3. Investment
INVESTMENT
AIDAN — CANNES
“We’re leaving in five minutes,” Eun-ji announced. “Three vehicles. Jin, Sang-hoon, and Mr. Greene in the first. The rest of the group in the second with Mr. McCullough. Then the support staff in the third.”
Liam and Jason joined us again. “Send that third one out as a decoy goes through the main entrance, draws any press or fans. We take the principals out the service route.”
Jason nodded. “I’ll drive the decoy myself. Sunny will ride with the second vehicle to keep the idols calm.”
“What’s the situation outside?” I asked.
He checked his radio, listening to a crackling report, then looked up. “Venue security has established a perimeter, but there are approximately two hundred fans at the barriers. They know the group is in here. Some are crying, some are trying to get photos, a few are attempting to breach the line.”
“Lovely,” Liam muttered.
“They’re not going to disperse,” Sunny said quietly. “Not until they see the members are safe. That’s how it always is.”
I glanced at Jin, who had tensed at the mention of fans. Sang-hoon’s hand moved to his shoulder.
“The decoy needs to be convincing,” I said. “Can you get some of the crew to fill the vehicle? Make it look like the members are inside?”
Jason nodded. “Already arranged. Three of our local security team and two crew members. They’ll wear hoodies, keep their heads down. The fans will see movement, get their photos, and hopefully follow the decoy to the main entrance.”
“Timing?” Liam asked.
“Decoy leaves first, takes the Croisette, which is slower, more visible. Gives the fans something to chase. You leave thirty seconds later through the service exit, take the back streets. By the time anyone realizes the switch, you’ll already be at the hotel.”
“What if fans are waiting at the hotel?” I asked.
Sunny pulled out her phone, scrolling through what looked like social media feeds. “Some are already there, but hotel security is keeping them across the street. The service entrance is clear.”
“For now,” Liam said.
“For now,” she agreed.
Through the tent flap, I heard the crowd. Not the stadium roar from the concert, but something different. Anxious. Worried. A chant started up: Pryzm! Pryzm! Not celebration this time. Concern.
“They love you,” I said to Jin.
He looked at me, something complicated crossing his face. “Sometimes love is the most dangerous thing.”
Before I could respond, Jason’s radio crackled. “Decoy vehicle in position. Ready when you are.”
“Let’s move,” Liam said.
We stood, and Sunny immediately began organizing the members, checking that they had everything, making sure Tae was able to walk on his injured knee, wrapping a scarf around Woo’s face to hide how pale he was.
She moved with the efficiency of someone who’d done this a thousand times, half mother-hen, half logistics coordinator.
Sang-hoon helped Jin to his feet, keeping a steadying hand on his elbow.
Eun-ji appeared at the tent entrance. “Vehicles are ready. Jason, you’re clear to go.”
The Chief of Security stepped outside, and a moment later we heard the engine start, then the immediate reaction from the crowd. Screams, the sound of barriers rattling, camera flashes strobing through the tent fabric.
“Now,” Liam said quietly.
We moved as a unit. Me in front, Jin and Sang-hoon behind me, the other members clustered with Sunny and Liam bringing up the rear. The two close protection officers from Starhouse fell into formation on the flanks.
The service exit was around the back of the tent, away from the main crowd. But as we emerged, I saw at least thirty people pressed against a chain-link fence. Fans who’d figured out there might be another way out. They started screaming the moment they saw movement.
“Jin-ah! Are you okay?”
“We love you!”
“Please, just wave! Let us know you’re safe!”
Phones were up, recording, flashes firing. Jin’s shoulders hunched, and I felt him wanting to stop, to acknowledge them, to give them what they needed.
“Keep moving,” I said quietly. “You can’t stop now.”
Sang-hoon’s hand tightened on Jin’s arm, guiding him forward.
The first vehicle was waiting, engine running, rear door open. I handed Jin in, then Sang-hoon, and climbed in after them along with two other men. One had been introduced as the team’s vocal coach, and the other was the physical therapist. The door shut, muffling the screams.
The second vehicle was loading behind us. Tae limped in with Sunny’s help, Woo and Min-kyu climbed in behind him, and Haneul got in last waiting until the others were situated. The other crew members rode in a third vehicle.
