The Evolution of Species Chapter 5.1 - Hola!

From Manila to Bangkok, then to New Delhi. After that, I passed through Dubai and crossed the Atlantic. Thanks to traveling in the opposite direction of the usual route, it was a fairly leisurely trip. Luck was on my side, and I managed to catch a direct flight to Georgetown, Guyana. Once I landed on the American continent, getting to Mexico City was as easy as sipping celery soup.

I drove roughly 3,500 kilometers to Bogotá. With Panama ahead, I decided to take a local flight to cross the vast 150-kilometer Darién Gap jungle. Although I was carrying some baggage, it wasn’t a big deal. Well… it wasn’t entirely without obstacles. Of course, mentioning every little detail would be tacky.

From Panama onward, the schedule was relaxed.

I switched rental cars along the way, passing through Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Honduras, and Guatemala.

At rest stops, I refueled my calories with coffee, sandwiches, and chocolate muffins while continuing to speed along the Pan-American Highway.

Localized downpours and hurricanes trailed us, but as we entered Mexico, they veered toward Miami and faded away.

I drove through the night, refueled once, filled a 20-liter gas can to the brim, and kept going.

I deliberately played a Spanish radio station.

“Repeat after me. Soy, un, idiota.”

“Soy… un… what?”

“Idiota.”

“What’s it mean?”

“I don’t speak Spanish.”

Shin Sangpyeong eyed me suspiciously.

Teaching Spanish to my sidekick was getting old. My back was sore too.

We pulled into a gas station with a convenience store, refueled, and stocked up on calories. Chocolate bars, energy drinks, sports drinks, Doritos, cheese balls, gum, white chocolate muffins, a dry towel, two rolls of duct tape, work gloves, engine oil. And Shin Sangpyeong bought cigarettes and a lighter.

Then I paid $2.06 for hot coffee from the machine.

The rain strengthened and weakened in a tedious cycle.

I sat on a slightly damp chair outside the convenience store, dodging the rain, eating a muffin with my coffee. Shin Sangpyeong smoked across from me. In the corner of the store, the smell of cocaine and marijuana mingled with the gasoline odor from the station, seeping into the damp air.

As I savored the nostalgic scent, Shin Sangpyeong started spouting nonsense.

“About Director Kwon.”

“Kwon Youngwoo?”

“…Yeah. Think he’s given up on us?”

Out-of-the-blue nonsense.

With the coffee cup rim in my mouth, I glanced up at him.

“Why him?”

“Why?!”

Shin Sangpyeong snapped, a bit riled.

“He’s gonna come after us, isn’t he?”

“Now? For what? Because we know about his ties to the platform?”

“Exactly!”

The ends of his thick eyebrows shot up, his brow twitching.

“That’s what Director Kwon wanted to keep hidden until the end. As long as we know…”

“Sure. The ship’s blown up, the platform’s dead. Even if they think I’m alive, you? They’d assume you died back there.”

I slurped the lukewarm coffee.

“Even if they suspect you’re alive, you’re not that big a deal. Sending someone all the way here to take you out? Ridiculous. Too costly, too far. It doesn’t add up. Just to deal with you? You don’t even know anything valuable…”

“Shut up!”

He flared up.

I shrugged.

“Either way, who cares? We’re almost there.”

Just… about 800 kilometers to go.

Shin Sangpyeong started whining again.

“What about Executive Director Kwon?”

“…Kwon Sinwoo?”

Now that was unexpected.

“Why would Kwon Sinwoo come after me?”

“Who knows? How do you read a chaebol’s mind?”

“Are chaebols aliens or something?”

“What’s the difference? They’re a different species.”

What’s this now?

“They look the same. Two eyes, one nose, one mouth, and down there, that too…”

“Stop!”

Shin Sangpyeong’s face turned red as he roared.

I grinned.

“Well, he’s a bit obsessive, sure. But that’s just how arms dealers are. And he’s probably busy right now. If he found what I left behind, that is. Hopefully. Anyway, we had a good partnership. I got what I wanted, he did too, fair and square. Got it?”

“That’s not how you use that phrase…”

“Unless it’s the mafia’s omertà, it’s not worth chasing us this far. Understand?”

Shin Sangpyeong’s expression turned ambiguous.

“Fine, fuck. What am I even saying? I’m the idiot who followed you this far…”

He muttered something incomprehensible and spat on the ground. I ignored him, tossed the empty coffee cup toward the trash can, and stood. I jogged through the thinning rain back to the car.

Beautiful Mexico City.

The roads were quiet, the trees damp. The air was slightly chilly, but the sky was blue, and the sunlight warm. A typical Mexico City noon. The sun soared overhead, instantly evaporating the ground’s moisture, its hot UV rays ready to burn skin.

I passed a white house, a blue house, a red house, and stopped in front of another white house. It was equally quiet. A wilted orange tree stood in the small yard. Newspapers were piled on the front porch. By the look of it, about three days’ worth…

I glanced around, then strode up the steps. The stone tiles on the porch showed few footprints or signs of traffic. A fly buzzed around the railing. I bent down to pick up the newspaper. It was today’s. I reached inside the dusty Christmas decoration on the door. A key. I tucked the newspaper under my arm, inserted the key into the lock, and turned. Creak, creak, the sound of a rusty lever.

