POV: Lee Jae‑woon
The mid‑day sun poured through the floor‑to‑ceiling windows of Office 703, bathing the rich mahogany walls in a luminescent glow. Lee Jae‑woon sat behind his executive desk, the polished surface meticulously organized: a crystal decanter half‑full of cold espresso, a single leather‑bound planner opened to today's date, and a pristine white orchid in a silver vase. His gaze was fixed on the door, waiting.
At precisely 12:00 PM, the door chimed once. Kang Ha‑young entered, dossier in hand, eyes steady but resolute. She closed the door softly behind her and took the single chair placed before his desk. His assistant had already cleared the space of all distractions—no pads, no teacups, only the two of them and the afternoon light.
"Please, Ha‑young," he said, voice calm. "I understand you have important findings."
She nodded and placed the brown folder on his desk, the metal clasp clicking closed. "Thank you for meeting on such short notice, Jae‑woon." She paused, taking a breath. "I've compiled evidence of deliberate sabotage to the Community Kitchens initiative—specifically, unauthorized logistics holds on our Jeolla Province and other rural shipments."
He steepled his fingers, expression unreadable. "Show me."
She opened the dossier and laid out the contents carefully: first, a printed memo on company letterhead marked "EXTERNAL LOGISTICS HOLD – URGENT", signed by [email protected] and timestamped May 9, 11:47 PM. Next, a series of high‑resolution photographs of sealed warehouse doors—chains and padlocks gleaming under security lights—all timestamped between late evening and dawn. Beneath each image was a note: "Suspension of MiraWell kimchi, rice, and dairy orders—effective immediately."
He studied the pages without comment. His pulse was steady, but behind his composed exterior, his mind raced. Han Seung‑woo, rival CEO of NovaTech, had crossed a line by weaponizing food security in rural communities. The scandal alone could shatter their newly forged partnership—and devastate families who depended on those meals.
Ha‑young continued, flipping to the next section: an export of audit‑trail logs from LJW Foods' ERP system. Each entry showed "logistics_hold" actions authorized by Seung‑woo's credentials, then urgently overridden by Phillip at 7:05 AM the following morning. A chart quantified the impact: fourteen thousand meals delayed, two thousand volunteer‑hours truncated, and more than a hundred community members left waiting.
He looked up. "Phillip informed me this morning that it was a system error flagged by AI oversight," he said quietly.
She met his gaze. "I spoke with him. He believed it was a glitch until I presented the logs. I have his full cooperation now." She pushed forward a signed statement from Phillip, acknowledging his oversight and granting full audit access. "He's prepared to testify."
Jae‑woon's jaw set. "And these photographs—how did you obtain them?"
"I received them from a source within NovaTech's regional logistics division," she said. "An anonymous employee who objected to the unethical orders. They risked their position to collect proof."
He allowed a bare hint of admiration to cross his features. Courage—two words she understood intimately. He tapped the memo. "Have you shared this with any external parties?"
She shook her head. "Not yet. I wanted you to see it first. We need a unified response strategy."
He leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "Agreed. This is beyond ordinary corporate rivalry. It's a criminal act—interfering with humanitarian aid. We must act decisively."
Her heart fluttered. His tone held equal parts outrage and resolve—a testament to his personal investment in the foundation's mission. "What do you propose?"
He regarded her thoughtfully. "First, we secure the communities at risk. I'll authorize an immediate emergency shipment—airlifted supplies directly from our Seoul warehouse to Jeolla Province and the other affected sites. We'll bypass ground logistics entirely for the next week."
She nodded. "I'll notify our logistics team and coordinate with military‑chartered flights if necessary. We need press coverage to reclaim public confidence—highlighting our swift action."
He tapped his intercom. "Eun‑sook, please arrange an emergency press release and broadcast our relief efforts. Prepare a statement condemning the sabotage and outlining our emergency measures."
A moment later, Park Eun‑sook appeared in the doorway, tablet in hand. "Yes, Chairman. I'll coordinate with PR now."
Jae‑woon turned back to Ha‑young. "Second, we expose the sabotage publicly—but legally. Have Legal draft a cease‑and‑desist to NovaTech and alert authorities to potential criminal charges."
Ha‑young exhaled. "Understood. I'll work with your legal team and the Seoul District Prosecutors' office."
He nodded. "Finally, we ensure our internal systems cannot be compromised again. I want full oversight protocols for any logistics‑hold actions—two‑factor authentication plus direct approval from my office."
She tapped her final note. "I'll implement the safeguards and train both teams on the new procedures."
He closed the dossier and stood, moving around the desk to stand before her. He placed both hands on the folder. "Thank you, Ha‑young. Without your vigilance and integrity, this scandal could have gone unnoticed until it was too late."
Her chest warmed at his praise. "I'm grateful you trust me with this."
He offered a rare, genuine smile. "Trust is earned—and you've earned mine a thousand times over."
For a brief instant, his barrier dropped. She saw in his dark eyes the flicker of something more—gratitude, respect, perhaps even relief that someone else cared as deeply about the communities as he did. In that moment, she realized how much this partnership—and this man—had come to mean to her.
Their eyes held, unspoken acknowledgments passing between them. The air hummed with possibility and purpose. Then he exhaled and closed the distance between them, returning to his desk.
"We move fast," he said, seat a careful distance away. "Merger meetings resume at 2 PM. But for the next hour, let's focus solely on the emergency response."
She gathered her notes, heart buoyant. "I'll begin coordinating immediately."
He stood and offered her an elbow; she linked arms with him as they walked toward the door. Eun‑sook trailed behind, already tapping commands into her tablet.
In the hallway, the marble walls gleamed, and distant voices murmured about the upcoming afternoon sessions. Yet for Jae‑woon and Ha‑young, the moment stretched in a pocket of clarity: they were not just chairperson and strategist, but an alliance bound by shared values and unwavering resolve.
He glanced at her as they descended the elevator. "Ha‑young," he said quietly, "thank you—for revealing the truth and standing firm."
She met his gaze, steady and sincere. "I couldn't let the people behind those Community Kitchens down."
He nodded, pocketing his hands. "Then let's show them what true leadership looks like."
As the doors opened to the bustling operations floor, they stepped forward in unison—two storm‑tamers ready to redirect every tempest into fuel for their purpose.