“We’ve arrived, sir.”

Junko looked up from his tablet, but instead of answering the American driver he’d hired for your time in the states, he turned to you to translate. You were fortunate that Taegun had insisted on hiring a private tutor for you to learn English or else you might have been just as lost. Junko maybe understood four words in the common language here and you’d hoped to use that to your advantage.

Keeping up the appearance of being such a loving couple, Junko first allowed his own door to be opened by the guard that had been sitting up front, before taking the liberty of opening your door and helping you out onto the sidewalk. You still weren’t used to the Duchess Kate-like outfits that were being picked out for you, making the action a bit difficult. The thick, ridged heels clunked under you and the jackets were made from a thick material, making the use of your arms almost nonexistent. But you dealt with the demands and orders, knowing the time to rebel was not yet upon you.

Once inside the twenty-plus floor building, you followed the signs to the attorney’s office. He was located on the thirteenth floor, an ominous sign that made you a bit uneasy. You didn’t think most buildings had a thirteenth floor based on old superstitions with that particular number, but this one did nonetheless and you found yourself stepping out of the elevator and onto its beautifully polished wood floors where an equally polished young woman around your age was sitting behind the oversized front desk typing away at her computer.

“Excuse me,” you said quietly as you approached the desk. Junko’s guard stayed back near the elevator, just in case you try to run, you supposed. Thinking you would bother at this point was a ridiculous notion, but you kept your mouth shut about it.

The front secretary looked up at you, only putting on a smile when she took in both your companion and your clothing. “Yes? How can I help you?”

“We’re here to see Mr. Martin,” you told her, trying to not let your nervousness be too apparent. Junko’s hand was resting on the small of your back, his thumb drumming a slow, restrained melody on your vertebrae.

“You must be….” The secretary rushed to pick up the desk phone, dialing a four digit number and waiting a few seconds before saying quickly, “She’s here, sir.” She hung up the phone and looked back up at you, gesturing to the side. “He’s ready for you. Go on ahead.”

“Thank you,” you nodded.

Rounding the front desk, you headed to the small hallway to the right and up to the only door. You didn’t bother knocking, just walking right into the office.

A man no older than late fifties in a crisp, dark gray suit with a striking blue tie sat behind a large dark fancy desk with intricate carvings in the corners and the trim. He was waiting for you, hands folded nicely in front of him and eyes trained on the door.

“Hello, Miss (y/n),” he greeted. His eyes drifted over to Junko by your side. “And you must be the husband.”

Junko looked down at you and waited for the translation. He nodded at Mr. Martin once he understood. The two of you sat down in the empty seats on the other side of the desk and let him start.

The lawyer cleared his throat and pulled a large envelope out of a drawer. “This is the part of your father’s will that was declared to remain sealed until you turned twenty-three.” He paused, his eyes softening as he kept your gaze. “Happy late birthday, by the way.”

“Thank you.” There was no warmth in your reply. You couldn’t find any joy or appreciation for what this anniversary of your birth has brought upon you.

“Inside is the location of the bank holding your father’s most precious possessions,” Mr. Martin continued, “as well as instructions for when you arrive there. It should be fairly quick. Everything should be waiting for you.”

You frowned. “That’s it?” This seemed too easy. Too simple.

“Your father didn’t want it to be too complicated. He knew you’d be able to handle any snags that came your way.”

Did he now?

Did he imagine that any of what had happened to you in the past few months would occur? Did he know that your heart would be ripped away from you as soon as it was full? Did he know exactly what he had put you through all in the name of keeping those files safe?

Mr. Martin had called them your father’s most precious possessions. There was no doubt that he held them in high regard - higher than you certainly - and the steps he’d taken to keep them secret and safe was evident of that.

Your hand was shaking as you reached for the envelope. Junko’s eyes were on your fingers, following them all the way to your lap where you let the secrets rest for the time being.

“If you’ll let me, Miss (y/n),” Mr. Martin said, bringing your focus back to him, “I’d like to take you and your husband out to dinner before you leave New York. Maybe tell you a little more about your father.”

Your eyes flashed to Junko before you answered. “I’d like that very much. We’ll let you know if we’re able to.”

Mr. Martin nodded and then stood up from his chair. You and Junko did the same, letting Mr. Martin show you out of his office. The secretary watched with curious eyes as you rejoined the guard and waited for the elevator to come fetch you.

From arrival to departure, your whole trip to the lawyer’s office was less than ten minutes. It still felt odd to you that the meeting was so short, but you were also thankful for it. Your nerves were getting worse, churning your stomach to the point that you just might see what little food you had for breakfast again.

“Open it,” Junko ordered as soon as you all seated in the car outside again.

You obeyed, sliding the paper out slowly. Scanning the single page, you found the name of the bank that was holding the files. “It’s at The Bank of New York-Mellon. We’re to ask for President Woodard. He’ll take us straight to the old deposit box.”