The ride to the hotel was silent except for the hum of the engine and the distant wail of sirens.
Fire department, probably, still dealing with the barge.
Jin sat in the back between Sang-hoon and me, staring out the window at the lights of Cannes sliding past. Sang-hoon kept one hand on Jin’s knee, a touch so casual it might have meant nothing if you didn’t know what to look for.
I gave them space, keeping my attention on the street, the vehicles around us, the pedestrians on the sidewalks. Old habits. You learn to read a city’s rhythm, to notice when something’s out of sync.
Everything looked normal. Tourist couples.
Late diners. A group of French teens laughing outside a café.
We passed a movie theater where one of the Marché films was letting out.
The red carpet was lined with spectators five or six deep, but they stood behind the barriers, phones raised, waiting for a glimpse of an actor or director. Security was almost relaxed.
Two blocks later we crawled past another venue, where fans clustered around the entrance hoping to catch a filmmaker between screenings. They called out names, snapped pictures, applauded when someone waved.
Then we turned toward the hotel.
Hundreds of Pryzm fans filled the sidewalk outside the Majestic. They weren’t waiting for a glimpse of a celebrity. They were waiting for their idols.
We pulled into the service entrance of the Majestic, a narrow alley behind the hotel, blessedly free of cameras and crowds. Liam’s vehicle arrived thirty seconds later, the rest of the group spilling out with Starhouse security guards forming a loose perimeter.
“Jason’s security team has already cleared the freight elevator and the suite,” Liam said. “Freight elevator. Straight up. Jason and I will do a full sweep once everyone’s settled, but right now we need them off the street and behind locked doors.”
We moved as a unit: tight, controlled, professional. The elevator was industrial, smelling of cleaning solution and old metal. We packed in close, and I felt Jin’s breathing pick up, just slightly. Confined spaces after an explosion. Normal response.
The elevator opened onto a carpeted hallway on the top floor, as promised. Eun-ji led the way to a suite at the end, swiping a key card and pushing the door open to reveal the kind of luxury that costs more per night than most people make in a month.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the bay.
The floating stage was still visible in the distance, lights dimmed now, a few boats circling.
Probably emergency crews, making sure nothing else was about to explode.
The Croisette was crowded with limos, men in tuxedos on mopeds with women in fancy dresses behind them, and plenty of pedestrians trying to find their way wherever they were going.
“This is Jin’s suite,” Eun-ji said. “The rest of the group is across the hall. My room is next door.”
Liam was already moving through the space, checking windows, sight lines, testing locks. “These windows don’t open, which is good. Clear view from that yacht, though.” He pointed. “We’ll want curtains closed at night.”
“Noted,” Eun-ji said.
“Food?” I asked.
“I’ll have room service sent up. Something light. Rice, soup. And water. Lots of water.” She stepped into the hallway, phone already at her ear.
Liam caught my eye and tilted his head toward the door. I followed him out, leaving Sang-hoon and Jin alone in the suite.
In the hallway, Liam kept his voice low. “I’ve got two of Starhouse’s regular security team doing hallway rotation. They’ve been with the group for two years, background checks clean.”
He pulled out his tablet, showing me a schematic of the floor. “I’ve also mapped the hotel. Three stairwells, two elevators, service access here and here. Fire exits are alarmed. Hotel security is cooperating, but they’re stretched thin with other celebrity guests.”
“So we assume we’re on our own.”
“Always do.” He glanced back toward Jin’s door. “What do you think? Professional hit or obsessed fan?”
“The message Eun-ji got showed too much insider knowledge for a typical stalker,” I said. “Most obsessed fans go after a particular person. They don’t talk about ‘the center’ as if they’re discussing choreography. And the timing’s too precise. Whoever did this had access, knowledge, and resources.”
I rubbed my eyes, feeling the exhaustion settling in. “Especially with the disappearance of the fireworks tech, it’s clear this was planned.”
“Agreed.” Liam twisted his neck to release the tension in his shoulders. “Which means they’re not done.”
My phone buzzed. Text from Eun-ji: Here’s the personnel roster you requested. Everyone who traveled with us from Seoul, plus local hires in Cannes.
I opened the attachment. Names, job titles, passport numbers, hire dates.
“Police will vet them all,” Liam said.
