49. Standing Down
STANDING DOWN
AIDAN — SEOUL
We debriefed everyone after the concert. Jason reported that it had taken some time to evacuate the stadium after the fall of the lighting rig. “Ten people were injured by flying debris,” he said. “None seriously.”
“Thank goodness,” Eun-ji said. “Starhouse has already issued a press release apologizing for the disruption, though they say the investigation into the fall is ongoing. All those in the front two rows have been offered free tickets at the next Starhouse concert.” She smiled.
“Most of them were Starhouse employees or our VIP guests.”
“The police asked Sara Yoon how she got into the stadium,” Jason said. “She insists she showed her Starhouse credentials and walked in. That she had every right to be here, and she denies being anywhere near the lighting rig.”
The stage manager who had overseen the unloading of the extra equipment bowed nervously to Eun-ji, who was the ranking Starhouse employee.
“I am humbly sorry, I didn’t think about it at the time, because I was busy checking all the manifests.
But I realize now that I didn’t see the assistant get back on the truck.
That person matches your description. I noticed her hair because my daughter has the same blonde tips. ”
Jason turned to Eun-ji and bowed deeply. “I take full responsibility for this. I was there for the delivery as well. I should have spotted Sara Yoon myself.” His face was steely. “You will have my resignation on your desk immediately.”
I saw Sunny behind her husband, ready to cry.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Eun-ji said. “This isn’t the Joseon dynasty. No one expects you to drink poison over a mistake.”
I turned to my husband. “You were right, she slipped in with an equipment delivery,” I said. “Unfortunately she was ahead of us even then.”
Liam looked at me. “Too bad she’s a criminal. She would have been a great military officer.”
Jason looked at us. “For everything so far, Sara Yoon has been a planner rather than an actor. She has been the mastermind who never gets her hands dirty. What do you think made her change?”
“Maybe she didn’t have anyone left to trust,” I said. “Even the most meticulous planner can eventually run out of options.”
Liam nodded. “In our experience, professionals use assets until they run out of assets.”
“What happened to Grace?” Jin asked.
“She’s in custody,” I said. “Police picked her up as she was packing up her apartment. She had an airline ticket to Switzerland.”
“Did she ever say why she recorded us?” Sang-hoon asked. “We thought of her as one of us, part of our team.”
“She told the detectives she never thought anyone would die. Apparently she started working with Sara Yoon soon after she was hired at Starhouse, feeding her information she gathered from her translation work. Sara paid her, and eventually she came to need that money and didn’t know how to stop.”
By the time the police finished taking statements, it was nearly three in the morning.
Eun-ji had notified Starhouse management that Choi Ji-won and Lee Sang-min were cleared.
She had also told them that because Park Min-woo had posted negative things about Starhouse, he should be interviewed about a possible connection to Sara Yoon, though she had no proof of his involvement in her operation.
The conference room beneath World Cup Stadium looked as though a hurricane had passed through it.
Coffee cups, laptops, half-eaten sandwiches, and enough paperwork to keep a team of prosecutors busy for months covered every available surface.
Liam sat beside me with an ice pack balanced against his ribs, insisting he was fine in the same tone of voice he always used when he wasn’t.
The lead detective ended a call and put his cell phone down on the table. “Sara Yoon isn’t cooperating.”
Around the table, several Starhouse executives exchanged frustrated looks. “What does that mean?” Eun-ji asked.
“It means she requested an attorney and has declined to answer questions.”
“So she hasn’t admitted anything?”
“No.”
The answer shouldn’t have disappointed me, but somehow it did. Weeks of attacks, sabotage, and fear had conditioned me to expect a dramatic ending. A confession. A moment when everything finally made sense.
Real life, apparently, preferred paperwork.
“We’re obtaining court orders for financial records,” the detective continued. “Bank accounts, wire transfers, electronic communications. The embezzlement case is moving quickly.”
“And the attacks on Pryzm?” Eun-ji asked.
The detective hesitated. “Most of those incidents occurred outside Korea. Different jurisdictions. Different investigators. We’ll coordinate with them, but those cases will have to be pursued separately.”
“So right now what do we actually have?” one of the executives asked.
“We have a suspect in custody who attempted to sabotage a major public event. We have evidence of financial crimes. And we have enough probable cause to keep digging.”
Not as satisfying as a confession.
But enough.
Liam reached across the table and squeezed my knee under the paperwork. It was a small gesture, but enough.
I looked at my husband. He had run into trouble head on, as I had as well. Ours was a love that thrived in danger, as stupid as that might sound. I hoped that wouldn’t be the case for Jin and Sang-hoon.
Liam and I left then and headed back to our hotel, where we snuggled close together and turned off all phones and alarms. When we woke, it was already ten o’clock in the morning. We took quick showers and went downstairs to get breakfast, where we found Jin and Sang-hoon just finishing.
“Everything was captured on stadium cameras,” I said, as we pulled up chairs at their table. “Liam diving on Jin, the rigging falling, Sang-hoon kneeling beside Jin.”
I turned my tablet so Jin and Sang-hoon could see. Twitter, Instagram, YouTube—videos from a dozen different angles showing the same moment.
The comments were exploding, everyone wanting to know who Liam and Sang-hoon were. Then someone wrote, Wait is that Jin’s stylist? He saved Jin in Cannes!
Then a bunch of messages reiterating the same point. They’re in love they’re IN LOVE.
“It’s trending worldwide,” I said. “Sang-hoon’s name, your relationship, everything. Fans are putting together footage from the entire tour.”
“And the response?” Jin asked.
“Overwhelmingly positive.” I showed him more screenshots. “They’re calling Sang-hoon a hero. Calling you brave for loving who you want. There are only a few negative comments, but they’re getting drowned out by support.”
Jin stared at the screen. “The fans… They’re okay with it?”
“More than okay,” I said quietly. “They’re protective. Defensive. There’s a petition going around demanding Starhouse officially support you both.”
Sang-hoon took a deep breath. “I’ve been terrified that if anyone discovered the way I felt about Jin, it would destroy Jin’s career. That fans would turn on him, that the company would drop him, that everything he’d worked for would disappear.”
“Instead, they’re celebrating you both,” I said. “And there’s more. As of last night, Eun-ji said Starhouse’s PR team is planning a statement.” I smiled. “Confirming your relationship. Expressing support for both of you. Framing it as ‘love and loyalty are values we support.’”
Liam laughed beside me. “Turns out when a million fans demand something, companies listen.”
“But the dating ban—”
“Is being reconsidered,” I said. “Eun-ji said the industry is changing. Gen Z fans are different than previous generations. They want their idols to be happy, to be human. And you’re both untouchable right now.”
“Which is exactly the right end of a bodyguard assignment,” Liam said.