Chapter 13 #2
The crew was positioning a lighting truss stage left. They worked the chain motors with practiced efficiency, but the truss wasn’t where the plans said it should be. I'd studied them in Portland the way I studied everything, looking for variables that could turn into problems.
There was a mismatch. One rigger was on a headset, listening to someone, then relaying information to his crew. He pointed up. They adjusted the motor speed, brought the truss down two feet lower than the plan specified.
I moved closer. A stagehand walked past carrying a tablet. I recognized him from Portland.
"The truss position. Is that a permanent change?" I asked.
He glanced up. "Yeah, we're rerouting. The sound designer wanted to adjust the speaker array, so the lighting had to compensate. Rigging approved it."
"When was it approved?"
"This morning. Verbally. We won't file the updated plan until after load-in." He shrugged. "Happens all the time. You adapt."
It probably was standard. Tours adjusted constantly. Still, the weight distribution was wrong.
The change brought the truss lower and shifted it six feet stage left from the original position. I'd memorized the LA choreography after watching the rehearsal footage. Formation positions were consistent.
Rune's mark was stage left center. Three feet back from the edge. That's where the truss now hung.
"What's the weight?" I asked.
The stagehand checked his notes. "Truss section is eight hundred pounds. Lights add another four-fifty. Twelve-fifty total."
Twelve hundred and fifty pounds of steel and equipment, suspended forty feet above the stage. Above where Rune would stand during the opening number.
My body tensed. "Rigging certification current?"
"Inspected this morning." The stagehand looked at me with mild confusion on his face. "Is there a problem?"
I didn't know yet. Maybe nothing. Or maybe someone had made a change that looked professional, but wasn’t.
"No," I said. "Thanks."
He walked away. I stared up at the truss, watching the crew work.
I pulled out my phone. Compared the photo I'd taken of the Portland hang plot to what I was seeing now. The Portland configuration had that same truss positioned eight feet further upstage and twelve feet higher.
A forklift beeped behind me. The chain motors whined as the truss rose another six inches, then stopped. One rigger leaned out from the catwalk, checking alignment. He signaled down. The motors engaged again.
The truss shifted and the mounting point creaked. I heard it through the ambient noise.
The rigger heard it too. He paused, raising his hand in a halt signal. The motors stopped.
He spoke into his headset. Someone responded. He looked down at the truss, assessing it . Then he signaled to continue.
The motors engaged. The truss rose another two feet and locked into position.
I looked up at the truss again. It hung solid and still. Directly over where Rune would stand.
I pulled out my phone and called Eamon.
He answered on the third ring. "You at the Forum?"
"Yeah. I need you to look at something." I took three photos, the truss from different angles. "Sending now."
Silence while he reviewed them. He exhaled.
"That's hanging over the performance space."
"Yeah."
"How much weight?"
"Twelve-fifty."
"When did they approve the change?"
"This morning. Verbally."
Another pause. "Griffin, are you seeing a pattern or is this instinct?"
"Both."
Eamon was quiet for a moment. He spoke again, enunciating carefully. "If you flag this and you're wrong, it'll look like paranoia. Exactly what they're waiting for."
"And if I don't flag it and something happens?"
Rune dies.
He didn't say that. "Then people get hurt," Eamon said.
I watched the crew work. Efficient, professional, with no sign that they saw anything wrong.
"Your call," Eamon said. "But if your gut's telling you something—"
"I'm flagging it," I said.
"Good. Document everything. And Griffin, watch your back."
I ended the call and walked toward the production manager. "Excuse me, I need to raise a concern about the rigging change—"
He held up one finger without looking at me. "One second."
I waited. "Look," the production manager said, turning to face me. "I get it. You're security, and you're doing your job, but we've done three hundred shows with this production design. The rigging is solid. Certified. We don't have time for second-guessing."
"I understand, but the verbal approval means there's no documentation if—"
"If what? Do you think we don't know what we're doing?" It wasn't a hostile confrontation. I saw his bloodshot eyes. "We're on a clock. I don't have time for security auditing rigging decisions."