I opened the door. The smell of sand and old wood. Hummmm. The faint sound of an old fridge running. The interior was dim, with yellow sunlight streaming through the blinds of the balcony window, casting slanted lines.

Dust filled the gaps in the carpet, and the floorboards creaked.

Shin Sangpyeong, following me, quietly closed the door behind us.

“Where’s this? Your safe house?”

“Something like that.”

I answered absently, heading to the kitchen. The dim kitchen smelled of dust, not food. A few dried-up plates were stacked in the sink, and a halo of light shimmered behind the kitchen curtain. I opened the humming, ancient fridge. Bingo. A row of beer bottles sat neatly on a shelf. Pleasantly cold. I grabbed two with my index and thumb, flicked the cap off one with my thumb, and tossed the other to Shin Sangpyeong. He caught it midair. Good boy.

Sipping the beer, I strolled toward the living room. A familiar yellow floral couch. I threw myself onto it, dust be damned. Poof, a cloud of dust rose. I propped my feet on a stool and chugged the rest of the beer.

A creaking, near-broken couch, the flavor of cheap beer, the smell of dust, a tacky Monet knockoff on the wall, and a busted grandfather clock straight out of a museum. Familiar, nostalgic things. Humming softly, I let a bit of sentimentality wash over me.

Shin Sangpyeong, staring at me like I was crazy, suddenly turned toward the front door.

Cautious, deliberate footsteps. The careful sound of a Beretta magazine being cocked. The low, hissing breath of lungs constricted by tension and fear. The homeowner was back.

I vaulted over the couch’s backrest. Signaling Shin Sangpyeong to hush with a finger to my lips, I crept toward the door. I hid behind the ivory doorframe. Outside, the faint sound of a key turning. Creeeak, the door opened. Hoo, hoo, tense breaths he couldn’t hide…

A man with slick black sideburns and a greasy mustache stepped inside, eyes wide, gun raised. The moment he took a step…

“Ed—mun—do!”

“Aaaaagh!”

I lunged at him.

Edmundo screamed, swinging the gun toward me. I smacked his wrist upward, easily disarming him. Then I planted loud kisses on both his cheeks.

“Arghhh…!”

An even louder scream erupted. He must’ve been thrilled.

“Crazy, crazy! Insane!”

Edmundo roared, furiously wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand.

“Goddamn it! Yoon! Why are you here!”

“Why? Can’t I be?”

“No, it’s not that, do you even know what’s going on… Aargh! Stop! I said stop!”

Edmundo flailed, trying to snatch the gun from my hand. I giggled, standing on tiptoes to hold it high. A torrent of curses followed.

“You bastard! Why are you here!”

“Why?”

I hooked my finger through the trigger guard, spun the gun once, and handed it back to him.

“We had a deal. You said you’d handle Camargo.”

“Camargo, my ass! Finish your Korea job properly!”

“Hm?”

I raised one eyebrow, narrowing my eyes.

“Korea job?”

“Yeah!”

Just then, Shin Sangpyeong, holding his beer, shuffled toward us with a dumb look. Edmundo freaked, trembling as he raised the gun. Not very threatening.

“Who’s that guy! What kind of idiot did you bring to my house!”

“Who’s this shorty?”

Edmundo and Shin Sangpyeong asked the same question in Spanish and Korean, respectively. So I answered in both.

“Alright, introductions. This is Edmundo, my friend. And este es mi sidekick. Llámalo idiota.”

“What! How’d you introduce me?”

Shin Sangpyeong yelled, uneasy, and I shrugged, saying, “Just introduced you.”

“Damn it…”

Edmundo rubbed his face roughly, chained the front door, and turned, shoving my back.

“Get inside.”

“Whoa, whoa, calm down. I’m already inside.”

“Shut your…”

I mimed zipping my lips, and before Edmundo could curse again, I bent down, kissed his cheek, and bolted to the living room. A stream of profanities followed.

About five minutes later, Edmundo entered the living room. He held a beer bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other, the cigarette hand trembling.

“What the hell did you do in Korea?”

That question made me think back to Korea. Gray skies. Skyscrapers. A fancy penthouse and an even fancier Alpha.

“Uh. It was nice. Pretty good. You should visit sometime, Edmundo.”

“That’s not what I mean!”

Edmundo’s hand shook even faster. He brought the cigarette to his mouth, sucking hard. His cheeks hollowed, then puffed as he exhaled smoke. His mustache twitched. Kind of funny.

He’s about 160 centimeters tall, potbellied, with a mustache, 35 years old but looks 45, graduated from Mexico’s best university, then the top U.S. law school. He made about ten million dollars as a bad lawyer for two years but switched to being a good lawyer because it wasn’t his thing. We met when he was a bad lawyer, but even now, as a good one, we maintain a decent mutually beneficial relationship.

After inhaling and exhaling smoke a few times, his hand’s shaking eased slightly.

“They’re looking for you.”

That’s what he said next.

I snickered, and Edmundo flared up.

“Get serious!”

“No, no. I’d love to, but there’s always a dozen or so guys looking for me.”

“This time’s different.”

Edmundo’s voice dropped, anxious. He rolled his eyes, glancing at Shin Sangpyeong, sitting there like an idiot.

