"Ten years," she said, her voice dropping into that conspiratorial, faux-sympathetic register she reserved for people she was about to sacrifice. "Every transaction, every asset transfer, every subsidiary write-down from the legacy accounts. The board wants a full audit by Friday, Evelyn. And given your... meticulous reputation, you are the only one we trust to tear it apart."

When I stepped out of the private elevator, the chaos of Chicago dissolved into the quiet, minimalist hum of custom climate control and distant traffic. The entire south wall was glass, framing the sprawling, darkening expanse of Lake Michigan under a bruising violet sky.

Jae was standing by the kitchen island.

He had removed his suit jacket; his white shirt sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, exposing the faint, pale lines of old scars running along his left wrist—remnants of a life in Seoul that he had bled out of to build his empire. He was grinding fresh coffee beans by hand, the rhythmic scrape of the ceramic grinder the only sound in the room.

"You're back early," he said without turning around.

"They didn't give me much of a choice," I said, setting my cardboard box on the marble counter.

Jae stopped grinding. He set the tool down slowly, turned, and looked at me. His dark eyes swept over me—taking in my posture, the cardboard box, the rigid set of my jaw.

"Tell me everything," he commanded softly.

I sat on a high stool and laid out the facts. I told him about the legacy audit, Monica Shaw’s fabricated transfer orders, Caleb Dunn’s digital footprint, and the five-million-dollar trap they had sprung to cover their own embezzlement. I didn't leave out a single detail.

When I finished, Jae remained entirely still for ten seconds.

Then, he walked over to the built-in espresso machine, poured two shots of espresso into a small glass cup, and slid it across the marble toward me.

"Drink," he said.

I took a sip. It was bitter, dark, and searingly hot. It grounded me.

"They think they own the city because their name is on a granite building in the Loop," Jae said, his voice dropping into a register that sent a shrous shiver down my spine. It was the voice of the Chairman—the man who settled corporate disputes with bankruptcy filings or midnight acquisitions, depending on how uncooperative the adversary was. "They think because you worked quietly, you were unprotected."

"I didn't want your protection, Jae," I said, looking up at him. "I wanted to do it on my own merits."

He walked behind my stool, his warm hands resting gently on my shoulders, his thumbs pressing into the tight knots of my muscles.

"You did do it on your own merits, Evelyn. For twelve years, you built an unassailable reputation entirely on your own," he murmured, bending down so his lips brushed my ear. "But marriage means when someone tries to burn your world down, they aren't fighting an individual analyst anymore. They are fighting the foundation."

He straightened up, pulled out his phone, and tapped a single speed-dial icon.

"Mr. Vance," Jae said into the phone the moment it connected. His voice had hardened into cold steel. "Cancel my morning meetings tomorrow. I want the entire legal acquisition team at the Park Holdings downtown office by 7:00 AM sharp."

A pause on the other line.

"Yes, Mr. Park. Is there an expansion target?"

Jae’s dark eyes locked onto mine across the kitchen island.

"Buy Blackridge Capital," Jae instructed. "Acquire every controlling share, every debt note, every commercial lease they hold. And prepare a comprehensive, unyielding forensic audit of their entire asset portfolio over the last decade."

"Sir? Blackridge is valued in the hundreds of millions—"

"I don't care about the valuation," Jae interrupted, his tone absolute. "I want the whole building by Monday morning. And Mr. Vance?"