Jae Hyun sat alone in his dimly lit office, the city lights of Seoul flickering outside the window like distant stars. His mind was trapped in a whirlpool of memories his brother Ji Hoon's tragic death replayed over and over. The crash. The silence. The questions without answers.
It was 2:43 AM when his phone buzzed sharply on the desk, breaking the heavy quiet.
"Heirs bleed the deepest."
Jae Hyun froze as he stared at the untraceable text glowing on his phone screen. No name. No number. Just a sentence that felt more like a curse than a threat.
This was the fourth message in two weeks.
The first was a handwritten note tucked under the wiper of his car:
"We know what happened to Ji Hoon."
The second—a single red thread knotted around the handle of his office chair.
The third—an email with no sender, no subject, just one line:
"You're next."
Now this.
Jae Hyun gritted his teeth and threw the phone onto the couch. The silence of his apartment swallowed him. He wasn't just anyone. He was Jae Hyun of Daehan Motors the only remaining son. The face of the company. The heir.
But not the one in control.
That was still his father the elusive founder of Daehan, the shadow that loomed over boardrooms, strategies, and fear. No one saw the old man. No one spoke his name unless absolutely necessary. But his presence ruled everything.
Jae Hyun had spent years trying to prove he could lead. That he was strong enough. Smart enough. Merciless enough.
But someone didn't think so.
He called Min Jun.
"Hyun?" his best friend answered groggily.
"They sent another message."
Min Jun was silent for a beat, then his voice sharpened. "Same sender?"
"Untraceable. They're getting bolder."
"You think it's someone inside?"
"I don't trust anyone on the board. Half of them think I'm a spoiled figurehead. The other half are just waiting for me to slip."
"And your father?"
Jãë Hyun's jaw tightened. "He won't lift a finger. Not unless I'm already bleeding."
He walked to the massive window and stared down at the streets of Gangnam. His thoughts drifted to his older brother, Ji Hoon. Brilliant. Fierce. Gone.
They said it was a crash. An accident.
But Jae Hyun knew better. Ji Hoon had started digging into board corruption. Then he died. Just like that.
Now it was his turn.
Jae Hyun's pulse pounded. Whoever this was… they weren't playing games. They weren't just threatening him ,they were trying to erase him. Just like Ji Hoon.
Jãë Hyun was halfway through his third cup of black coffee when his phone vibrated again. Another anonymous message.
He opened it with a resigned breath, expecting more vague threats.
But this time, it wasn't words.
It was photos.
Grainy. Bloody. Real.
His brother's mangled car. The twisted metal. Ji Hoon's blood-soaked jacket draped on the roadside. Police officers standing in the shadows, none of their faces visible.
There was one final photo.
Ji Hoon's hand. Outstretched. Reaching. As if he'd been crawling for help.
Jae Hyun's breath hitched. He hadn't seen these before not even during the so called investigation. These weren't part of the official file.
Who had them? And why send them now?
His hands trembled as he scrolled to the final message that came seconds later:
"Still think it was an accident?"
The room spun for a second. Ji Hoon wasn't just killed he was hunted. And now…they were coming for him too.
By morning, Jae Hyun was already in the Daehan Motors executive archive suite—a private floor reserved for classified files, security footage, and company-police correspondences. He didn't wait for protocol. He wanted answers. Needed them.
He keyed in his credentials and accessed the encrypted drive labeled "Ji Hoon—Incident 0211."
Click.
There it was: the official police report. Thirty-six pages. Clean. Polished. Clinical.
"Brake failure suspected. Driver lost control on the Seocho Bridge exit. No signs of foul play. Closed case."
He skimmed through the photos attached to the file.
Not the same ones he received the night before.
These were sterile. No blood. No close-ups. No outstretched hand. Just distant shots of a crushed car and a few officers looking mildly concerned.
His heart pounded. These weren't the real photos. Someone had altered the report—or hidden the truth.
He clicked on the autopsy file. It said Ji Hoon died instantly from cranial trauma.
But Jae Hyun remembered the photo: his brother's hand, covered in dirt and glass, stretched toward the road.
That didn't look instant.
He leaned back in the chair, his jaw clenched. Someone had cleaned up the truth. The evidence was curated neat, perfect, staged.
He exited the file and opened the building's internal security logs from the week of the crash.
Access denied.
His clearance didn't reach that far.
"Of course," he muttered.
Only two people had that kind of authority is his father, and the chairman of the board. And he didn't trust either of them.
He grabbed his phone and messaged Min Jun:
"Something's wrong. The official report is fake. Ji Hoon didn't die on impact. We need the original files. Everything."
He stood in the empty archive room, surrounded by silence, the air feeling heavier than it had in years.
He wasn't crazy.
Someone killed Ji Hoon. And now they were trying to scare him away from the truth.
But Jae Hyun had made up his mind.
He wasn't running. He was going to war.
That evening, Jae Hyun pulled out of Daehan Motors' underground garage, unaware that his every move had been watched.
From a dark SUV across the street, a man lowered a pair of high-powered binoculars and tapped his earpiece.
"He accessed the archive room again today," the man said.
"Ji Hoon's file. He stayed there for almost an hour. He's digging."
A low, gravelly voice crackled through the earpiece.
"Keep watching. If he gets close to the truth… clean it up."
Back inside the Daehan building, another player moved quietly—Secretary Yoon, the vice chairman's loyal assistant. She had seen Jae hyun name pop up in the restricted-access logs. Twice.