“What’s with that musclehead? Can we trust him?”

“What? What’s he saying? What’re you guys talking about? What’s that shorty blabbing? Is he trustworthy?”

Amazingly, Shin Sangpyeong asked the same thing in Korean. I nodded solemnly at both. They quieted down. Maybe I’ve got a knack for simultaneous interpretation?

“Anyway, who’s looking for me? Carlo? Stefania? Miguel? Angel Sanchez? Or, no way, Camargo?”

“Someone worse.”

That answer threw me off.

“No way, my real dad?”

“Gah!”

Edmundo choked, his nostrils flaring as he sputtered.

“No, idiot! The police! The police are after you! What the hell did you do in Korea!”

Well…

As a bad lawyer, Edmundo made some friends with government connections. Even as bad lawyer friends, they’ve got loyalty. They’re still good contacts for him.

“It’s not official. I know someone at PFM1)… I didn’t hear specifics, but I figured it out. Damn it. It’s you. It’s you.”

PFM’s after me?

Don’t they just chase drug criminals, their rivals, unlucky mafia snitches, political dissidents the U.S. doesn’t like, or their own colleagues?

“Did you mess with drugs? Or a cartel? No, no way. If you did, Martin wouldn’t have stayed quiet…”

Edmundo’s tremors worsened. His shaking hand lit another cigarette. After a few deep drags and exhales, his face looked less corpse-like.

“Alright… spill it.”

He spoke to me like he was handling a mafia whistleblower.

I crossed my arms and stared down at him.

Of course, Edmundo didn’t back down.

“Who, what, where, when, why, and how. Answer by the book. We need a plan. PFM’s no joke. It could be tied to a cartel.”

I sank into thought.

I hadn’t done anything to become an international fugitive… or, well, I had, but I didn’t think I’d left a trail big enough to make me one…

That’s when it happened. I heard faint footsteps outside the door and roof. Trained steps, the sound of metal, reinforced plastic, and Kevlar rubbing together.

I grabbed Edmundo’s shoulder, pulling him close, and pressed a finger to my lips. He went silent. Shin Sangpyeong, already up, hid behind the archway to the front door, scoping the outside.

“Damn it. What now? What’s this time?”

Edmundo hissed, voice low.

“Well, we’re about to find out.”

I pulled Edmundo behind me. At that moment, crash! The front door splintered. Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud! Rapid boots stormed in.

“Don’t move!”

“Drop your weapons, hands above your head!”

Police with FX-05 rifles charged in, shouting aggressively. Look… no matter how tough I am or how dumb Shin Sangpyeong is, we’re not tough or dumb enough to resist assault rifles. The latter’s a relief. I raised my hands obediently.

The lawyer had other ideas.

“Damn it! Who are you! Breaking into an innocent citizen’s home…”

Two cops aimed at me while another approached, twisting my arms behind my back and cuffing them with reinforced plastic.

“Hey! I’m a lawyer! Talk to me, don’t…”

“Shut up!”

One swung his rifle butt at Edmundo’s jaw. Edmundo yelped, falling back. I jumped, slamming my knee into the back of the guy who hit him. He collapsed with a grunt, but instantly, rifle stocks smashed into the back of my head.

“You bastard!”

I hit the floor, flattened.

“Stop! I said stop!”

Edmundo shouted, veins bulging. Shin Sangpyeong, the idiot, was already cuffed, getting pummeled by three cops.

I yelled to him in Korean.

“Hey! Remember the Spanish phrase I taught you? ‘I don’t speak Spanish’? Just say that, got it?”

Shin Sangpyeong nodded. Then a cop threw a hood over my head. Straight-up mafia tactics…

I sat in an empty interrogation room, cuffed to the chair with plastic restraints. The Omega Special Law was long gone, but this place was stuck in the 20th century. They even left the door slightly ajar to let menacing conversations drift in, meant to scare me.

This time, though, it was a bit different.

“What’s that? Let them go?”

“Damn it… just do it!”

“What about the cooperation request? It came from the superintendent.”

“Someone higher up said to drop it.”

“Higher up? Ha! The chief?”

A very intriguing and positive conversation.

“The guy next to him too?”

“That’s still… what’s that guy saying? Got anything useful? He’s not a U.S. citizen, right?”

“No idea. He’s a total lunatic. All he says is he’s an idiot.”

“What? He says he doesn’t speak Spanish?”

“Who knows? Could be pretending, could be real.”

Yeah, no. He really doesn’t know.

Picturing Shin Sangpyeong parroting “I’m an idiot” like a parrot almost made me burst out laughing. I shrugged my shoulders, desperately holding back a chuckle.

Then, through their conversation, I heard the sharp tap, tap, tap of high heels echoing against the concrete floor. Their chatter stopped abruptly. Soon after, the sound of salutes and sleeves snapping briskly.

“Good work.”

And a familiar voice.

“Deputy Director Busio, what brings you here?”

“I’m here to take someone. A personal acquaintance.”

Busio replied. His flat tone made it sound all the more sarcastic. The sound of two guys sucking in their breath followed. Yeah, it’s probably shocking to realize you’ve clubbed and cuffed the acquaintance of the Federal Police Deputy Director with rifles.

The door swung open.

