The heavy thud of soft-soled shoes echoed up the hardwood staircase. My pulse hammered violently against my ribs as I stood frozen in the dim light of the back room, surrounded by the towering stacks of cash.
“Who is up there?” a voice called out in fluent, accentless English.
It wasn’t Kang Jun. It was a woman’s voice—smooth, cautious, and completely unfamiliar.
A tall woman in a dark wool coat stepped into the doorway, holding a ring of brass keys. She stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes widening in shock as she took in my gray hair, my worn winter coat, and the tears streaming down my face.
“Theresa?” she whispered, dropping her keys onto the floorboards with a loud clatter.
“Where is my daughter?” I choked out, taking a trembling step toward her. “Where is Mary Lou? Whose money is this? What happened to her?!”
The woman let out a long, shuddering sigh, closing the door behind her and leaning against the frame. “Mary Lou isn’t in Korea, Theresa,” she said softly, her eyes filled with a profound, solemn sorrow. “She hasn’t been in Korea for ten years.”
My breath caught in my throat. “What are you talking about? She video calls me! She sends $80,000 every single year!”
The woman pulled a heavy black leather file from her tote bag and handed it to me. “My name is Min-ji. I’m a senior legal officer with the International Maritime Trust. Twelve years ago, Mary Lou married Kang Jun, believing he was a successful international trade executive. But within six months of arriving in Seoul, she discovered the truth: Kang Jun was deeply involved in illegal financial syndicate operations, and he had used her name to register multiple shell companies.”
To discover where Mary Lou really was all these years, continue reading below for Part 3.
