Dennis's chest tightens. He checks his phone again—no messages, no online status, nothing.
Jaehyun Kim, Kim Industries' CEO will address the press this evening with new evidence, while Lancaster & Son remains unavailable for comment.
One more day. Just one more day to hang on.
That evening, Dennis stands at his parents' estate window, staring into the darkness where his burnt building waits. His father's footsteps approach, then a glass appears beside him.
Dennis takes it, nodding in thanks. He swirls the liquid, spotting the round ice cube. The scent makes him laugh—sparkling grape juice, just like when he was small, perched on his father's knee trying to be grown up at business dinners.
"Thanks, Dad." He clinks glasses when his father raises his in silence.
"You've been quiet," his father says in Korean, joining him at the window.
"I'm worried about Chris." Dennis takes a sip. "He's stuck there with his father now."
"Mm."
"I was so stupid." Dennis's fingers tighten around his glass. "He tried to tell me, but I wouldn't listen. Let my feelings get in the way."
His father takes a long drink.
"Love's like that."
The words settle between them. Dennis stares into his glass while his father lets the silence do the talking.
"When he refused his last name," his father finally says, "I didn't realize Lancaster had such power over him still."
"I just hope he gets away before Lancaster sees the news tomorrow. He gave up everything to get us that evidence."
"Every son needs to run his own race eventually." His father glances pointedly at Dennis's glass. "Some parents think they can protect their children forever with grape juice instead of letting them learn from their own mistakes. Like passing out drunk for the housekeeper to find."
Dennis's cheeks heat.
"But in the end, you make your own choices." His father takes another sip of whiskey, ice clinking, watching the city lights beyond their grounds.
"Your mother's Japanese. I'm Korean. History happened."
Dennis's glass stills halfway to his lips.
His father lets the weight of those words sink in before continuing. "She still visits their graves everyObon. Kneels and apologizes for choosing me. For having you."
Dennis turns the glass in his hands. Watches the round ice cube bump against its walls. “What about my other grandparents?” he says, when he looks up. “I never knew them either."
"Disowned me. Never spoke to me again." His father shrugs. "A great dishonor, they said—their only son marrying the enemy’s daughter. But they made their choice. And I—" He turns to look at Dennis. "I won't apologize to anyone for mine."
"That's very Kim Industries of you." Dennis bumps his father's shoulder with his own.
"And you're Kim Industries through and through." His father's mouth quirks, just slightly. "So do what you think is right—as long as you listen to what I say, that is."
"Dad!" Dennis’s groan dissolves into a laugh.
"Boys, dinner's ready!" The scent of his mother's home-cooking—rare as pink diamonds—wafts in with her voice. Both men turn toward the dining room.
His father tugs his jacket straight. “And I say you see this through to the end, Deni-ya."
The words hang between them. His father doesn't elaborate, doesn't need to. For the first time, Dennis feels truly seen—his work, his choices, his heart. All of it.
Maybe that's all the confirmation he needs for tomorrow.
