Chapter 4 - TAE HAD TO CHOOSE BETWEEN PROTECTING HIS FAMILY NAME AND TELLING THE TRUTH ABOUT IT
Daniel Seo was found in Indiana four days later.
He had not fled because of the threatening floor plan.
That was the first surprise.
He fled because Park Meridian’s audit had discovered his private security company billed millions for services that either did not exist or had been inflated.
The threat to Leila had been panic.
Daniel believed she had triggered Joon’s suspension.
He wanted to scare her into withdrawing complaints.
There was only one problem.
Leila had never filed a complaint.
She had not even known the surveillance existed until after Joon’s suspension.
Daniel had assumed.
Fear does that.
It turns coincidence into conspiracy.
When police searched his devices, they found years of invoices.
Photographs.
Messages.
And records connecting Joon to something much larger than Leila.
Off-book warehouses.
Unreported cash transfers.
Private collections from business owners who owed money to Moretti-affiliated lenders.
Security teams used not only for protection but pressure.
Tae recognized some operations.
Not all.
That distinction mattered legally.
It did not make him proud.
Park Meridian’s legitimate businesses had grown so large that Tae spent most of his time on visible corporate operations.
He allowed Joon to handle the “old network.”
Tae knew some tactics were aggressive.
He knew cash existed.
He knew certain people settled debts because Moretti names frightened them.
He had not asked enough questions because asking would have forced choices.
That was another locked door.
Now federal investigators were asking.
Tae’s attorneys gave him options.
Fight every subpoena.
Limit production.
Challenge warrants.
Separate holding companies.
Blame Joon.
Some of that was ordinary legal defense.
Some was the beginning of another wall.
Tae sat at the head of Park Meridian’s boardroom listening.
Then asked:
“If we disclose everything voluntarily, what happens?”
His criminal attorney stared.
“Everything?”
“Yes.”
“You could create exposure that currently does not exist.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
“For Park Meridian.”
“Yes.”
“For family members.”
“Absolutely.”
The board chair leaned forward.
“Tae, cooperation does not require suicide.”
He looked through the glass wall at Chicago below.
His father built part of the empire through fear.
Tae inherited it.
Then modernized the surface while leaving certain foundations untouched.
Leila’s letter had said:
Maybe I deliberately knew less because loving you was easier that way.
Tae had done the same thing with his own company.
Maybe he deliberately knew less because owning it was easier that way.
“Full independent review.”
he said.
His attorney sighed.
“Tae.”
“Full.”
“Anything potentially privileged stays with counsel.”
“Anything criminal gets handled through legal process.”
“No destruction.”
“No secret relocation of assets.”
“No contacting witnesses privately.”
Marco sat near the wall.
His face remained unreadable.
Later, in the elevator, he said:
“Your father would haunt you.”
Tae looked at him.
“He already does.”
The audit took six months.
During those six months, Tae did not see Leila socially.
They attended two legal meetings related to the property surveillance.
Professional.
Brief.
Painful.
Each time, Tae wanted to ask:
Are you sleeping?
Do you still cry in the workshop?
Did you keep the old rabbit?
Instead he asked only what was relevant.
Leila noticed.
She hated that she noticed.
Her new studio grew.
A museum hired her to restore six pieces from a Gilded Age collection.
Then a hotel commissioned lobby furniture.
Nora became full time.
Leila hired a bookkeeper.
She painted GRANT RESTORATION STUDIO on the front window.
The first morning she saw her name there, she stood outside too long.
Five years earlier she became Leila Park willingly.
She did not regret that woman.
Her letter had been true.
But becoming Leila Grant again felt like hearing her own voice after a long room full of echoes.
Then Mrs. Han visited.
She arrived carrying homemade mandu and no announcement.
Leila almost cried.
“You can’t do this.”
Mrs. Han looked offended.
“Bring food?”
“Make me miss you.”
“That is your problem.”
They ate at the back worktable.
Mrs. Han never pressured her about Tae.
That was why Leila trusted her.
After lunch, Mrs. Han looked at the cabinet Leila was restoring.
“You always make broken things beautiful.”
Leila’s hands stopped.
“Please don’t quote my own letter indirectly.”
Mrs. Han raised an eyebrow.
“I have not read your letter.”
Leila believed her.
Then Mrs. Han said:
“But I knew you before you wrote it.”
Fair.
“How is he?”
Leila asked before she could stop herself.
Mrs. Han’s expression softened.
