Chapter 4 - Locker 418
Grace grabbed the brass key.
“I’m going to Grand Central.”
Min-jae blocked her.
“No.”
“Your brother is going to die.”
“My brother knew the risks.”
“He warned us.”
“He also used you.”
“He still warned us.”
Min-jae’s expression remained cold.
Grace stepped closer.
“You’re scared.”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
“Grace.”
“You get quieter when you’re scared.”
Jun-ho suddenly became very interested in checking the hallway.
Grace lowered her voice.
“You don’t want to lose him.”
Min-jae stared at her.
“I already lost enough family.”
Grace’s anger softened.
“Then don’t lose another.”
They reached Grand Central at 2:11 a.m.
The terminal was nearly empty.
Security guards patrolled distant corridors.
Min-jae’s men arrived in plain clothes.
Grace hated the whole operation.
The earbud.
The armored car.
The quiet hand signals.
The fact that Jun-ho had given her a bullet-resistant coat that weighed approximately as much as a microwave.
“This is ridiculous,” she whispered.
“It may save your life,” Min-jae said.
“It makes me walk like a refrigerator.”
“You look fine.”
Grace glanced at him.
“That was suspiciously close to a compliment.”
He looked away.
Despite fear tightening her stomach, she smiled.
Locker 418 stood inside a lower concourse near the luggage storage corridor.
Min-jae searched the area.
Clear.
Grace inserted the key.
It turned.
Inside sat a gray metal case.
No larger than a cookbook.
Grace lifted it out.
“Dad carried this?”
“Likely.”
“How do we open it?”
There was no lock.
Only a small biometric pad.
Grace touched it.
Nothing.
Min-jae examined the case.
“Old fingerprint technology.”
“My father died twenty-four years ago.”
“Then someone else can open it.”
Grace frowned.
“Who?”
Min-jae turned the case over.
Three initials had been engraved underneath.
E.M.M.
Eleanor Margaret Miller.
“My mother.”
They drove back to Haneul.
Grace refused to return to her apartment.
Min-jae refused to let her.
For once, they agreed.
Eleanor pressed her thumb to the scanner.
The case opened.
Inside were three things.
A cassette tape.
A sealed letter addressed to Grace.
And a thick stack of documents.
Jun-ho took the documents.
Min-jae took the tape.
Grace took the letter.
Her hands shook as she opened it.
Gracie,
If you are reading this, then I failed to keep the past away from you.
She stopped.
Min-jae watched her.
“Keep going.”
Grace swallowed.
My first obligation as an agent was to the law. My first obligation as your father was to you. I chose you.
Han Tae-sung built his power using people who believed fear would protect them. It won’t. The records in this case prove his American network was built through extortion, bribery, and murder.
Grace looked at Min-jae.
He said nothing.
But one line mattered more than everything else.
Do not trust the first person who claims to be helping you.
Grace reread it.
Then looked around.
Eleanor.
Jun-ho.
Min-jae.
Min-jae saw her face.
“What?”
She handed him the letter.
His eyes moved down the page.
His expression hardened.
“There’s more,” Grace said.
At the bottom, Michael had written:
The person who betrayed me was inside the organization hunting Tae-sung.
Grace frowned.
“What organization?”
Eleanor looked sick.
“The FBI.”
Jun-ho spoke quietly.
“You think someone inside federal law enforcement has been protecting Han?”
Min-jae’s answer was immediate.
“For decades.”
Grace sat down.
“So we can’t call police.”
“Police, yes,” Min-jae said. “Federal contacts, no.”
“You have police contacts?”
He ignored that.
Grace pointed at the cassette.
“What’s on it?”
Haneul still had an old audio system in the basement.
Grace wondered why a luxury restaurant owned a cassette player.
Then she remembered whose restaurant it was and decided she did not want the answer.
They inserted the tape.
Static.
Then Michael Miller’s voice.
Grace had not heard her father’s voice since childhood.
She covered her mouth.
“Grace,” he said through the speakers. “If your mother is playing this for you, I’m sorry.”
Tears filled her eyes.
Min-jae stood beside her.
Not touching.
Close enough that she knew he would if she asked.
Michael continued.
“The evidence identifies accounts, shell companies, officials, and intermediaries connected to Han Tae-sung.”
A pause.
“But one name must never be released publicly without independent verification.”
Paper shuffled.
“David Mercer.”
Eleanor gasped.
Grace looked at her.
“Who?”
“Michael’s supervisor.”
The recording continued.
“If I die, Mercer will present himself as an ally. Do not trust him.”
Jun-ho immediately pulled out his phone.
Grace whispered, “Is he alive?”
A minute later, Jun-ho looked up.
“David Mercer. Seventy-one. Retired FBI deputy assistant director.”
“Where does he live?”
“Connecticut.”
Min-jae asked, “Current activity?”
Jun-ho scrolled.
“Private intelligence consulting.”
Grace laughed without humor.
“Of course.”
The tape continued.
