THE PHOTO AND THE LIE
1009 Words
_2:17AM. PRACTICE ROOM 3._
The lights were dead.
Only the red EXIT sign bled across the floor, cutting the mirrors into pieces.
Six versions of her stared back. All of them exhausted. All of them lying.
The contract was spread out in front of her. 12 pages of legal traps and pretty words.
Her name was already signed at the bottom.
L-I-S-A M-O-N-A-B-A-N.
She had signed it 20 minutes ago.
Not with shaking hands. Not with tears.
With a smile so perfect it could’ve been on a poster.
Because signing meant she was in.
And inside was the only place she could find the truth.
Her phone vibrated against the wooden floor. Once.
Unknown number.
"Sign it. Or I leak it. -H”`
Lisa picked it up. Read it twice.
H. Han.
No threats about family. Just her. Just the photo.
Good. That meant he didn’t know her mother was already gone. That meant she still had something to hide.
She opened her camera. Took a picture of page 1. Page 2. All the way to page 12.
Sent them to a burner email she’d made at a PC bang last week. Subject line: _Insurance_.
If CEO Han tried to bury her, she’d bury him first.
The air in the room felt heavy. Like the walls were listening.
She needed more than a contract. She needed proof.
CEO Han had said it himself this morning, leaning against his desk with that smile that didn’t reach his eyes:
_“Import-export. Textiles. Shipping. Your father was a terrible business partner, Lisa.”_
Terrible business partner. Not “friend.” Not “victim.”
Partner.
If there was a paper trail, it wouldn’t be in the practice rooms. It wouldn’t be in the dorms.
It would be on floor 30. Finance. Where they kept the skeletons.
Lisa stood. Her legs felt like water.
She walked to the door and swiped her trainee ID.
_ACCESS DENIED._
Red light.
Of course. Trainee IDs stopped working after floor 20.
She pressed her forehead to the cool glass.
“Think,” she whispered to herself. “Think.”
A memory surfaced. Coach Min, three weeks ago, yelling at a trainee for being late.
_“I have a Level 5 clearance, so I don’t care about your excuses. Move.”_
Level 5. Finance floor.
Coach Min was in Bangkok.
Coach Min knew CEO Han.
Coach Min looked at her sometimes like he was trying to see a ghost.
Was he the ghost?
The door behind her opened.
Lisa didn’t turn. Her heart was already in her throat.
Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.
“Can’t sleep?”
Coach Min’s voice. Low. Tired.
Lisa turned. He stood in the doorway, hoodie on, dance bag over one shoulder. Like he’d just come from somewhere.
“No, Coach Min,” she said. Perfect bow. Perfect trainee.
He stepped inside. Closed the door behind him. The lock clicked.
“You saw CEO Han today.” Again, not a question.
Lisa nodded. Her throat was too dry to speak.
Coach Min walked to the center of the room. Looked at the contract on the floor. Didn’t pick it up.
“He offered you debut,” he said.
Lisa’s eyes widened. “How did you—”
“I’ve been here 17 years, Lisa. I know his playbook.”
17 years.
The word hit her like a punch.
Coach Min sighed. He looked older in the dark. The lines around his eyes deeper.
“I was there too,” he said quietly.
Lisa froze.
“Bangkok. 17 years ago.”
The air left her lungs.
“With your father. And with Han.”
Lisa’s hands clenched at her sides. Don’t shake. Don’t cry. Don’t beg.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you’re going to do something stupid.” He met her eyes. “Something like trying to get into Finance at 2AM.”
She said nothing.
Coach Min’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile.
“You have his eyes, you know. Somchai. Same anger. Same refusal to look down.”
My father’s name in his mouth felt like a violation. And like relief.
“Did you kill him?” The words came out before she could stop them.
Coach Min didn’t flinch. “No.”
“Did CEO Han?”
“I don’t know.”
He reached into his hoodie pocket. Pulled out a small black keycard. Plain. No name.
Floor 30 was printed on the back in tiny letters.
“Finance is locked after midnight,” he said. “This opens it. For 30 minutes. Then the system resets and flags it.”
He held it out.
Lisa stared at it. “Why would you give me this?”
“Because if you don’t look, you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering.” He set the keycard on the floor between them. “And because if you do look and get caught, I need plausible deniability.”
Of course.
Lisa picked it up. It was cold. Heavier than it should’ve been.
“Don’t get caught,” Coach Min said. “And Lisa?”
“What?”
“Some doors, once you open them, you can’t close. Make sure you’re ready for what’s behind it.”
He left. The door shut softly.
No music. No lecture. Just the hum of the AC and her own breathing.
Lisa stood there for a full minute.
The keycard in one hand.
Her phone in the other, with the photo of baby her and the blood.
The contract in her bag, signed in ink.
She thought about her grandmother’s last words. _“The girl with devil’s eyes.”_
She thought about CEO Han’s Thai mug that said _Bangkok_.
She thought about Jae-hyun in the elevator. _“You move like him.”_
Then she walked to the door.
Swiped the black keycard.
_ACCESS GRANTED._
Green light.
Floor 30.
If the truth was buried there, she was going to dig it up.
Even if the dirt covered her too.
- Writer
