Chapter 5

The Library Study was a vacuum of sound, save for the rhythmic drumming of rain against the reinforced glass and the soft, shallow breathing of the child on Han Min-jae’s lap.

Having his sister, the admirable Optometrist, Ji-yoon, here helped. It was a tether to humanity he hadn't realized he was desperate for until recently. And Hana, were a warm, living weight against his chest, her small hands clutching the lapels of his charcoal suit as if he were a life raft. The calming effect was undeniable. It smoothed the jagged edges of his nerves, if only slightly.

He knew his reputation. He saw it reflected in the terrified glances of the staff, the guarded posture of his board members, and the pure hatred radiating from his step-brothers across the room. He was the "Prince of Darkness," the cold-hearted machine built by a cruel father.

But as much as he hated the Chairman, and god, did he hate him with a virulence that tasted like bile, the man was still his father. The idea that the old monster was missing, potentially dead, left Min unmoored. He was sure of two things regarding the outcome of this meeting:

First, he would be named CEO. That was inevitable. Since Min was six years old, barely able to hold a pen, his father had dragged him to board meetings, calling him "The Heir." For the last three weeks, while the police chased dead ends and the media speculated, the board had unanimously voted Min as Interim CEO. He was the only one who knew where the bodies were buried—and more importantly, how to keep them buried.

Second, he would receive the least amount of shares. He was certain of this. The Chairman had despised him. He had punished Min for his mother’s death, for his childhood weakness, for his very existence. The Chairman loved control, and he loved Jun-woo. Min expected the empire to be handed to him to run, but the ownership to be handed to the "golden child" stepson and the Vultures, leaving Min as nothing more than a glorified servant to the family that hated him.

Thinking about this, feeling the grim certainty of his own servitude, Min felt a prickle of heat. A sudden feeling of being observed, not the room's chill, was what unsettled him.

He looked up from the top of Hana’s head and felt two burning coals piercing right into his face. He met the source.

Han Jun-woo.

Jun was staring at him from the small couch, huddled next to Baek. Min couldn't take his eyes off him. Jun looked wrecked, pale, bruised by exhaustion, trembling like a leaf in a storm—yet he was magnetic.

What made him love you? Min thought, the question bitter on his tongue. Why did he look at you and see a son, but looked at me and saw a failure?

It made no sense. Min was the one who resembled the Chairman. Everyone said it. He was a carbon copy of the Han bloodline, the sharp jaw, the height, the imposing frame. Ji-yoon, his sister, resembled maybe an ancestor long forgotten, looking neither like their mother nor their father, a genetic anomaly.

But Min... Min was his father’s mirror. Except for one thing.

His mother.

Min’s thoughts drifted, as they often did when he was cornered, to the woman he barely remembered but fiercely adored. She had been stunning. She wasn't just Korean; she had deep roots tracing back to the Jomon period, an ancestry that lingered along the southeastern coast of the peninsula. She had given him his name, Min-jae. She had given him his perfect, aquiline nose.

And she had not given him her skin.

She had been tan, a rich, burnished bronze that stood in stark contrast to the pale, porcelain obsession of Seoul’s elite. Min had not inherited it. He was fair, looking more like a spoilt King from very high society than a boardroom executive.

She had tragically died because he was a stupid, weak boy who couldn't protect her. Or at least, that was the narrative his father had beaten into him. But he kept her alive. He had hundreds of photographs locked in a safe, images he pored over on sleepless nights, memorizing the curve of her smile, the warmth in her eyes, trying to keep her ghost from fading.

"Uncle..."

The tiny voice tore through the fog of his concentration.

"Uncle..."

Min blinked, the room rushing back into focus. He realized he had been staring at Jun for a long time, lost in the labyrinth of his own trauma.

"Uncleee?" Hana whispered, tugging on his tie.

"I'm here," Min murmured, shifting her slightly. "Hush now. Mr. Song is speaking."

He averted his eyes towards the head of the table. Mr. Song had assumed his seat. The lawyer was cleaning his wire-rimmed spectacles with a microfiber cloth, doing so with such a dignified, fastidious air that one would think he represented Samsung or Hyundai, rather than the Han Syndicate.