“Tae-sung believes the financial records are the greatest threat to him. They aren’t.”
Everyone looked at the speaker.
“The greatest threat is the witness list.”
Min-jae stepped closer.
“What witness list?”
Michael answered as if he had heard him.
“It is not in this case.”
Grace stared.
“Then where?”
“The location is known only to Eleanor.”
Every head turned toward Grace’s mother.
Eleanor went pale.
Grace whispered, “Mom?”
Eleanor shook her head.
“I don’t know what he means.”
The tape ended.
Silence.
Grace stood.
“You absolutely know.”
“I don’t.”
“Mom.”
“I swear.”
A phone rang.
Not Min-jae’s.
Not Grace’s.
Eleanor’s.
Unknown number.
She answered.
“Hello?”
An elderly man’s voice came through.
“Eleanor.”
She dropped the phone.
Min-jae caught it.
“Mercer,” Eleanor whispered.
Min-jae put the call on speaker.
David Mercer laughed softly.
“It’s been a long time.”
Grace stared at the phone.
“How did you get this number?”
“Grace Miller.”
Her blood chilled.
“You have your father’s eyes.”
“You knew him.”
“I trained him.”
“You betrayed him.”
Mercer sighed.
“Life is rarely that simple.”
“Try me.”
“Your father believed he could dismantle an empire using paperwork. Noble. Naive.”
Min-jae said, “Where is Han Tae-sung?”
Mercer paused.
“Ah. Min-jae.”
“You know me.”
“I knew your mother.”
Min-jae’s face turned to stone.
Grace saw it.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“The same thing everyone wants tonight.”
“The witness list.”
“Yes.”
“We don’t have it.”
“But Eleanor does.”
Grace looked at her mother.
Eleanor began shaking.
Mercer continued.
“Ask her about St. Matthew’s.”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
Grace whispered, “What is St. Matthew’s?”
Her mother said nothing.
Mercer laughed.
“There it is.”
Grace grabbed Eleanor’s hand.
“Mom.”
Tears spilled down Eleanor’s cheeks.
“St. Matthew’s was your elementary school.”
“Yes.”
“Michael hid something there.”
“What?”
“He told me never to return unless he was dead and Tae-sung found you.”
Grace stared.
“Where?”
“The old chapel.”
Min-jae immediately gestured to Jun-ho.
Mercer spoke.
“I wouldn’t rush.”
Everyone froze.
“Why?”
“Because Han is already there.”
Grace’s heart stopped.
Mercer continued.
“And he isn’t alone.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’ll understand when you arrive.”
The call ended.
Three cars left Haneul.
The old Catholic school had closed years earlier.
The chapel remained.
Boarded windows.
Rusting gate.
Grace stepped inside beside Min-jae.
Dust covered the pews.
A single candle burned near the altar.
“Creepy,” Grace whispered.
“You should stay behind me.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Grace.”
“Min-jae.”
He almost sighed.
Eleanor remembered the hiding place.
Behind a wooden Saint Michael statue.
Grace pulled it forward.
A hollow opened inside the wall.
Something sat within.
A leather notebook.
Grace reached for it.
Then church lights suddenly turned on.
Min-jae drew his gun.
Jun-ho’s men surrounded Grace.
Footsteps echoed from the balcony.
Slow applause.
An older Korean man appeared above them.
Silver hair.
Dark suit.
Commanding posture.
Han Tae-sung.
Grace knew instantly.
He smiled down at Min-jae.
“My disappointing son.”
Min-jae raised the gun.
“Where is Seung-won?”
“Alive.”
“For now.”
Han’s gaze shifted toward Grace.
“So.”
His expression changed.
“Michael Miller’s daughter.”
Grace tightened her grip on the notebook.
Han smiled.
“You look like him.”
“Good.”
The smile vanished.
“You stole something from me.”
“My father stole evidence?”
“No.”
Han descended the staircase.
“He stole my daughter.”
Grace frowned.
“I’m not your daughter.”
Han stopped.
“No.”
His eyes moved toward Eleanor.
“But your mother knows who was.”
Eleanor staggered backward.
Grace looked at her.
“Mom?”
Han smiled.
“Tell her.”
Eleanor whispered, “Not here.”
“Tell her.”
Grace’s heart pounded.
“What daughter?”
Han pointed toward the old photograph Grace still carried in her pocket.
“The little girl beside Seo-yeon.”
Grace pulled it out.
“That’s me.”
Han shook his head.
“No.”
He pointed toward the blurred reflection of another child visible in the window behind them.
Grace had never noticed her.
A girl.
Perhaps nine years old.
Han spoke six words.
“That girl was my real daughter.”
Grace looked at Eleanor.
Her mother was crying.
“Who was she?”
Before Eleanor could answer, the chapel door opened behind them.
A woman stepped inside.
Middle-aged.
Korean.
Grace had never seen her before.
Min-jae had.
May you like
His gun slipped slightly in his hand.
“Mother?”