She knew better than to alert the press. Or the police. She went straight to the boardroom's private number, the one only top brass had.
When the call connected, she simply said:
"The heir is restless. Ji Hoon's ghost is waking him up."
There was a pause.
"Then maybe it's time he joins his brother."
The day started like any other. Meetings. Reports. Polite nods in the hallways of Daehan Motors' glass fortress. But Jae Hyun couldn't shake the feeling someone was watching him. Again.
By 7:45 PM, he was tired. The rain had started to fall in sheets, drumming against the windows of the underground parking lot as he headed for his car—a matte black Genesis sedan parked in his usual reserved space.
He tossed his briefcase into the passenger seat and started the engine. Everything felt… normal.
Until he hit the downhill curve on the expressway.
That's when it happened.
His brakes stopped working.
At first, it was subtle he pressed the pedal, but the car didn't respond. He pressed harder. Nothing.
The red taillights of traffic blurred in front of him. His heart slammed into his ribs. He pulled the handbrake. It slowed—barely.
Sparks. Tires screaming. A sharp turn.
He narrowly missed the metal railing, the car skidding into a barrier with a sickening crunch. His airbags deployed. Smoke hissed from the hood.
Breathing hard, he sat frozen, staring at the shattered windshield. The brakes didn't just fail. Someone cut them.
Within minutes, a black van pulled up near the crash. But it wasn't an ambulance.
It didn't stop. It paused. Then drove off slowly like it had come to watch him die, and left disappointed.
Blood still trickled from the side of Jae Hyun's forehead as he leaned against the cold wall of the emergency bay. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. His breath came in sharp bursts part pain, part disbelief.
He didn't wait to think.
With trembling fingers, he dialed the one person he trusted most.
"Min Jun," he croaked. "They tried to kill me."
Min Jun didn't ask questions. "Where are you?"
"Samsung Medical—ER."
Twenty minutes later, he was on a stretcher. Nurses worked quickly, muttering words like "concussion," "shock," and "rest." None of it mattered.
Thirty minutes later, his mother arrived.
Lim Soo-mi burst through the hospital corridor in a blur of silk and heels. She looked almost regal until she saw her son.
"Jae!" she gasped, rushing to his side.
He managed a weak smile. "I'm okay, Umma…"
But he wasn't. She could see it. The bandages. The glazed look in his eyes. The way he wouldn't meet hers.
She sat beside the hospital bed, holding his hand tightly. "Tell me everything," she whispered.
But all he could think about was Ji Hoon.
Flashback: Ji Hoon's Last Day
It was a foggy morning.
Ji Hoon had worn his favorite navy coat. Their father had summoned him to the Daehan private estate said he needed to discuss "succession." Ji Hoon was excited. Nervous. He had smiled at Jãë that morning and said:
"When I come back tonight, I'll finally be more than a name. I'll be something real."
But he never came back.
That night, they said it was an accident a brake failure on the Seocho Bridge. Just like what happened to Jae
But there were whispers even then. About how the CCTV footage disappeared. About how the mechanic who worked on Ji Hoon's car vanished the next day.
And now… Jae was next.
Then, she broke down.
Her knees gave way and she sank into the nearest chair, burying her face in her hands. Tears poured from her eyes, soft sobs filling the cold silence of the room.
"First Ji Hoon… and now you?" she whispered through the tears. "Why won't they leave this family alone?"
Back in the hospital room, Jae Hyun blinked hard. The memory dissolved into the sterile whiteness of the ward lights.
Min Jun entered moments later, his face grim. "I checked the crash site. The brake line was cleanly severed. That wasn't failure. That was murder."
His mother gasped, her hand covering her mouth.
"Why now?" she asked. "Why come for you?"
Jae turned slowly, voice low and steady.
"Because I'm asking questions no one wants answered."
The sterile hospital room felt suffocating, but Jae Hyun's mind was already elsewhere — far from the bandages and blinking machines.
Min Jun stood nearby, waiting.
Jae s jaw tightened. "I can't sit here and wait for the next hit," he said. "I need to know who's behind this ..who wanted Ji Hoon dead… and now me."
Min Jun nodded slowly. "It's dangerous. But I'm with you."
Jae's gaze hardened. "Start with Daehan's internal records. Look for anything unusual ,any payments, off-the-books transactions, suspicious hires, and departures. Everything that doesn't add up."
Min Jun pulled out his phone. "I'll get my team on it right away. Also, I'm digging into Ji Hoon's last days his meetings, calls, emails. Someone wanted to silence him."
Jae clenched his fists. "Our father's shadow looms large, but I need to know what part he's playing or if someone else is pulling the strings."
The room grew colder as memories crawled back of whispered phone calls late at night, half-erased files on Ji Hoon's computer, and a security guard who suddenly quit without explanation.
Jae turned to his mother. "Umma, I need you to watch the house. Don't trust anyone outside this room."
She nodded, eyes fierce. "I will protect you both."
Days turned into restless nights. Jae Hyun's investigation dug up secrets the family buried deep: shell companies funneling money overseas, encrypted messages between executives, and strange disappearances of key employees.
And then a message arrived on his phone .. no number, just a video.
Ji Hoon, alive, but terrified.
"If you want to live, stop digging. They are watching."
The screen went black.
Jae Hyun's world tilted. The truth was closer than ever — but so was the danger.
Would he stop now? No.
He was ready to face the abyss.