It was a necessary façade. Under Min’s guidance over the last five years, the Organization had shifted. About fifty-three percent of the business was now strictly legitimate.

It hadn't been easy. Min had spent years setting up manufacturing companies for semi-conductors and microchips to wash the money. He had built factories that processed raw minerals—gold, diamonds, cobalt—extracted from the conflict zones of Congo, Nigeria, and Sudan. The minerals were once obtained through blood and illegal channels, yes, but once under Min, they entered Min’s factories legally, being paid for through means approved by the countries they were obtained from. They emerged as clean, legal components for smartphones, EVs and Jewelry brands.

He had converted a half of the laundry network—clubs, resorts, and casinos scattered across Korea, Cambodia, and Thailand—into legal enterprises. They paid taxes. They had HR departments. They had health inspections.

The goal was 100% legitimacy. Min wanted to scrub the blood off the Han name. But his father... the Chairman had resisted. He loved the old ways. He loved the power of the shadows. He wouldn't just give in.

Mr. Song finished cleaning his glasses and placed them on his nose. He laid out a series of thick, cream-colored documents on the mahogany table.

As he did, the Vulture brothers—Seok-hoon and Seok-jin—were all but flying out of their chairs, craning their necks to peek at the contents, their greed practically vibrating in the air.

"Sit down," Min commanded, his voice soft, yet carrying the undeniable, crushing authority of a descending guillotine blade.

The brothers sank back, scowling.

"The Last Will and Testament of Chairman Han," Mr. Song announced, his voice dry. "Or rather, the Interim Directive in the event of Disappearance or in an event of Permanent Unavailability."

He cleared his throat and began to read.

"I, Han Dong-su, being of sound mind, hereby declare the following directives to be executed immediately upon my confirmed disappearance/unavailability of more than two weeks, or in the event of my confirmed death. These directives are to maintain order within the Organization and the Family until such time as my status is final."

Mr. Song paused, looking over his glasses at the room.

"Item One: The Real Estate Assets."

"The Main Family Estate in Seongbuk-dong, including the grounds and the main residence, shall remain the sole property of my wife, Han Mi-ran. She is to have lifetime tenancy."

Mi-ran let out a shaky breath, her hand covering her mouth. Relief, not happiness, was etched on her face, a sign she wouldn't be forced out.

"The two commercial high-rise towers in Gangnam—the Han Star Tower and the Blue Horizon Building—are bequeathed to Han Seok-hoon and Han Seok-jin, respectively. One tower for each."

Seok-hoon pumped his fist silently. Seok-jin grinned, flashing yellowing teeth at Jun.

"However," Mr. Song continued, his voice cutting through their celebration, "ownership implies title only. The management, revenue streams, and operational control of these buildings shall remain under the Han Holdings Organization. The beneficiaries will receive a fixed salary based on the building's performance, subject to approval by the CEO."

The smiles vanished. They owned the buildings, but Min controlled the money. It was a golden handcuff.

"The smaller estate in Jeju, the Cliffside Villa, is bequeathed to Madam Choi."

Madam Choi snapped her fan shut, looking unimpressed. "A vacation home? Is that it?"

Mr. Song ignored her. "The Highrise tower with the Penthouse at the Lotte Signiel, currently occupied by Han Min-jae, along with the Seongsu Art Gallery, the Han Medical Center, and the Sunshine Foundation Charity, remain under the stewardship of the family. The residence and the gallery are bequeathed to Han Min-jae. The Medical Center and Charity shall be run by Chey Ji-yoon."

Ji-yoon squeezed Min’s arm. She didn't care about the money; she wanted the hospital to do good.

"Item Two: Movable Assets."

"The private island in Incheon Bay is bequeathed to Han Min-jae."

"The two Sunseeker yachts are bequeathed to Han Seok-hoon and Han Seok-jin."

"The fleet of luxury vehicles—the Rolls Royce Phantom, the Bentley Continental GT, the Mercedes Maybach, and the Aston Martin DB11—are to be divided between Han Jun-woo and his mother, Han Mi-ran."

Seok-jin scoffed loudly. "The cars? The bastard gets the cars?"

"Item Three: Operational Control."