Following the familiar voice, a familiar face appeared. A deeply wrinkled face, expressionless. Thick eyebrows and lips painted with slightly excessive pink lipstick. No jewelry, but a holstered pistol instead. I’ve seen her in a dress, but it’s clear her uniform suits her better. Her low heels made her crown about five centimeters shorter than I’m used to seeing.

“Hey, Sofia.”

I greeted her.

“Rude as ever.”

She said that, but she didn’t seem particularly angry. With a jut of her chin, she ordered the two stiff-faced cops behind her.

“Uncuff him.”

They hurriedly approached and released my cuffs.

I rolled my stiff shoulders and walked toward her.

Sofia turned without a change in expression. I quickly sidled up to her.

“Release the kid in the next room too.”

“Who is he?”

“A Korean guy. If you don’t want things to get messy, you’d better let him go quick.”

“Probably not here legally. Killing him off wouldn’t cause any mess, would it? What do you think?”

She asked in a stiff judicial police tone.

I snorted, twitching my nose.

“What’s the point of burying one idiot?”

“Does Martin know about this?”

“No need for him to know.”

“Hmm…”

Sofia glanced at me without stopping her stride. One corner of her mouth curled up, breaking her blank expression for the first time, but it wasn’t exactly a welcoming smile. She stared at me, smirking silently, then said one thing.

“I’ll put it on your tab.”

Not great news, but not a terrible deal either. I nodded and asked what I really wanted to know.

“Who is it?”

Not many people can move PFM. If it’s really a cartel, I need to prepare. Sofia’s brow twitched faintly.

“Watch your back for a while.”

“Just tell me this. Is it a cartel?”

Sofia glanced up at me with an ambiguous expression, still walking.

“I don’t know where you’ve been or what you’ve been up to, but tone it down. If it’s Mexico or South America, you might handle it, but not Asia.”

I’d expected an answer about cartels or political retaliation.

“…Asia?”

That was out of left field.

But Sofia clamped her mouth shut, as if that was all she’d say. Soon, the corridor ended. She flung the door open.

“Tell me your destination, and I’ll get you there.”

An inconspicuous black sedan waited at the entrance. Sofia spoke again.

“The idiot will be brought out soon. The lawyer’s been sent back.”

“Thanks.”

I leaned down to kiss her cheek, but I froze as hurried footsteps and a very crude voice echoed from a distance.

“What’s that! I just got here! What do you mean sent back! I clearly said to hold them…”

Korean… and that crude voice…

My sharp mind instantly connected all the dots. Sofia’s mention of Asia. The judicial police’s friends aren’t just tied to drug cartels. They’re cozy with arms cartels too. And I know someone with both the motive and the means to chase me.

I whipped around toward the voice.

An Australopithecus was there.

Pointing at me, shouting, “Hey, hey!”

“You, you…!”

Of course, I had no intention of hearing excuses.

I launched myself at him.

“What, what, what! What’s that!”

A perfect elbow kick landed square between Kwon Jaewoo’s collarbones, and at the same time, a scream erupted from elsewhere.

“You, you, you!”

Shin Sangpyeong’s shrill scream.

I turned my head. Sofia’s face, rarely distorted with shock, came into view. What? I tilted my head, and at my feet, Kwon Jaewoo, crushed under my weight, thrashed.

“You, you, b-b-blood…!”

Blood?

I followed the gazes of Idiot 1, Idiot 2, and Sofia downward. Below my pant leg, bright crimson blood streamed down my ankle, soaking my shoe.

Well…

I looked up again.

Kwon Jaewoo, the idiot, was gaping and screeching as if he were the one bleeding. I calmly shut him up.

“Shut it.”

I examined the kit. I flipped it over, reread the instructions on the case, tossed the kit in the trash, and stood from the toilet.

As I exited the public restroom, the two idiots, fidgeting nervously near a bench, scrambled toward me.

“What’s up? What happened? What’s going on?”

They yammered frantically. Noisy. I shoved Kwon Jaewoo, who was shoving his face at me, and warned him.

“Don’t tell Kwon Sinwoo. You’re dead if you do.”

Just one sentence, but Kwon Jaewoo’s face turned ghostly white, while Shin Sangpyeong, behind him, turned blue.

Kwon Jaewoo gasped, covering his mouth with one hand, letting out a weird, pig-squealing noise.

“It’s… it’s that, right? That’s it, isn’t it? It’s… right? No, no way. How many lines? Do you even know how to read it? Let’s check again. Get another brand. There’s a chance it’s wrong…!”

Unable to hold back, I hurled the water bottle in my hand at his face.

Shin Sangpyeong picked up the rolling bottle, glancing between Kwon Jaewoo and me. His expression was comically serious. Deep wrinkles creased his brow, and his jaw was set like stone.

“Why are you here?”

He asked Kwon Jaewoo. Kwon Jaewoo finally turned to him. His eyes went blank. It was the look of someone seeing a person they might or might not recognize, and I realized this idiot didn’t remember Shin Sangpyeong.

After a few seconds, he jolted as if hit by a stun gun.

“You, you… you! You! Why are you here? Why are you with Yoon Hakyung?!”

“Answer the question, youngest master of Seoran.”

Shin Sangpyeong said again, irritated.

“Who sent you?”

“What’s it to you?”

