I. The Silent Dawn
The morning after the Chairwoman's fatal fall was draped in a silence far heavier than the midnight sirens. The Taewon Group Tower, usually a beacon of commerce, was a mausoleum. Police tape cordoned off the West Tower's base, where Bae Ha-eun's reign, and possibly her life, had ended.
Kim Taehyung had not left his office. He sat motionless, the dawn light illuminating the grim reality etched onto his face. The "gentleman" persona that had served as his armor against the world was now shedding, revealing a man who was deeply, quietly furious. Two deaths in forty-eight hours, both dropping from the company's highest points, both tied to the power struggle. This was no coincidence; this was a declaration of war.
His phone rang, startling him. It was Kim Seok-jin.
"The police are calling it a suicide, Taehyung," Seok-jin's voice was rough, devoid of its usual polished timbre. "But the board—they are already maneuvering. They are saying Ha-eun was unstable due to the first death. They want an emergency meeting to elect the acting Chairman."
Taehyung stood, his movements slow and deliberate. "Ha-eun was many things, Seok-jin, but she was never unstable. She wore her ruthlessness like a diamond shield. She was prepared for everything except perhaps treachery ("harami") from her own side."
"And who do you suspect?" Seok-jin challenged, his voice sharpening with genuine fear or brilliant acting. "You? You inherit the company now."
"Or you," Taehyung countered softly, his voice cutting through the line like a scalpel. "You were the last person seen with her at the board meeting. You also inherit the stability you so desperately craved."
A long silence followed, thick with unspoken accusation between the two step-brothers.
"I am coming to the 80th floor," Taehyung finally stated, ignoring the police quarantine. "The only way to end this bloody game is to play it."
II. The Chairman's Retreat
Taehyung found the 80th-floor retreat suite in disarray. Despite the police investigation, the luxurious space felt violated. He walked into the lavish, private office—the one that had belonged to his father, and briefly, to Ha-eun.
He focused on the desk. Ha-eun, despite her outer serpent persona, had a meticulous, organized mind. Something was out of place. Tucked beneath the heavy granite desk calendar was a small, folded piece of paper—not a corporate document, but thin, aged, temple-quality paper.
He unfolded it gently. It was a crude, childlike drawing: two stick figures holding hands beneath a sprawling tree. Written beneath the drawing, in faded ink, were the words: "Ham hamesha saath rahenge." (We will always stay together.)
Taehyung's breath hitched. It was the same promise the Grandmother had spoken of. The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow: Bae Ha-eun was the little girl from the temple. Her 'ruthless' mask, the cold exterior she showed the world, had been forged to protect the kindness that was bound to that childhood vow.
She had remembered the promise. And in the end, someone had made sure it was definitively and fatally broken.
III. The Architects
Driven by a terrible certainty, Taehyung left the office and walked to the viewing deck—the balcony from which she had fallen. The police had removed the body, but the chilling altitude remained.
He pulled out his phone and made a call, not to the police, but to the head of his father's old security detail. "I need the full video log from the 80th-floor elevator and stairwell from 10 PM last night to midnight. Every minute. Filter specifically for Kim Seok-jin."
Taehyung knew his gentle nature was a liability. From this moment on, the aloof, calculating hero of the corporate films had to emerge. He had to shed the gentleman entirely. He was now an investigator, a suspect, and the reluctant architect of a truth soaked in blood.
He turned back to the room. On a small, side table, among Ha-eun's belongings, he noticed a silver picture frame. It wasn't a picture of Ha-eun. It was a picture of Kim Seok-jin and their mother, smiling in a way that spoke of absolute, unconditional love.
Taehyung looked at the picture, then back at the empty, luxurious room. His mind, now sharp and cold, pieced together the harami twist: Seok-jin—the polite, perfect step-brother—was the one with the deepest motivation. He was the only one who could have known how unstable his sister's power play made her appear. He was the one who truly benefited. He had engineered the chaos, using his own sister's fall to gain the ultimate power, all while feigning the gentlemanly composure that Taehyung himself had perfected.
The promise was broken not by a storm, but by the architect who looked exactly like the hero.
Taehyung picked up the phone again. He had to move before Seok-jin could finalize his plot.The game was on.
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