“Good.” Junko nodded to the driver and you headed off.

Something else was in the envelope, small yet heavy. You let it fall out into your hand and you sighed. It was a key, no bigger than your pinky. Staring down at the key, you weighed it in your hand, contemplating. Since this morning, you’d been formulating a plan. You just hoped that you had courage and the opportunity to see it through.  

**

The Bank of New York-Mellon was located near Wall Street in a tall skyscraper that blended in perfectly with the city skyline. It towered over you in a bullying manner, mocking you. The banks back home weren’t like this. They didn’t feel like giant corporations that held all the power in their fists, keeping every secret just to turn on you when you least expected. Sure, all banks probably operated in similar ways, but any sense of friendliness or open arms was long gone from this particular bank’s pedigree.

The driver parked a block or so away at Junko’s orders, translated by you. Junko walked briskly beside you, pushing you forward towards the entrance while trying to avoid the others occupying the sidewalk.

Inside the building was buzzing with noise as customers sat at desks, pleading their cases as to why they should be granted loans or debated fees placed against their accounts. Others waited patiently (some not-so-patiently) in line for the tellers that were securely behind golden bars, separating them from potential robbers or angry patrons.

You weren’t sure where to go from here. How were you supposed to ask for the president of the bank like you were asking for an old teacher you once knew? You didn’t even know if he was still the president. A lot of things could have happened since those files were sealed twenty-one years ago. With no other choice but to just go for it, you held your head up high, feigning an air of confidence, and walked up to the customer service desk.

“Hi, how can I help you today?” the young man who stood behind the counter greeted cheerfully.

“I need to see President Woodard,” you stated.

The young man barely bit back a snort in time. Unexplainably, that laugh sparked a fire inside you. It was tiny and fleeting, but it existed and was growing. There was no way in hell that you were going to go through all the you’d been put through just to be stopped on the final lap by some punk kid who thought the president was untouchable.

“Is that funny to you?” you asked sternly, an eyebrow raised.

Your response made him back track. “Well, you see, President Woodard is very busy and-”

“Is something wrong here?”

A much more official looking man with round glasses and a finely pressed suit walked up and joined the conversation, eyes flashing back and forth between you and the other man. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back with a little too much gel, but you still felt that this was going to be a much easier avenue to take than the little ankle biter manning the counter now.

You smiled at the man. “I’m just trying to see President Woodard. He should be expecting me.” Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but you needed to keep up the fake confidence. If you faltered, they’d walk all over you and you’d be forced out with nothing.  

“And may I ask who he should be expecting?”

When you told the man your name, his eyes widened. So he, too, knew who you were? How many connections did your father have? How many people did he bully or pay off to hold this kind of shock over people at the mere mention of your last name?

“Please,” the man swallowed nervously, “wait here. I will go get President Woodard right away.” He disappeared through a door and you gave the young man a triumphant smile.

Slowly, your fake confidence was morphing into the real deal, even with Junko looming so close to you that when you swayed even a few centimeters you’d knock right into him.

A few minutes later, the man from before exited the elevator a few feet away along with a much older man wearing a suit that might have fit at some point, but was now just a little too big, receding white hair and a wrinkled face that gave you a warm look. You could only assume that this was President Woodard.

“My, Miss (l/n),” Woodard greeted you, holding his hand out for you to take. “You’ve grown so much since I last saw you. You look so much like your mother.” The cheerful gaze melted into a slightly fearful one when he looked over to Junko. He didn’t say anything in regards to your companion, just nodding silently to himself. “Well, Miss (l/n), I’ve kept everything safe for your arrival. It’s down in the vault with our other safe deposit boxes. I hope you were able to retrieve the key from Mr. Martin?”

You nodded, the key still securely in your hand.

“Good. If you’ll please follow me.”

Bypassing all the other people roaming around the lobby - some giving curious looks or outright staring at the president personally escorting a young couple through the bank - he led you down a wide marble staircase that turned sharply before depositing into a beautifully decorated waiting room with leather couches and matching chairs. The walls were green and gold with old landscape paintings hanging in thick, dark brown frames. A secretary behind a small desk pushed off to the side stood as soon as you became visible in the room.

President Woodard turned around to face you. “I’m sorry, but your husband will have to wait out here. It’s in your father’s will that you are to receive these files yourself. No one else may be present.”

Nervousness shot up as you looked to Junko, translating what President Woodard had said. You waited for the blow up, for the insistence that he see you all the way in and observe the transfer. But he surprised you.

While his face very clearly showed his annoyance, he simply sat down on one of the couches, crossed his legs and waved you to go ahead. President Woodard saw you in the rest of the way.

