One week later…
Jungeon Dae-jung’s apartment smelled of cold soba and unwashed laundry.
The man who answered the door looked ten years older than his actual age. His hair was graying and unkept, clothes wrinkled, eyes bloodshot.
“Mr. Jungeon?” She said gently. “I'm Im Jiyeon, we spoke on the phone.”
He stared at her for a long moment, swaying slightly.
“You're the journalist,” his words slurred. “The one asking about my son.”
“Yes. May I come in?”
He stepped aside wordlessly.
The living room was a complete mess. On the wall, was two framed photos. One was a young boy in a school uniform smiling at the camera and the other was one of him, his wife and son.
Jiyeon felt her chest tighten.
“I told you on the phone,” Jungeon Dae-jung said, slumping on the couch. “I signed an NDA and c
