The silence stretched between them like a taut wire. Seo-jin's mind raced through every interaction with Handler Park, every briefing, every seemingly innocent question about her progress.
"You're lying," she said, but the words came out hollow.
"Am I?" Min-jae pulled up another file. "Park Ji-woo. Fifteen years with NIS, spotless record until three months ago when he suddenly paid off his daughter's medical debt—₩300 million worth. On a government salary."
The photograph on screen showed Park at a café, sliding an envelope across a table to a man in an expensive coat. The timestamp read two days ago.
"That could be anything," Seo-jin protested weakly.
"It could be. Or it could be him selling out undercover agents to the highest bidder." Min-jae's voice was matter-of-fact, but his eyes held something that might have been sympathy. "Tell me, when you found the Mokpo discrepancies today, what was his first question?"
She thought back to the conversation. "Can you access more detailed records?"
"He asked about accessing more records," she admitted.
"Not about what you found. Not about the security implications. He wanted to know how much access you had." Min-jae closed the laptop screen. "Seo-jin, he's not trying to help the investigation. He's trying to figure out how much evidence you can gather before they eliminate the problem."
The problem being me.
Her legs suddenly felt unsteady. She sank into the chair she'd been standing behind, the weight of betrayal settling in her chest like lead.
"My entire career," she whispered. "Everything I've worked for..."
"Hey." Min-jae's voice was softer now. He moved around the desk, crouching beside her chair so they were at eye level. "Your career isn't over. But if we're going to stop this and keep you alive, I need to know—do you trust me?"
She looked at him—really looked. The sharp suit couldn't hide the tension in his shoulders, the careful way he held himself like someone expecting an attack. But his eyes were steady, honest in a way that made her chest tighten.
"I don't know," she said truthfully. "Everything I thought I knew just got turned upside down."
"Fair enough." Min-jae stood, walked to the window overlooking Seoul's glittering skyline. "Then let me give you something concrete. Tomorrow morning, Park is going to order you to attend a meeting in Mokpo. He'll say it's to coordinate with local authorities, but it's actually a trap. The people involved in the arms trafficking know you're getting close."
"How do you know that?"
"Because they contacted me yesterday. Wanted to know if my new secretary was asking inconvenient questions." He turned back to her, and his smile was sharp as broken glass. "I told them you were perfectly manageable."
Seo-jin felt something spark in her chest—not fear, but anger. "You bought me time."
"Forty-eight hours, maybe less. After that, they'll expect results." Min-jae returned to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a secure phone. "Which is why we're going to give them what they want."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean we're going to let them think their plan is working. You're going to that meeting in Mokpo, just like Park orders. But instead of walking into a trap..." He handed her the phone. "You're going to spring one."
The device felt heavier than it should in her palm. "This is insane. If you're wrong about Park—"
"Then we're both dead and it doesn't matter anyway." Min-jae's expression was grim but determined. "But if I'm right, this is our only chance to get evidence that will stick in court and take down the entire network."
Seo-jin stared at the phone, then at Min-jae. Three days ago, he'd been a cold, arrogant chaebol heir she was supposed to spy on. Now he was asking her to trust him with her life.
"Why?" she asked. "Why risk everything for this?"
For a moment, his carefully controlled mask slipped, revealing something raw underneath. "Because my father built Hanwool to create jobs, to build something meaningful. And I'll be damned if I let criminals wearing suits turn his legacy into a front for murder."
The conviction in his voice decided it for her. Maybe it was stupid. Maybe she was about to make the biggest mistake of her career. But sitting in his office, surrounded by evidence of corruption and betrayal, Min-jae was the only thing that felt real.
"Okay," she said, pocketing the phone. "What's the plan?"
His smile this time was different—not sharp or calculated, but genuinely relieved. "First, we make them think you're falling for their trap. Then..." He moved to a safe hidden behind a painting, withdrawing a stack of documents. "We give them a surprise they'll never see coming."
Outside the window, Seoul glittered like a circuit board, millions of lives interconnected by invisible threads of power and corruption. Tomorrow, they'd find out which threads were strong enough to hold—and which ones would snap under pressure.
But tonight, for the first time since walking into Hanwool Tower, Seo-jin felt like she wasn't facing the darkness alone.