Chapter 7: The Folding Chair

There were a dozen chairs around the Hanseong Holdings board table on Thursday morning.

There were twelve directors sitting in them.

Ji-an's grandfather sat at the head with his cane against his knee. Her uncle sat at his right hand.

There was no extra chair.

"Ah," Uncle Myung-ho said, when Ji-an walked in. "Ji-an. I'm afraid we weren't expecting you to actually come."

"The founder's charter gives a seat to any family member holding over five percent," she said. "I hold nine."

"Then you'll have to stand." He spread his hands. "We didn't have time to order furniture."

Two of the directors smiled into their coffee.

Ji-an turned around and walked back out.

Her uncle laughed behind her.

Tae-gyeom was in the corridor, leaning on the wall by the elevators, reading something on his phone. He looked up.

"That was fast," he said.

"There's no chair."

He looked at the boardroom door. Then he looked at her.

"Do you want me to get you one," he asked, "or do you want to get it yourself?"

Ji-an thought about it.

"Myself."

The security office was on the fifty-eighth floor, behind a grey door.

The guard on duty was about sixty and had worked for her father. He had always given her mints when she was a little girl.

"Miss Ji-an," he said, startled.

"Do you have a folding chair?"

He looked at her for a long second.

Then he got up, went to the back, and came out with a dented metal folding chair with a bit of tape on one leg.

"I'll carry it for you," he said.

"No. Thank you." She took it. "It has to be me."

She walked back down the corridor with the folding chair under her arm.

Tae-gyeom held the boardroom door for her.

Ji-an unfolded the chair with a loud metallic clack at the corner of the table, between two directors who had to shift their elbows.

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