“Working.”
“That sounds normal.”
“It is not.”
“How?”
“He comes home.”
Leila looked down.
“He eats dinner at the table.”
“He stopped keeping meetings after nine unless necessary.”
“He attends therapy.”
Leila’s head lifted.
“Tae?”
“Yes.”
“Voluntarily?”
Mrs. Han smiled.
“Mostly.”
Leila almost laughed.
Then:
“Is he doing it because he thinks I’ll come back?”
Mrs. Han became serious.
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I asked.”
Leila stared.
“What did he say?”
Mrs. Han picked up her tea.
“He said if change is only a bargain for your return, then it is another way of trying to control you.”
Leila looked away.
Damn him.
Growth was easier when the person stayed terrible.
Mrs. Han did not stay long.
Before leaving she hugged Leila.
Then whispered:
“You do not owe him an ending because he finally understands the middle.”
Leila’s eyes filled.
“Thank you.”
Three weeks later, federal prosecutors charged Joon Park, Daniel Seo, and four others with a series of financial crimes, extortion-related offenses, false billing, and obstruction.
Tae was not indicted on the same charges.
But the investigation did not leave him untouched.
His attorneys negotiated over conduct he had personally authorized years earlier.
Unreported cash transactions.
False corporate books related to certain legacy businesses.
Payments structured through intermediaries.
No murder case.
No secret body suddenly surfaced.
Reality was less theatrical and more damaging.
Tae had allowed criminal financial conduct because that was how part of the old organization worked.
He could fight.
He chose to resolve it.
The news shocked Chicago.
PARK MERIDIAN PRESIDENT TO PLEAD GUILTY IN LEGACY FINANCIAL CASE
Leila saw the headline while sanding a walnut cabinet.
Her hands went still.
The plea involved conspiracy to maintain false business records and conceal certain unlawful payments.
Tae agreed to fines, restitution where appropriate, continued cooperation, and a federal sentence expected to include custody.
Prison.
Leila sat down.
Nora saw her face.
“What?”
Leila handed her the phone.
Nora read.
“Oh.”
Leila felt strangely cold.
She had wanted Tae accountable.
She had never imagined bars.
Her phone rang.
Tae.
First direct call in months.
She answered.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
Silence.
Then he said:
“I wanted you to hear one thing from me before the news becomes noise.”
Leila gripped the edge of the table.
“What?”
“I’m not doing this for you.”
Tears entered her eyes.
He continued.
“You were right about our marriage.”
“You were also right that I kept doors closed because opening them would force me to look at what I had become.”
“This is mine.”
“My choices.”
“My consequences.”
Leila whispered:
“How long?”
“Sentencing is in three months.”
“No.”
“How long could you be gone?”
“Guidelines vary.”
“My lawyers expect somewhere around eighteen months.”
Her eyes closed.
Tae continued.
“You do not need to visit.”
“I’m not asking you to wait.”
“I’m not asking for anything.”
“That is not why I called.”
“Then why?”
He became quiet.
“Because I spent five years making you discover important things about my life after everyone else knew.”
“I didn’t want you learning this from television.”
Leila cried then.
Silently.
Not because they were married.
They weren’t.
The divorce had become final two months earlier.
Not because she wanted to undo it.
She didn’t.
She cried because this was the first time Tae had brought her a painful truth before she had to beg for it.
“Thank you.”
she whispered.
Then:
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“That you’re going to prison.”
Tae exhaled.
“I’m not.”
“What?”
“I mean, don’t be sorry as though someone did this to me.”
Leila closed her eyes.
“I did enough of it myself.”
They stayed silent.
Then Tae said:
“Take care of yourself, Leila.”
The same four words she had given him.
This time they did not sound like goodbye.
They sounded like respect.
He hung up first.
Three months later, Tae Park stood before a federal judge and did something the Black Lion had almost never done in public.
He admitted he had been wrong without explaining why somebody else made him that way.
He received sixteen months in federal custody.
When the marshals led him away, the courtroom remained silent.
Leila was not there.
Tae had told her she did not need to come.
She listened.
But that night, inside her workshop, she opened the bottom drawer of her desk.
Inside lay a small photograph from their courthouse wedding.
Tae’s hand visibly shaking as he held hers.
Leila touched the edge.
Then closed the drawer.
He had sixteen months to live without her.
May you like
And she had sixteen months to discover whether missing him meant she wanted him back—
or simply meant some loves remain real even after a marriage ends.
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