"All commercial entities, legal and grey-market, shall be consolidated under the management of the Organization. Han Min-jae is appointed Interim CEO with full executive power. No asset mentioned above may be sold, leveraged, or liquidated until the Chairman is confirmed deceased by the authorities. All family members will be transitioned from 'allowance' based income to 'salary' based income, contingent on their roles within the companies."

This was the nail in the coffin for the Vultures. They failed to work on anything. They relied solely on others. Now, Min possessed the authority to determine their wages. He could legally force them into starvation.

"Item Four: The Shares."

The room went deadly silent. This was it. The empire.

"The Han Holdings Group is currently 88% owned by the Chairman. Upon the activation of this directive, that 88% stake is to be divided as follows..."

Mr. Song took a sip of water. The tension was so thick it felt like the air pressure in a submarine.

"To Han Seok-hoon: 0%." "To Han Seok-jin: 0%." "To Madam Choi: 0%." "To Han Mi-ran: 0%." To Han Ji-yoon: 0%."

Seok-hoon stood up, his face purple. "What?"

"The entirety of the 88% controlling stake," Mr. Song read, his voice steady, "shall be divided between two beneficiaries."

"Twenty percent (20%) to Han Jun-woo."

"Eighty percent (80%) to Han Min-jae."

Min jerked in his seat, nearly dislodging Hana.

Had he heard right?

Eighty percent?

Min’s mind reeled. That made him the majority shareholder. That gave him absolute, unquestioned control. He controlled the board. He controlled the Vultures' inheritance. He controlled everything.

He couldn't believe his ears. He had walked into this room convinced that his father would spit on him from the grave. He thought the shares would go to the older brothers, or even Mi-ran. He didn't know what his father’s relationship was with the Vultures in terms of affection, but the way his father had treated him—the beatings, the insults, the exile—he was sure he would get nothing.

And now? He held the keys to the kingdom.

And Jun... Jun got 20%. A massive fortune, yes, but a minority stake.

The silence held for exactly three seconds.

Then, the explosion happened.

"THIS IS A LIE!"

Han Seok-jin, was on his feet. He kicked his chair back so hard it crashed into the bookshelf.

"This document has been forged!" Seok-jin screamed, his voice guttural, animalistic. He pointed a shaking finger at the head of the table. "You... you four-eyed rat! You changed it!"

"I assure you—" Mr. Song began, clutching the papers.

"Min-jae!" Seok-jin roared, whirling on Min. "Answer me for fuck's sake! Did you collude with him? Did you threaten the lawyer? Dad would never have given you this! CEO, yes, maybe, because you’re his workhorse—but the shares? Eighty percent?"

He was shouting now, spit flying from his lips. "You are the one he hated! Everyone knows it! You killed your mother and he hated you for it!"

Min remained seated, his hand instinctively covering Hana’s ears, pressing her face into his chest so she wouldn't see the monster her uncle truly had for a brother. But inside, Min’s heart was hammering a warning rhythm.

"And him!" Seok-jin spun around, focusing his rage on the small figure on the couch.

He began to stalk toward Jun.

"Jun is not even a part of the family!" Seok-jin bellowed. "He’s a stray cat his Mom dragged in! And he gets twenty percent? And we get nothing?"

"Seok-jin, sit down," Baek warned, his voice low, his muscles coiling as he stood up from the chair beside Jun.

But Seok-jin was past reasoning. The humiliation was too great. The entitlement was too deep.

"Is he fucking you, Min?" Seok-jin sneered, his eyes wild. "Is that it? Is the great Prince of Darkness screwing his little step-brother? Is that how he paid for his shares? On his knees?"

The vulgarity hung in the air, grotesque and heavy.

"Be truthful!" Seok-jin screamed, stepping closer to Jun, looming over the coffee table. "My mum came first! Then Min’s mum! And then yours! So why? Huh?"

He looked at Jun, who was shrinking back into the cushions, his face devoid of color, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

"Hey, Jun! Speak up! Cat got your tongue?" Seok-jin taunted. "Why do you deserve twenty percent and my Mum and us don't get any shares? Are you special? Or are you just a whore like your—"

Everything happened in a blur.

