in a worse trap."
"Why are you telling me this?" Claire asked.
"Because the CEO wants you to choose knowing the cost. He does not want you to be able to say he lied."
She closed her eyes for a heartbeat. "Do you ever disagree with him, Kangwoo."
"Of course. In private. And then I carry out his decision. Sometimes I try to make the landing softer."
He paused, as if considering something he was not sure he should say. "You asked for transparency. Here is a piece. The board will push him this week. He needs a wife by Friday for reasons that have nothing to do with romance."
"What reasons."
"That is his to tell," Kangwoo said. "But if you are going to say no, do it quickly. Otherwise, be ready to stand beside him in public."
The line went quiet. She slid the phone into her pocket and pressed her forehead to the cool glass of the hallway window. A bus rolled past outside. A boy chased it for half a block and laughed when he caught the door. Life went on, even when a contract threatened to rewrite it.
She returned to her father with a small smile that did not reach her eyes. "Give me until tonight," she said. "If we cannot find another path, I will decide."
Her father nodded slowly. Pride and fear moved behind his gaze. He did not ask what decision she meant.
Afternoon settled like a gray sheet over the city. Claire took the long way home on foot, letting noise and motion scrub the inside of her head. She passed a florist carrying buckets of lilies, a woman shepherding two children across a crosswalk like a general moving troops, a man sleeping on a bench with a newspaper folded over his chest. By the time she reached her building, the sky had begun to clear. The streets smelled like wet concrete and rain.
A small package waited on her doormat. No name. No return address. Inside she found a thin velvet jewelry case and a white card with a line of neat black type.
Wear this tonight. Seven. The Crescent Hotel. Tell no one.
Her first thought was Evan. Her second thought was a curse she did not say out loud. She opened the case. A necklace lay inside, delicate platinum with a single clear stone that caught the light in an honest way. Not gaudy. Not loud. Too thoughtful for a trap. Too perfect for an accident.