The vault - round, large, and exactly what you’d seen in all the movies - was already open and President Woodard helped you inside, stepping over the bottom of the vault. The inside of the vault was pure concrete, breaking out into two sections one either side while the money was kept in the main area. You were shown to the left, a much smaller room with a table and chair. Your walked over to the wall housing the larger boxes and pointed to the one labeled “1408”.

With an unsteady hand, you lifted the key and slid it into the lock without it catching once despite its age. It clicked softly when you turned it and President Woodard did the honors of sliding the box out of it’s home. He carried it over to the table and gestured for you to sit down. The box itself was nearly four feet long and sounded full when it hit the wooden surface.

“I’ll leave you alone now.” He bowed his head though that wasn’t the tradition in this country and exited the room.

Taking a deep breath, you lifted the lid, letting it fall back with a loud clang. What you found was exactly what you’d imagined. Thick files stacked neatly together, even alphabetized by the looks of the labels.

You removed your purse from your shoulder and laid it down next to the box on the table. Right in the front pocket, hidden within the small pouch of tissues, was a lighter. One of the guards was a heavy smoker and he had nearly half a dozen lighters lying around in case he had a sudden urge for another cigarette. This morning you’d managed to snatch one of those cheap plastic lighters without being caught when they’d left you alone to get dressed. It was pure luck that you hadn’t been found out yet. And now you were getting to use it.

A sense of victory coursed through your veins as you held that lighter up above the box and flicked the trigger, lighting up that little flame. For a few seconds, you watched it dance as if celebrating what you were about to do. You didn’t care about getting caught, you didn’t care about the consequences that awaited you. Only Junmyeon’s face occupied your thoughts.

Sighing one last time, you lowered the lighter. But just before you let the flame touch the paper, something silver and shiny buried under the files caught your eyes. Pushing them aside, you found an dusty flash drive as well as an old camcorder. A simple sticky note gave you the instructions to turn it on and press play. There was no way the battery could still be good, could it? You followed the instructions anyway and were surprised to find that the old relic still worked.

When you unfolded the side flap to see the screen and pressed the play button, you gasped. It was your father staring back at you, smiling and alive. You didn’t know how feel in this moment. Were you happy? Sad? Confusion seemed to be the dominating emotion.

“Hi, sweetheart,” your father’s recording greeted you. “If you’re watching this, then it seems I wasn’t able to keep the promise I made to you on the day you were born to always be around for you.” He sighed, looking down as if reflecting on his entire life until that very moment. “I’m not proud of everything that I’ve done, but I did it for you and your mother, so the two of you could have a good life.” He scoffed. “While I was climbing, I made friends and enemies with the wrong people. And for that, I’m sorry. Because if you’re watching this, that means one of them killed me. But I won’t go down without a fight. What you see before you are files, but they are not the real files. They’re fakes. Whoever is demanding these files or forcing you to hand them over, you give them these papers. All of the real information is located on the flashdrive. You keep that away from them. Only give it to someone you trust. Or throw it away. I trust you’ll do what’s best with that information. Whatever you do, do not hand it over to the Lees. They are never to get their hands on the real files. They are not your friends. If anything, they’re the reason I’m dead.”

There was a long pause and for a moment you thought that was the end of the video. But then your father added one last thing.

“I know it may not seem like it, but I do love you, sweetheart. I love you so much and I hope that you get to live the kind of life you want. I hope Taegun has taken good care of you and I hope you find yourself surrounded by others who love you as well. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you, but maybe it was better this way. Ever since the day you were born, you’ve been my greatest gift, my most precious little girl. You always will be” He reached out to the camera and then the screen went black.

You just sat there, unsure of what to think or do. Should you cry? Should you just sigh and shrug it off. When he said that you were the most precious thing to him, you actually believed it. Strange, since this whole time you’d been sure that you were much lower on his list of priorities. But the look in his eye as he said those words changed your mind in an instant. He loved you. He really did. And with that love, he gave you the greatest gift he ever could have given you from beyond the grave.

Your father gave you a better out, a better plan than the one you’d been able to come up with. Feeling resurged, you kissed the camera and put it back into the safe deposit box. You hid the flash drive where the lighter had been before, it fitting perfectly in the small space. You tossed the key figure of your previous plan into the box as well before closing the lid and gathering up the fake files in your arms.

Junko’s face split into an wickedly cheerful grin when he saw you emerge from the vault with his prize. President Woodard looked more solemn.

“I’ve already taken care of the legal paperwork. All the funds are being transferred into your name and you should have access to the accounts within the next day or so.”

“Thank you.”

“Let’s go,” Junko demanded as he jumped up to his feet.

Walking out of the bank, you had a determination in your step that hadn’t been there before even when you were faking the confidence. You finally had the upper hand, for once in your life. You had the control and power, even if no one else knew it. This was no longer the mafia man’s world. It was yours and you were looking forward to your next step.