Epilogue
The distant clang of metal bars slamming home meet Mr. Rhee’s ears as his gaze drifts over the dirty beige walls of the featureless room he now occupies. He brushes a speck of lint from his tailor-made, navy-blue jacket, smooths out a wrinkle in his mustard-brown shirt, checks the time on his Patek Philippe watch, and folds his hands on the table in front of him.
As prisons go, Lewis Correctional is far from the most distasteful Mr. Rhee has visited. There are several in his native North Korea that are far more horrific. Even so, he has no desire to spend one minute longer than necessary within its confines.
He checks his watch again. Eleven minutes, he’s been waiting.
Typical Americans. No sense of punctuality.
The jingle of a key being inserted into a lock comes from the do