Seok-jin lunged.

He grabbed a heavy crystal ashtray from the coffee table and swung it toward Jun’s head.

"NO!" Mi-ran screamed.

But Baek was faster.

Baek didn't just meet Seok-jin's descending arm with a block; he turned the defense into an immediate counter. Grabbing Seok-jin's wrist mid-swing, he brought the attack to a sudden, violent halt. The impact of bone against muscle produced a sickening, wet thud.

Baek twisted. Rather than any fancy martial arts move; he used brute, efficient force. He torqued Seok-jin’s arm behind his back and drove a knee straight into Seok-jin’s solar plexus.

Seok-jin gagged, the air leaving him, dropping the ashtray. It shattered on the floor.

But Baek wasn't done. The insult to Jun had clearly struck a nerve. Baek grabbed Seok-jin by the back of the neck and slammed his face onto the mahogany table.

CRACK.

It was the table breaking slightly. Thankfully, not Seok-jin’s jaw.

Seok-jin crumpled to the floor, howling in agony, clutching his face, blood dripping from his mouth.

Pandemonium erupted.

"My son!" Madam Choi shrieked, knocking over her chair.

Seok-hoon, the elder brother, stood up, looking terrified and concerned, wanting to rush to his brother’s side, but posturing as if he might fight. "You animal! You broke his face!"

Baek ignored him.

At the exact same moment, the women moved.

Han Mi-ran threw herself over Jun, wrapping her arms around his trembling body, shielding him with her own grief-stricken frame.

Ji-yoon, shoved the other twin Dul toward Min and practically dove onto the couch next to Jun, using Min as a wall of body between the violence and the children, and her body protecting Jun.

And Felix? Felix was standing by the fireplace, eyes wide, cigarette case in hand, looking like he was watching a train wreck he couldn't look away from. He couldn’t intervene, but what he could do was to protect Jun and he moved slightly, putting himself between the Vultures and Jun’s flank.

"SILENCE!"

The word thundered.

It came from the back of the room.

Min stood up. He held Hana in one arm, effortless, while his other hand rested at the buttom of Dul lifting her up. His face assumed the Mafia Boss role. His eyes were voids of pure, unadulterated rage.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop to absolute zero.

"Sit. Down."

Min stared at Seok-hoon, who was hovering over his bleeding brother. "Sit down, or Baek will ‘break’ your jaw too. And unlike Seok-jin, I won't pay for your hospital bill."

The authority in his voice was absolute. It was the voice of a man who had ordered deaths.

Seok-hoon blanched. He looked at Baek, who was standing over Seok-jin with bloody knuckles, looking ready to kill. Seok-hoon slowly, shakily, sat back down.

Madam Choi was sobbing, dabbing at Seok-jin’s injury with her silk handkerchief, whispering curses.

Min looked at Mr. Song. "Finish it. Either you all sit and listen to what is left of this will, or everyone leaves right now not knowing what else is left for them."

The threat worked. Greed was the only thing stronger than their fear. Even Madam Choi quieted down, her eyes hateful but attentive.

Mr. Song, pale but professional, adjusted his glasses. His hands shook slightly as he picked up the last page.

"Actually," Mr. Song stammered, "Actually, there is nothing left. Except..."

"Except what?" Seok-hoon demanded, finding a shred of courage. "What else did he steal from us?"

"Except the final clause," Mr. Song said. "Regarding the succession of the Chairmanship itself. It states that if the Chairman is not found within six months, the shares become permanent, and..."

"And what?" Seok-hoon interrupted again. He stood up, pointing a trembling finger at the lawyer. "If I find out this document has been tampered with... if I find out you and Min cooked this up... I will raise hell! I will sue this estate into the ground! I will drag Min’s name through every court in Korea!"

The threat hung in the air.

Suddenly, there was a large crash.

Everyone turned.

Han Jun-woo had collapsed.

He had slipped right out of his mother’s and Ji-yoon's arms. He hit the Persian rug with a dull thud, his face grey, his eyes rolling back into his head.

"Jun!" Felix screamed, abandoning his post and rushing forward.

"Jun-woo!" Mi-ran cried, shaking him.

Min froze.