It was the wee hours of Wednesday morning, and Chairman Seo Woobin had a glass of beer in his hand.
He rested on his soft arm chair, the ice cubes in the glass clinking. A fresh pack of cigarettes laid on his desk, and his eyes darted to the red lighter he had gotten for himself earlier in the day.
It had dragon engravings etched into the crystal, beautiful, dangerous creatures that seemed to writhe in the morning light streaming through his office windows.
He drank deeply, letting the bitter taste of expensive whiskey burn down his throat. It was 6am, too early for most people to be drinking, but Chairman Seo Woobin had never been most people.
He set the cup down with a soft clink and leaned back in his chair, the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows. His mind was occupied with thoughts of his son.
Seo Minho. His heir. His greatest disappointment and his only hope, all wrapped into one frustrating package.