I left the two idiots to bicker and turned away. My mind raced. I needed to overhaul my plans. Of course, unexpected situations happen in this line of work, and a true pro must always adapt flexibly. For example… that time in Cuba, when the boat I’d arranged didn’t show, and mafia goons were unloading bullets over the water, I revised the plan to swim straight to the destination, Port Antonio. About 200 kilometers, was it…

Before I’d taken a few steps, I stopped.

A slightly cloudy, blue afternoon. A heavy white limousine glided silently over the uneven old-town road, stopping not far from me. The door opened, and someone stepped out. A familiar face, not exactly welcome.

Daniel, with a smiling face, greeted me.

“Long time no see, young master. Glad to see you looking healthy.”

White gloves, a black suit without a vest, polished shoes, hair slicked back with not a strand out of place. Still the same insufferable Daniel.

“Sir Martin is waiting.”

One type of person I dislike is those who insist on the title “Sir Martin,” and Daniel’s at the top of that list. He’s a fervent devotee of old-world relics and, frankly, a relic himself.

“Let’s go.”

He opened the limousine’s back door.

The two idiots, catching on, rushed over. Kwon Jaewoo shouted.

“Hey! Where you going! You running again?!”

I’m not running, of course. This is… an invitation I can’t refuse, let’s say…

Daniel glanced back, smiling faintly.

“Sir Martin has invited the young master’s friends as well. Please, come along.”

Damn it.

The limousine passed through the main gate. Two guards saluted briefly. The driver reported the car’s entry via earpiece. Pink brick roads led to lawns, marble columns, and small fountains, followed by an 18th-century-style marble gazebo filled with pink geraniums, my mom’s taste.

The limousine finally stopped. A wide, circular courtyard led to a grand entrance lobby with square marble doorframes.

“Man, nice house.”

Kwon Jaewoo, the idiot, started spouting nonsense.

“How much does a place like this cost in Mexico? Five or six billion? What’s the market like here?”

Instead of telling him this splendid Romas mansion is worth about 1.5 billion pesos, I ignored him.

“You okay?”

He started asking again. Shin Sangpyeong had been furrowing his brow, playing serious since earlier.

“But where are we? Who’re we meeting?”

Thankfully, before more dazed questions could spill out, a white-gloved hand opened the limousine door.

I ignored Daniel’s offered hand and stepped out. Unfazed, still smiling, Daniel asked again.

“Sir Martin is waiting. Shall I take you to him now?”

“Yeah. Orange juice too.”

“It’s already prepared.”

Daniel took the two guests he didn’t want to call guests, and I went the other way. Through a colonial-style corridor and garden, past terracotta marble hallways and a lobby, a lush fairway appeared.

There was “Sir Martin,” in pink golf attire and a dazzling white cap, carefully lining up a shot with a 4-iron. And in front of the iron, some idiot with a golf ball balanced on his head.

No need to ask what was happening.

With a whoosh, the 4-iron sliced through the air. A beautiful swing. Thwack! A scream, a broken tooth, and the ball flew together.

“Not quite right.”

She gripped the iron again, resetting her stance.

I admired her swing, walking to a white parasol and sitting down. A chilled glass of orange juice, freshly served, sat on the table, condensation beading on the glass.

I’d drunk half when she finally flicked her gaze at me. Briefly. Whoosh! The iron swung powerfully again.

“So, how was your Korea trip? What’d Sofia say?”

She already knew I’d been to Korea and what I’d discussed with Sofia, but asking again was her conversational style. I don’t mind it much. Well, don’t love it either.

With the gurgling of a poor idiot whose nose and cheekbones were smashed in the background, she handed the iron to the caddy behind her and removed her golf gloves.

“S-sorry, so sorry… please spare me…”

The guy sprawled on the ground wailed with a distorted face.

Calmly ignoring him, the Alpha approached me. She casually grabbed my orange juice glass and chugged it.

Her hair, once stunning blonde ten years ago, is now streaked with gray. Deep wrinkles frame her eyes. Still, her body’s solid. A bit short for an Alpha, but not a flaw.

This Alpha. Martina Loera de la Valcasar. Followed by a litany of surnames like Nepomuceno, Estanislao, and so on.

Most just call her Martin Valcasar.

I call her Dad.

“Let’s talk business.”

At her words, I shrugged, laced my hands behind my head, and leaned back in the chair.

“You told me not to talk about your business.”

That’s been my rule since I was 15.

Specifically, since my non-blood-related older brother went to prison. (A fine family feud finale.)

Dad’s mouth tilted into a crooked smile.

“Your business.”

She sat across from me.

I snorted, staring at her.

“My business is even less your concern.”

“Gustavo’s out.”

“I said no business talk.”

“Well, he was forced out. Had some issues with the Caracas operation.”

At this point, I covered my ears.

Sadly, Dad kept talking, and my delicate ears couldn’t block it.

“So, we need to open a new deal…”

Dad looked at me meaningfully. I had no choice but to lower my hands and cross my arms instead.

Gustavo was the arms dealer supplying Dad’s business. Not a manufacturer like Kwon Sinwoo, but more of a broker. Quick and well-connected, he’d worked with Dad for a while, operating not just in Mexico but across South America, from Colombia to Chile.

Of course, he doesn’t only do clean business. Like most arms dealers.

