I was currently staring at my reflection through the gigantic mirror that was situated inside the client's waiting room. Do Kyungsoo, you look like today. Look at that messy hair of yours and that dark circles under your eyes. The client might think that you are one of those young professionals who would just be lazy at their homes. I mentally scolded myself.

After I made myself presentable, almost, I went straight to the desk of my client’s secretary. “May I guess, You’re the new one.” said the man behind the desk. He peeked through his glasses and inspected me with curious eyes. “Well, you’re handsome enough, let’s hope that will distract him for a while.” He said as his finger pushed his glasses back up his nose.

“Er – I’m Do Kyungsoo. Wait, what did you say again?”

“Oh my gosh, you poor little thing!” he said with a half-pout and an almost fake look of pity towards me. “No one told you anything then? Well, I think that’s for the greater good. Crawl before you walk, right?” He stood abruptly, rounded his desk and gave me an unexpected push forward. “The one you came here for is in there, inside the room with the copper door,” he whispered.

I glanced at the highly polished surface and saw our reflections. “Yup. That’s the one. You have water?” I shook my head as she reached back around the desk and slapped a bottle in my hand. “You will surely need this. By the way, he is not going to like your outfit, but let’s just hope that he’ll be dazzled by your…attractiveness. There you go. Best of luck!”

With another 'What?' still on my lips and a mumbled 'thank you' for the water, I stumbled into the massive office and glanced back as the overly helpful and slightly disturbing man with a Cheshire cat-like smile vanished behind the shiny door. That was one weird person. Damn.

At the opposite end of the room, I saw a young man with his head bent over a massive glass desk, intently focused on his work. Or more accurately, I saw only the top of his almost silver-white, sharp haircut, the shoulders of an exquisitely cut suit and his manicured hand clutching a pen to the point of turning the knuckles white.

I forced myself to stop staring, and instead looked around for the light switch. After a few flicks, he was staring right at me.

I'm Do Kyungsoo, the interpreter, I signed.

He dropped his pen, put on a scowl and raised his hands. He was faster than I’d seen in a while, but I understood him.

I’ve never seen you before. Where’d they find you? Are you qualified? Why would you wear jeans to a business meeting? Why did you choose this kind of profession? You have no clue what I’m saying, do you? Just like all the others. Get out! He signed to me with those swift and quick slender hands.

In a practiced motion, he scooped up his pen, used his other hand to hit a white button on the phone, and dismissed me with a sharp break of our eye contact. Before I could respond to his outburst, he bent his head over his work again.

Great. First job after graduation, and I'd been sacked before I'd even begun. Not on. I mentally sighed. I took a slow breath in, organized his rant in my mind and flicked the lights off and on again. 

Sharp brown eyes flashed with anger and his finger jabbed toward the door.

I didn't want to start a row, but I wasn't going to stand there and take unwarranted abuse from a stranger. I held up my left hand and calmly listed off my answers.

One finger. I'm new, moved into town last month after I graduated from college.

Two fingers. Yes, I'm certified. The man at the desk has my qualifications.

Three fingers. I wasn't told what kind of assignment this was. I was only given half an hour's notice to collect your address and arrive here, or I would have worn something more appropriate.

Four fingers. Simple. I had a friend who was deaf and since I wanted to always be there for him. I studied. But when I was in my second year in college, he died of brain cancer. I wanted to stop since my reason for pursuing this kind of learning was now gone, but thinking back as to why I wanted to learn then I decided to continue.  

The thumb makes five. And I have no problem understanding you. I heard a noise behind me and I indicated with a flick of my head. Someone's at the door.

Some of the hostility slipped away from his hard expression, leaving behind flushed cheeks and perfect skin. He might have been attractive if he wasn't so combative.

The door gave a minute squeak as the receptionist swayed into the room, a clipboard in his hand and a knowing look of disappointment evident in the tight-lipped expression he cast in the direction of the desk.

Tell her you'll be staying. He signed at me.

"Looks like I'm staying." I told the receptionist who was now smiling from ear-to-ear. Damn. He is so weird. I mentally noted.

“That’s wonderful!” he said, making a wide turn back to the door, his tone instantly bright again. He whispered something else on his way out, but the heavy door silenced whatever it was.

I turned back to the room. My assignment form named the client as Kim Jongin, the same name on the cut crystal nameplate on the desk. He gestured for me to sit in one of the two leather office chairs in front of him. I sank into the nearest and tried to be invisible. Now that I'd made a scene. I should have just let it alone, walked out and moved on to the next job, but no, I had to prove myself, and now the client would probably make a formal complaint to the agency. What a great job you have done, Kyungsoo. I mentally scolded myself.

I’m meeting with Wu Yifan of Galaxy Fashion Line. He is concerned, along with all our other distributors, with my father’s disappearance and recent mess with the media. Have you heard about it? He signed to me.

I took a deep breath and tried to accept the abrupt change of atmosphere. I’m sorry. I don’t know the situation.

He examined me with his eyes as if searching for a lie. I got the feeling that anyone else in this city would already know what he was talking about.

With moving and all, setting up my apartment and looking for a job, I haven’t been keeping up with the news. I clarified, waiting for the suspicion to leave his gaze.

He nodded, opened a file drawer under his desk and handed me sections of two newspapers. The first had yesterday's date at the top. I skimmed down the page to the first quote. Editor Choi Zelo reports: "Kim Jonghyun (owner of Hourglass Pieces) has either taken the coward's way out by orchestrating his own disappearance to avoid a hearing, or, as his son believes, may be the victim of a kidnapping. Evidence will tell on this one. It's only a matter of time." The second was a slightly yellowed copy of last Time Korea’s. The headline caught my eye: Time runs out for watch tycoon: Investors call for justice as Hourglass Pieces future rests in the hands of disabled heir.

The word 'disabled' made my skin crawl, but the reaction had more to do with my own experiences as an interpreter than with any indignation I might have had on behalf of my client. I had only just met him, and yet with one glance up from my reading, I knew instinctively that he hated the word as much as I did.

I quickly read through the rest of the article, memorizing the spelling of his father's name, the names of the parties making claims against the company, time and place of his disappearance and any other details that I thought might come up with Wu Yifan—the distributer who stood to lose millions if Kim's empire crumbled. I handed the newspaper back to him as the door opened once more.

He saw it, but quickly signed, I'm sorry about your friend, before a balding, stern-looking man in a pressed navy suit came into view and took the chair beside mine.

An apology. Well, that was unexpected.

I gave Jongin a private nod of acknowledgement, and attempted to clear my mind for work.

Do Kyungsoo, you are in for a one hell of a ride. I said to myself as I exit the building.