Two days later, Arthit closed the door of Anurak's office behind him and placed a slim folder on the table.
> "Rak," he said softly, "I got the information."
Anurak looked up from where he sat, elbows resting on his knees, eyes shadowed with exhaustion.
> "Where are they?"
> "Bangkok," Art replied. "Sai Mai district. A modest home. Krit lived with his grandfather, mother, and younger brother."
Rak nodded, silent.
Art hesitated before continuing.
> "But listen… if we go, we cannot let your uncle Suwat or aunty Supansa know. If they even suspect something happened, they'll use it. Either to corner you or to destroy your position in the board."
Rak leaned back, gaze distant.
> "I know. We go quietly. No company jet, no direct communication. We tell the board we're doing a market visit in Singapore."
Art exhaled.
> "Sawasdee… that might work. But aunty Supansa always smells secrets before anyone else."
---
Meanwhile – Lucerne, Switzerland :
Supansa — elegant, poised, wrapped in silk and grace — sat in her private lounge, tea glass in hand.
Her spy, dressed like a simple office staff member, bowed apologetically.
> "Khun Supansa, I only know that Khun Anurak and Arthit are leaving Zurich discreetly. Their destination is unknown. But… the way they moved, it looked like they're hiding it."
Supansa's perfectly lined lips curved into a soft, amused smile.
> "Rak never travels without a reason. He doesn't breathe without thinking three steps ahead… unless something forced his hand."
She set her glass down gently.
> "Follow quietly. Don't chase. Don't push. Just watch. If he slips, I'll know."
Her tone was honeyed silk, but the sweetness stung like a blade.
---
Flashback – A Family Meeting Years Ago
Rak remembered that smile.
He had seen it before — at the family board meeting after his parents' funerals.
Suwat had tried to position himself as interim CEO.
Supansa had supported the idea — smiling, speaking softly, pretending to be the peacemaker.
Rak had bowed politely, voice even.
> "Khun Pa, … I appreciate your concern. But my father left clear instructions. The company remains under my name. I will take responsibility."
He handed them both copies of the will, already legally sealed by Arthit 's father Khun Wichai.
Supansa had smiled then — graceful, unbothered.
> "Of course, Rak. Family supports family. We only wish to… assist."
Suwat's jaw had clenched. Supansa's eyes, behind her warmth, held calculation.
And Rak learned.
Never fight openly.
Smile.
Bow.
But reveal nothing.
---
Return to the Present – The Flight
Their flight to Bangkok was booked under assumed business delegation names.
No company travel coordinator was involved.
No corporate credit cards used.
Rak stared out of the plane window, watching clouds drift beneath them like silent ghosts.
Art leaned closer.
> "Rak… when we get there, what do you plan to say?"
Rak swallowed, throat tight.
> "I don't know. I just… feel like I owe something. Something real."
Art nodded slowly.
> "Whatever happens… I'm here. Mai tong klua. Don't be afraid."
Rak didn't answer — but the tension in his jaw softened just a little.
---
Krit's Home :
The house in Sai Mai was quiet.
Not poor — but worn by time and grief.
A nanny in her late 50s opened the gate, bowing slightly.
> "Sawasdee ka. Can I help you?"
Art smiled gently.
> "We're friends of Krit from Switzerland. We… came ...
Nanny interrupted, " khǎw-thôt ka Sorry, he has passed away"
A long sigh escaped Art's lips. "We know that," he said, " we came to pay respect"
For a moment, the nanny's eyes softened in recognition of shared grief.
> "Come inside," she said quietly.
They followed her into the living room.
Krit's mother sat near the window, a thin blanket covering her lap.
Her body seemed fragile, as if even breathing might break her.
She stared ahead — not at them, not at the room — but at some memory far beyond the walls.
She could hear.
Her chest rose with slow, steady breaths.
But her eyes held no focus — like a flame that no longer burned, only glowed faintly.
Rak felt something twist sharply inside him — guilt, sorrow, helplessness — all tangled together.
He took a step closer, but Art gently touched his arm, grounding him.
Just then, a woman from next door approached, curious after seeing the unfamiliar car.
> "Sawasdee ka," she greeted softly. "Are you friends of Krit?"
Art nodded.
> "Yes. We only recently heard… and came to offer our condolences."
The neighbor's voice lowered to a tender, respectful tone.
> "After the funeral, the family followed Rueang Ngan Sop — the mourning period. For forty-nine days, they pray for Krit's spirit to find peace and guidance. It is believed that during this time, the soul is still near, still listening."
She glanced toward the quiet woman in the wheelchair.
> "Krit's mother has not spoken since the day she learned of his passing. She sits here every day, facing the window, as if waiting for him to come home."
Rak felt his chest tighten.
He had known loss.
He had known guilt.
But this silence… this was a grief that did not cry — it endured.
The neighbor continued gently.
> "Krit's grandfather and younger brother are away today. They went to the temple to offer food to the monks — tamboon — to send merit to Krit's spirit. It is something they will continue to do for some time. They should return later in the afternoon."
She bowed her head respectfully.
> "You may wait, if you wish. But… please speak softly. The house is still in mourning."
Rak nodded, trying to steady his breathing.
His palms were cold.
His voice, when he found it, was barely a whisper.
> "We will wait."
He sat across from Krit's mother — but she did not turn, did not acknowledge, did not blink any faster.
She was alive.
But her world had ended.
And Rak felt, with painful clarity, that he was standing inside the ruins.