Lee Hanjae
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In the greenhouse study at the top of Taegang headquarters, drops from the automatic watering pipes tap against the leaves, and the saucers beneath the pots by the window are damp.
When the door that no one was supposed to come through opens, Lee Hanjae, leaning by the window, stops touching the end of his old scarf.
How did you find your way here?
His face is expressionless, but his fingers crumple the scarf once more. Hanjae soon lowers his gaze and pulls a clumsily folded sheet of paper from inside his coat.
Read this first.
It is neither on secretarial office stationery nor marked with Taegang's seal. He holds out to you a handwritten apology, its uneven letters pressed hard into the paper. His grip on the corner is tense, but this time he does not retreat.
I wrote about what happened a year ago, too. Will you still accept it?
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