So, it’s no surprise if Interpol or the FBI nabbed him.

“If Gustavo’s done, there are plenty of others. You’re not asking me to make introductions…”

“Sweet Pie.”

Dad called me in the sugary tone she used when I was a kid. I still don’t know where “Pie” comes from.

“Why not?”

“What?”

Bad feeling.

“I considered Lucas at first. He’s got reach in the U.S., good merchandise, reliable guy.”

I debated standing up but missed the timing.

“But.”

Dad’s smile pulled at her lips. Her eyes didn’t smile.

“If there’s a more trustworthy option, that changes things.”

She placed one hand on the marble table, curling her index finger to tap the marble with her nail. Tap, tap. Her habit, and not a great omen.

“You know how our business works, Sweet Pie. It’s a family business. Who’s more trustworthy than family?”

This Alpha, who sent her own son to prison 11 years ago with her own hands, said that. So I couldn’t help but give her a distrustful look. She chuckled briefly, then leaned slightly toward me.

“Seems you got pretty cozy with an arms dealer in Korea. I’m proud.”

And I realized who her “more trustworthy option” was.

I thought I laughed, but my voice came out sharp.

“That’s got nothing to do with your business. Stay out of it.”

Her laugh was more natural. She whispered to me in a soft tone.

“Your little… hobby has never affected our family. Or the family business. Until now.”

When Dad repeats something twice, it means things are really serious.

I shot to my feet.

I had other things to do. Like beating Kwon Jaewoo more or torturing him to confess why he’s really here…

Dad’s gentle voice warned me again from behind, underscoring the gravity.

“Sweet Pie. I’m going to meet that bastard. Because I’m really curious about the face of the trash who got my son pregnant before marriage.”

Kwon Jaewoo, the idiot, started yelling the moment he saw me.

“Hey, hey! This isn’t a hotel! You crazy bastard! Where is this! Where’d you drag me to!”

Did he seriously think this was a hotel?

“The guards were carrying guns! Not pistols, but huge ones, damn it! Like shotguns or something!”

“They’re guards.”

I kindly answered the idiot from a peaceful, safe country like Korea, then immediately grabbed him by the collar.

“Why are you here?”

“Is that how you ask a question?!”

He grimaced fiercely, trying to push me away. I used his momentum to give him a light shove. He flailed his arms, stumbled, and plopped onto the couch behind him.

I approached him slowly, step by step. He puffed out his chest, pretending not to be scared, but his tiny, baby-bird heart was pounding fast.

I asked again, very kindly, with a gentle smile for good measure.

“Why. Are. You. Here.”

Kwon Jaewoo’s Adam’s apple bobbed once. His face was paler than before. But if he gave in easily, he wouldn’t be an idiot.

“Damn it. Wanna know? I came to find you!”

“Oh, so you’re the one who got PFM to raid my friend’s house?”

“I didn’t hurt anyone!”

“My heart’s hurt, my heart.”

I lightly tapped his shin, clutching my left chest with one hand. Veins popped on Kwon Jaewoo’s neck.

“You a thug or something?!”

Then he pointed at me.

“And I’ve got plenty to say too! Why the hell are you with Shin Jihoon?! You betray Sinwoo hyung, run off, and the best you can do is Shin Jihoon?!”

A spectacular misunderstanding, and I don’t even know who Shin Jihoon is.

“Point one. I didn’t run. I ended things with Kwon Sinwoo peacefully and amicably. Because the job wrapped up nicely. What, you saying Kwon Sinwoo didn’t find the platform’s laptop I left?”

Kwon Jaewoo’s face twisted bizarrely.

“Point two. I don’t know who Shin Jihoon is.”

“What? The guy with you isn’t Shin Jihoon?”

“Nope.”

Out of courtesy to Idiot 1, I clarified Idiot 2’s name again.

“He’s Shin Sangpyeong. Weird name, sure, but don’t mock it. He’s an adult.”

“Damn it, it’s Shin Jihoon!”

Things got messy for a moment, but it settled down after about a minute.

Now I knew Shin Sangpyeong’s real name. Using a pseudonym, and one Kwon Jaewoo recognized instantly, no less. Classic Idiot 2 move. And suspecting my relationship with Shin Sangpyeong—er, Shin Jihoon—was classic Idiot 1.

After huffing for a bit, Idiot 1 slumped his shoulders, dropped his head, and spoke in a shaky, slightly nasal voice.

“Aren’t you, like, curious how Sinwoo hyung’s doing?”

“Hm… I am. Is he doing well? And one more time, did he find the platform’s laptop I left?”

Kwon Jaewoo spat out a “damn it” for no reason.

“Laptop, platform, whatever, damn it. Hyung’s doing just fine!”

If Kwon Sinwoo’s doing fine, why’s he yelling at me? Guess he’s upset about it or something.

He shrugged, continuing in a mocking tone.

“Thanks to someone pulling a ghosting act out of nowhere. Man, damn it! Even a stray cat disappearing makes people worry, you know? And you, a human being, damn it, think it’s okay to ghost like that? Huh?!”

He started calm but ended up shouting.

Panting, he pointed at me again.

“And, and, and you!”

His face was beet red.

“What’s your deal! Where is this place?!”

“My house.”

“Crazy! Why are there armed guards roaming around your house?!”