“I’ll get Richard to do some research anyway,” I said, and sent it to Richard with a short note:
Travel roster attached. Cross-reference with previous employment, travel history, and known aliases. Prioritize anyone added within the past two weeks.
Within minutes, the reply came back. Just one line, typical Richard:
On it. Don’t get dead before breakfast.
Liam took the tablet back. “Our job is to keep Jin alive while they figure out who’s trying to kill him.”
“Speaking of which, I want to talk to Sang-hoon. Get a better sense of the dynamics.”
Liam studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Aidan? Don’t get too invested in a romantic relationship. We’re here to do a job.”
“I know.”
But as I watched him head down the hallway toward his own room, I thought about the way Jin had looked at Sang-hoon. Recognition and relief and something deeper. The way Sang-hoon had run toward fire without hesitation.
Some things you couldn’t help but invest in, whether you wanted to or not.
I knocked softly on Jin’s door. Sang-hoon opened it, still in his ash-stained clothes, exhaustion carved into every line of his face.
“How is he?”
“Showering.” Sang-hoon stepped back to let me in. “He won’t talk about it yet. What happened, I mean. He just... went quiet.”
“That’s normal. Shock has a delayed reaction.” I moved to the window, checking the curtains. “Police want to interview him tomorrow at ten. Will he be ready?”
“He’ll do what he has to do. He always does.” There was something bitter in Sang-hoon’s voice. “That’s the problem. He never says no, even when he should.”
I turned to look at him. “How long have you worked together?”
“Five years. Since before Pryzm’s debut.” He sank onto the sofa, head falling back against the cushions. “I was an intern at Starhouse. He was a trainee. We met in a hallway when he spilled water all over me rushing to rehearsal.”
I saw a momentary ghost of a smile across his face, there and gone.
“And you’ve been in love with him since then,” I said quietly.
Sang-hoon’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “I don’t—it’s not—”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m not here to judge. I’m here to keep him safe. But I need to know the truth about what’s happening around him, and that includes understanding who cares about him and why.”
For a long moment, Sang-hoon just stared at me.
Then something in him cracked, and he buried his face in his hands.
“I thought he was going to die tonight. When that firework hit…” His voice broke.
“And all I could think was that he would never know. That I’d spent so long in silence and he would die without ever knowing how I feel. ”
Jin emerged from the bathroom wearing only a towel slung low on his hips, hair damp and darkening at the edges, face scrubbed clean of makeup. Without the stage armor, he looked younger. Vulnerable.
Jin saw Sang-hoon on the sofa and crossed the room without hesitation, sinking down beside him. Sang-hoon immediately straightened, creating space, but Jin leaned into him anyway, head on his shoulder, eyes closing.
“Jin-ah,” Sang-hoon murmured. “You should eat something.”
“Later.” Jin’s voice was barely audible. “Just... stay.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
I gave them privacy by moving toward the door. “Food will be here soon. Try to eat, both of you. And get some sleep if you can. Tomorrow’s going to be long.”
Sang-hoon looked up, and in his eyes I saw gratitude and something else. Trust, maybe. The beginning of it, anyway.
“Thank you, Aidan.”
I let myself out. Liam was in the hallway, leaning against the wall near the elevator.
He showed me his phone. “Police responded. Burner phone, bought yesterday in Nice. Paid cash. They’re pulling CCTV from the shop, but it’s probably a dead end.”
“Professional.”
“Yeah.” He looked toward Jin’s door. “Someone wanted to scare them before trying to kill them. That’s calculated.”
“Or they wanted to see how they’d react. Test the security response.”
“Either way, we’re dealing with someone smart. Someone patient.”
“If we’re going on tour, we’re going to need clothes and electronics and the rest of our gear. Can we leave the team here in charge?”
“I’ll check with Jason.” He pulled out his phone and texted, and a moment later the response came in. “They’ll handle the group, and the police interviews. We need to meet them tomorrow morning at eleven at the airport in Nice.”
As we drove down the Croisette toward Banneret-les-Vaux, the small town where Liam and I owned an old farmhouse, I saw the harbor, the dark water reflecting scattered lights. Somewhere out there, the floating stage sat empty, scorched, silent.
Someone had tried to kill a boy tonight.
And whoever they were, they were still out there, planning their next move.