Chapter 8: Hana Seo Does Not Like Me

The background check takes forty-eight hours.

I know it's running because Adrian warned me Hana Seo runs checks on anyone Celeste expresses professional interest in, and because two days after the conference bar conversation, a mid-level Laurent Axis coordinator emails me a consulting agreement, a project brief, and a request for professional references.

The consulting agreement is standard — confidentiality provisions, intellectual property assignments, the usual corporate boilerplate. I read it twice to make sure there aren't any surprises, but the surprises, if there are any, will come from Hana Seo, not from the legal department.

My references are built. Three people — one in Seoul, one in Singapore, one in Geneva — whose contact information routes through a relay system and back to operatives who will confirm exactly what Isabelle Renaud's CV claims. The Seoul reference is an actual person, a former intelligence officer who owes Adrian a significant favor. The Singapore reference is fabricated from scratch — a phone number that routes to a voice mail system operated by one of Adrian's people. The Geneva reference is the riskiest: a real person with a real company who has been paid to say the right things and has every incentive to keep her mouth shut.

They're professionals. They'll hold.

I respond to everything promptly. I signed the agreement. I provide the references.

Then I wait.

Waiting is the hardest part of any operation. Not the danger — danger is exciting, dangerous, a rush of adrenaline that sharpens the senses and focuses the mind. Waiting is the opposite of that. Waiting is sitting in a hotel room, checking your email every fifteen minutes, running the same scenarios through your head over and over, trying to anticipate every possible question and every possible answer.

I spent forty-eight hours reviewing Celeste's recent public appearances, studying the merger she mentioned, and trying to map the internal politics of Laurent Axis. I learned that the company is in the final stages of acquiring a smaller AI firm based in Tel Aviv — a company with proprietary technology in natural language processing that would complement Laurent Axis's security systems. The merger is strategic, significant, and likely to face regulatory scrutiny in at least three jurisdictions. This is why Celeste needs intelligence and optics support — not just someone to analyze data, but someone to help her navigate the political landscape.

The call comes four days later. Not from the coordinator.

From Hana Seo directly.

"Ms. Renaud." Her voice is measured and low, with an accent that suggests she spent time in both Seoul and London — the particular cadence of someone who learned English as a second language and has perfected it to the point where you can't tell when or where. "I'm Hana Seo, Head of Security at Laurent Axis. I have a few questions about your background before we proceed with the consulting arrangement. Do you have a few minutes?"

"Of course," I say pleasantly. I'm sitting in my hotel room, laptop open in front of me, notes spread across the desk. I've prepared for this call. I've prepared for every possible question she might ask.

The questions are professional. KyungHan — she knows more about it than a standard background check would surface. She asks about the timeline of the breach, about the response coordination, about specific individuals I supposedly worked with during the aftermath. My Seoul firm — she has the name of someone I'm supposed to have worked with directly, and she asks me to describe a specific project. I do. It's a real project; Adrian sourced it from an actual consulting firm and embedded it in my cover documentation.

She moved to my Geneva period. Asks about an industry event I supposedly attended in the spring.

"The Brücke Summit," I say. "Small group. About forty attendees, mostly infrastructure security and data protection specialists. It was held at the湖畔 conference center — the one on Lake Geneva, just outside the city."

"Who ran the keynote?"

I know this. I know all of this. I've memorized every detail because I knew she'd ask. "Matthias Vordermann. He's at Zurich Re now, but at the time he was still with the Swiss Federal Department of Foreign Affairs. His talk was about cross-border data flows and the implications of the Schrems II decision."

A pause. The longest pause yet.

"Thank you, Ms. Renaud," she says. There's no warmth in her voice. No signal that she's satisfied, no small social grace to indicate that the call is ending on a positive note. "We'll be in touch."

She hangs up before I can respond.

I sit with the phone in my hand and assess.

She didn't catch anything. The cover held. Every answer I gave was consistent with the documentation, consistent with the fabricated history, consistent with everything Isabelle Renaud is supposed to be.

But Hana Seo is thorough in a way that's qualitatively different from a standard corporate security check. She's not running a protocol — she's not just checking boxes, verifying facts, confirming that the paperwork is in order. She's building a picture. Testing for consistency not just in facts but in the texture of how I tell them. The pauses between words. The choice of vocabulary. The way I structure my answers.

She didn't catch me.

But she isn't done, either.

I know this because at the end of a call designed to put me at ease — a "just a few questions" call, a "before we proceed" call, the kind of call that's supposed to feel routine and bureaucratic — she gave me nothing. No reassurance. No small social signal that I'd passed. Just thank you and silence and the click of the line disconnecting.

She doesn't like me.

She doesn't trust me.

She doesn't need to yet, I remind myself. She just needs to not have caught me. She needs to find no reason to raise concerns. She needs to file her report and move on to the next thing.

She hasn't. That's enough.

I sent Adrian a status update: Cover holds. Security check complete. Entering in three days.

He responds: Good. Don't get sentimental.

I ignore this. I have never been sentimental in my life. I have never gotten attached to a mark, never confused the performance with the reality, never let my feelings interfere with the job. I am a professional. Sentiment is for people who can afford it.

I started packing for Laurent Axis.

But as I fold my clothes and organize my notes and prepare to step into Celeste Laurent's world, I find myself thinking about Hana Seo's voice on the phone. The way she said my name — Ms. Renaud, with just a fraction of a second's hesitation before Renaud, as if she was testing how it felt on her tongue.

She knows something.

She doesn't know what she knows — not yet. But she knows something is off. And she will keep watching, keep testing, keep looking for the crack in the facade.

I need to be perfect.

One mistake, one slip, one moment of inattention, and Hana Seo will be there.

I close my suitcase. I check my reflection in the mirror. Isabelle Renaud looks back at me — confident, competent, unremarkable in exactly the right ways.

I can do this. I've done harder things.

I hope so.

---