“They’re private security.”

“What kind of work needs private security at home?! My family sells guns, and we don’t even have armed guards!”

“Just business.”

“What business?!”

“Isn’t that a bit personal?”

“Personal? Everything I’m asking is public business!”

His excitement was so over the top, his nonsense was even more over the top…

But I’m a pro at handling idiots.

Instead of responding to nonsense with nonsense, I walked over and plopped onto his lap. With a long “kyaaaah” scream, Kwon Jaewoo shoved me off and rolled to the side. He acted like the world’s worst touch-averse patient, but at least the nonsense stopped.

I sat on the couch where Kwon Jaewoo had been a second ago, legs spread comfortably. I rested my elbows on my knees, propped my chin on my clasped hands, and looked down at him in a relaxed, non-threatening pose.

“Let’s tweak the question. When’s Kwon Sinwoo coming here?”

“Damn it… how’d you know hyung’s coming?”

“Aha. So Kwon Sinwoo did send you.”

Caught by simple leading questions, Kwon Jaewoo gaped dumbly. I reached out, lifting his chin to close his mouth before drool could escape. He jolted, leaping up and backing away to a safe distance.

I asked again.

“So it wasn’t Kwon Youngwoo who sent you?”

“Ye-Youngwoo hyung and I aren’t close.”

He averted his gaze, then spoke again.

“Youngwoo hyung’s looking for someone… but I won’t tell him Shin Jihoon’s here. I’ve got that much loyalty.”

No idea what loyalty he thinks he owes me, but if he’s not talking, that’s worth a nod. Not that I’d actually praise him.

“I came here to help Sinwoo hyung. He’s busy with work… and he said you’re in Mexico.”

“You moved PFM on your own?”

He gave a “what’s PFM?” dumb look, so I kindly clarified.

“The police.”

“Well… I was looking for someone. Of course I asked the police for help… Hey, don’t misunderstand. I didn’t say to lock you up. Just a slight communication mix-up…”

Sigh… I stared at him. He flinched.

The judicial police’s best friends are drug cartels, and their most important friends are arms cartels. They meet drug cartels when they need money and arms cartels when they buy weapons with that money. When a distant cousin of SR, sitting near the top of the arms cartel pyramid, shows up saying, “Find someone,” only this idiot wouldn’t know what’d happen.

“Just go back to Korea and stop meddling.”

At my gentle advice, Kwon Jaewoo bristled.

“Why should I? I’m not going back!”

“Then stay here forever.”

“Crazy? Why would I stay here forever?!”

Toying with him was getting boring.

“So. When’s Kwon Sinwoo coming?”

What’s so hard about this simple question? Kwon Jaewoo sidetracked.

“Are you really… pregnant?”

This guy’s watched too many dramas. Illegitimate kids, half-siblings, hidden lineage secrets, that stuff. He kept asking, legs trembling.

“Did you test again? I mean, it’s not 100%, right?”

Sorry, it’s 99%.

“Wouldn’t a hospital be better? Yeah, that’s it. Let’s go to a hospital. No way. It can’t just… happen like that, right?!”

His voice got loud again.

If I let him go, he’d spew all kinds of nonsense, so I shut him up.

“It’s really pregnancy.”

Kwon Jaewoo’s mouth gaped again.

“Is it hyung’s?”

Rule 1: Don’t answer nonsense.

“Not Shin Jihoon’s kid…”

Rule 2: Stop excessive nonsense.

I grabbed a cushion from the couch armrest and threw it. Kwon Jaewoo yelped as it hit him.

“Four weeks. For the record, I’m very healthy. The fetus probably is too. So no need for your concern.”

“You’ve got a real way with words…”

I shrugged.

“Just answer. When’s Kwon Sinwoo coming?”

I need to teach this guy how much I hate repeating questions…

“And what’s he selling? Ammo? Rifles? Tanks? Combat drones? What’s the deal?”

“You’re asking for trouble. We don’t sell weapons to just anyone. Ever heard of the defense industry?”

Kwon Jaewoo, as expected, spouted ignorant nonsense.

Sure, you can’t sell openly. But that’s true for Lockheed Martin and DND too. Still, the fact that countless arms brokers in this world make a living shows things don’t always follow the rules.

“Listen. Call Kwon Sinwoo right now and tell him not to come.”

“What? You think that’ll work? Hyung’s coming for business.”

Kwon Jaewoo replied mockingly, and I continued calmly.

“Listen. My dad’s Catholic. Very, very devout. What do you think a very, very devout Catholic thinks about premarital pregnancy?”

“What? What’re you getting at?”

“Business talk? You think it’ll stay business talk?”

Kwon Jaewoo’s pupils started shaking.

“Hyung’s… meeting for business… with your dad?”

I wanted to just beat this idiot, but I held back. For now, I had to stop Kwon Sinwoo and Dad from meeting.

“One more time. Answer straight. When’s Kwon Sinwoo arriving?”

“Uh, uh, probably… on a plane now… should be here soon…”

Damn it.

Heading to the entrance, two guards blocked me. Both armed, built like Siberian grizzlies.

I looked up, and the two bears answered mechanically.

“Stay in the house.”