He walked away before I could respond.
My phone buzzed.
Kang: Security briefing in 10. Production office.
I looked up at the truss one more time. Solid. Professional. Approved. Wrong.
***
I was in the production office when it happened. Kang was mid-sentence, reviewing the airport breach with local security.
A terrifying sound cut through, metal shrieking and tearing free, followed by a crash.
Next, screaming. I moved before the sound stopped echoing.
I was out of the office and down the corridor. Someone shouted in Korean. Someone else yelled for a medic.
A few people ran toward the stage. Others ran away. A lighting technician pressed himself against the wall, a hand over his mouth.
The truss hadn’t fully fallen.
One end still held.
The other hung twenty feet down, caught by the safety cable.
Steel swayed. Lights dangled. Cables twisted. Directly below it, two stagehands were down.
One was sitting up, holding his arm, face white with shock. The other was on his back. Not moving.
I scanned for the band members. They weren't here. They'd been in the dressing rooms. Safe.
For now.
I looked up at the failed truss. Followed the angle of the drop. Calculated the fall line based on the mounting point position and the weight distribution.
Then I looked at the marks on the stage floor. Tape X's in different colors. Red for Jinwoo, blue for Taemin, green for Minjae, and silver for Rune.
The fall line cut straight through the silver X.
The medics reached the downed stagehands. One started a rapid assessment on the man who was sitting, checking pupil response and asking questions. The other knelt beside the unconscious one, fingers on his neck, counting his pulse.
"He's breathing," she called out. "Pulse steady. Possible head trauma. We need a backboard."
The production manager appeared, phone already to his ear.
Kang appeared at my shoulder. "Band members?"
"Dressing rooms." My voice sounded steady. Nothing like the emotions racing underneath. "Away from this."
"Good."
The backboard arrived. The medics worked with careful efficiency, stabilizing the unconscious stagehand's neck. His eyes fluttered but didn't open.
The other stagehand started talking. "It just—it came down so fast. We were right there. Another three feet and—"
He stopped and realized how close he'd come.
My phone buzzed.
Eamon: Seeing reports of incident at venue. Confirm status.
Griffin: Rigging failure. Two injured. Members safe. Truss fell on Rune's mark.
Eamon: Intentional?
I looked up at the sheared mounting point and the fall line. At the silver mark on the stage floor.
Griffin: Yes.
The production manager ended his call and turned toward Kang. "They have canceled tonight's rehearsal. We can't operate with compromised rigging."
"Understood," Kang said. "I'll inform management."
I looked around the loading dock. The crew stood in small groups, talking in low voices. The shock settled in.
Then I saw him.
Soo-jin stood at the threshold between backstage and the loading dock. Far enough back to be removed from the turmoil. Close enough to see everything.
He wasn't on his phone. He was watching.
Our eyes met. He didn't look away. His expression was calm, professionally neutral.
I held his gaze. Didn't blink. Didn't look away first.
The connection lasted three seconds. Then Soo-jin turned and walked away, already reaching for his phone.
I stood there in the wreckage as cold certainty settled in my chest. Soo-jin had chosen violence by proxy.
I no longer had the option of restraint.
I pulled out my phone and typed a message to Rune.
Griffin: Where are you?
Rune: Dressing room. We're locked down. Are you okay?
The word we're told me Jinwoo was with him. Taemin, probably, and Minjae.
Griffin: I'm fine. Stay there.
Rune: The marks on the stage floor
He'd already done the math, and he knew.
Griffin: Later. We'll talk later.
I stared at the words. They were inadequate and insufficient.
Griffin: I promise.
I pocketed my phone and looked up at the damaged truss one more time. Then, I stared at the silver mark on the stage floor where Rune would have been standing.
Where he would have died.
My hands finally started shaking. I curled them into fists and walked toward the exit, past the crew still processing what had happened.
Later, I'd told Rune.
If later happened.
I'd make sure it did.