Chapter 8
The beginning, it turned out, was considerably older and more complicated than one night in Seoul.
The Jyn family had been in the import and export business for over two hundred years, beginning with trade routes between China and Europe and expanding as the world’s economy expanded and shipping became the circulatory system of global commerce. What had once operated in the grey areas between law and custom had, over Jyn’s generation, been methodically and genuinely converted into something entirely legitimate — which had cost money and time and three separate long-term legal processes and had resulted in the loss of certain lucrative but unsustainable arrangements.
The Chong family had not made the same conversion.
“They stayed where we were,” Jyn said. “And they resent that we left. And they are afraid.”
“Of you?”
“Of what we represent. A major player in our industry legitimizing is a problem for everyone still operating informally. It changes what acceptable looks like. It changes what regulators investigate. We are an argument that their way is not the only way, and they do not like that argument.”
“So they’re trying to destabilize you.”
“They have been trying for eight years. Mostly they have attempted business disruption — undercutting contracts, bribing port officials, that kind of thing. Eighteen months ago, it escalated to personal threats.” He paused. “Which is why I moved.”
“You moved next door to me as a security measure?”
“I moved to that house because it has the best defensive position in the city, with clear sight lines on all sides and a manageable single road of ingress. I did not know who my neighbor was.” A pause. “Although Thor apparently did.”
Nia thought about the first time Thor had jumped the fence. The blue rabbit. The soggy, triumphant delivery.
“He was checking on Leo,” she said slowly.
“I believe so. Dogs recognize scent in ways we don’t fully understand. A dog that has been with me for five years would recognize — I mean, Leo has—”
“Leo has your DNA,” Nia said.
Jyn looked at her steadily. “Yes.”
The word settled between them with all its weight.
“He was trying to take care of him before you even knew he existed,” Nia said. “Your dog knew Leo was yours before you did.”
Jyn didn’t answer this. He just looked at her with the expression she had catalogued as terrifyingly unguarded, and she understood from the silence that he didn’t have language for what he was feeling, or possibly he had it but it was not language he was accustomed to using in front of people.
She gave him the room for that.