No need to hear more. I tried to slip between them, but they blocked me again, this time physically, acting threatening. Their attitude and tone screamed mafia tactics. Taking down these two wouldn’t be hard, but there’s a good chance they’re not the only ones.

I crossed my arms, tilted my head, and stared at them.

“Where’s Dad?”

“Sir Martin is out.”

One added, more politely.

“You’re home after a while, so relax.”

“Fine.”

I decided on a different approach.

“Where’s Daniel?”

“Upstairs, second floor.”

They didn’t see a need to stop me from seeing Daniel, so one answered. I turned and bolted upstairs.

The second floor has Dad’s study, the secretary’s office, and a parlor for guests.

I found Daniel in the corridor between the study and the office. He was tucking a laptop under his arm, holding a large mug, about to leave the office. I grabbed his shoulder.

Catching the falling mug lightly, I shoved Daniel back into the office with my other hand, kicking the door shut. Bam! It closed hard.

“What’s this about?”

Daniel asked, still smiling.

I set the still-warm mug on a nearby desk, smiling back at him.

“Dad’s schedule.”

“You know I can’t tell you everything about Sir Martin’s schedule. Especially not to you.”

Then, teasingly, he added.

“Didn’t you declare at fifteen you’d stay out of this business?”

“Tell me Dad’s schedule.”

I skipped pointless explanations, as always.

Daniel shrugged, like he was dealing with a troublemaker.

“Stay home quietly. Or how about visiting Madam? She’s in Los Cabos for a yoga class. She’ll be there until next month—perfect for a vacation.”

I narrowed my eyes. He’s getting more like Dad, playing dumb on purpose.

Daniel’s the youngest of Dad’s secretaries. But unlike the “regular” secretaries hired through job postings, he’s a “family” secretary. A nephew of Dad’s old friend, not blood-related to me, but maybe a fifth or sixth cousin. He’s living at our house, learning the ropes, and when he’s older, he’ll be a key figure in our “family business.”

So, I know how to handle Daniel.

I grabbed my shirt with both hands and yanked it off over my head. Daniel’s eyes narrowed.

“What are you doing?”

I leisurely unbuckled my belt.

“What are you doing?!”

Anxiety crept into Daniel’s voice. I flashed a grin, unzipped my pants, and undid the buckle.

“Hey! Are you crazy?”

About ten thousand people have yelled that at me, but it always goes my way.

Daniel’s not an Alpha, but being found naked with me in Dad’s house wouldn’t leave much room for excuses.

“Stop! Stop it! You’re insane!”

Daniel shouted, but I didn’t stop.

I pulled off my pants.

“Stop! I said stop! Fine! Tomorrow night, dinner! At the Tula estate! Eight p.m.!”

Thankfully, Daniel caved before I had to strip to my underwear. Honestly, even I wasn’t thrilled about going that far in front of him.

I winked at Daniel, who was clutching the laptop, trembling and glaring at me. He mimed gagging, throwing out a useless threat.

“Grow up. You think your tantrums will work forever?”

Woof, woof!

The loyal dog barked.

I picked up my shirt from the floor, slipping it back on, and answered kindly.

“Yeah. Hand over the car keys.”

After peacefully obtaining Daniel’s Benz keys, I tied his limbs, stuffed his tie in his mouth, and sat him in the office chair. I locked the office door from the inside and closed it from the outside. Click. The lock snapped, cutting off the muffled noises from within.

I paused to think. Changed direction. Headed downstairs. As I reached the west wing corridor with five guest rooms, a shadow like the Cordillera Oriental mountains loomed.

Shin Sangpyeong… no, Shin Jihoon.

“Hey. We need to talk.”

He said, frowning, trying to set a mood.

Perfect timing. I jerked my chin at him.

“No time, so follow me. We’ll talk on the way.”

I still felt some responsibility for this guy. As I headed out of the west wing, I suddenly thought of Kwon Jaewoo, the idiot.

Leaving him here alone meant Dad could use him as bait to lure Kwon Sinwoo. And if that didn’t work, Kwon Jaewoo’s life would be worth less than a fly’s. For Kwon Sinwoo’s sake, that’d be a bit of a shame.

“Where’s Kwon Jaewoo?”

“Why that moron?”

Shin Jihoon looked displeased.

“Can’t just let him die.”

His mouth fell open. Instead of closing it for him, I passed him, flinging open each guest room door. Luckily, Kwon Jaewoo was quietly in one, enjoying a bubble bath in a huge Jacuzzi with top-shelf champagne. I flicked my finger at him.

“What, why, what? What’s up?”

He stammered, awkwardly rising from the Jacuzzi. I tossed him a robe.

As we left the room, an armed guard approached. Different from the earlier one.

“Young master. Back to your room.”

Probably Dad’s order to keep me and my “friends” apart.

I flashed the guard a smile.

Then I threw a left hook straight at his solar plexus.

Thud! He collapsed, foaming at the mouth, without a sound.

“You crazy? Isn’t this your dad’s house?!”

Shin Sangpyeong freaked out, and soon Kwon Jaewoo appeared, shirt on backward from dressing in a hurry.

“Crazy… you hit someone again? What’s it this time? Damn it, isn’t this your dad’s house?”

Both idiots said the same thing.

I ignored them, took the guard’s gun, dragged his feet, and dumped him in a random room. Then I turned to the two idiots.