I'm halfway through a board call when Lee walks into my office—unannounced.
Her face is pale.
I mute the call. "What's wrong?"
She hesitates. "There's a problem at the construction site."
I don't need more than that. I grab my blazer, slide it on with one arm, and signal for her to follow. "Tell them I'll call back. Reschedule everything."
We're in the car within minutes. Namjoon and a few others are already there when we arrive, speaking with the site manager and structural engineers. The sun is blinding overhead, and even through my sunglasses, I see it—panic, contained but ready to blow.
"What happened?" I ask, stepping out onto the gravel.
"Subsidence on the west quadrant," Namjoon answers, straight to the point. "The soil underneath the main support column is shifting more than expected. It's not catastrophic yet, but if it keeps up, it could delay construction—or worse."
The word hangs between us. Collapse.
The manager rushes over with his tablet, visuals and data pulled up. "This wasn't in the original surveys. We're reviewing the scans from last week, but something changed fast."
I scan the blueprints and measurements. My mind runs through possible causes—water flow changes, a miscalculation in weight distribution, a fault in the bedrock. The engineer's voice blends with the wind as he explains, but I'm already two steps ahead, calculating damage, budget risk, PR fallout.
"We need to contain this immediately," I say. "Sink test piles deeper and reinforce with temporary retaining walls. I want drone scans of the entire quadrant. Today."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Namjoon," I say, turning to him. "You're with me. Let's go inspect it ourselves."
His jaw tenses slightly but he nods, falling into step beside me. I adjust the hard helmet over my head, slipping on gloves. It's hot. My cast is already starting to itch, but I ignore it.
We walk carefully toward the problem zone, past cranes, steel frames, and workers who glance our way, murmuring in low voices. I kneel near the edge of the support trench while Namjoon holds the drone controller and flies it overhead.
"The earth looks uneven, you see?" I point at it. "There's a thin crack forming alongside one of the poured concrete foundations."
Suddenly, a loud crack echoes.
A load of rebar stacked above us shifts—too fast.
I look up. My breath catches.
"Baek—!"
Namjoon lunges.
I'm shoved hard to the ground. The wind knocks out of me.
Metal crashes down a few feet away, right where I was, sparks flying where it hits stone.
Silence.
My ears ring.
Then, slowly, I hear voices—men shouting. Running footsteps.
Namjoon is over me, his hand on my head, shielding me. He doesn't move until someone confirms the area is safe.
"Ms. Baek, are you okay?" His voice is tight.
I blink. "Yeah. I think so."
My hands are shaking, but I'm not injured. My cast has dust on it. I sit up slowly, and someone helps me to my feet.
Namjoon brushes dust from my shoulders. "Next time, let me go first."
I meet his eyes. He's rattled. I can see it.
The safety inspector is already pulling people aside for a debrief. I adjust my helmet, clear my throat, and lift my chin.
"Double every safety protocol from now on," I say to the team. "Nobody steps into a hot zone without clearance. And whoever approved that rebar stacking, I want their name on my desk."
Everyone nods, quickly moving back into order.
Namjoon stands beside me. He doesn't speak again, just stays close—quiet and steady. Like steel in the spine of this building we're trying to raise.
•
We're barely back from the site when the headlines hit.
Lee bursts into my office holding her tablet. "It's already spreading," she says, dropping it on my desk. "The press got hold of the incident before we could issue a statement."
I scroll through the article, the screen bright against the dim of my office. My cast feels heavier with every word.
I've dealt with journalists before. Some polite, some sharks. None of them know me like I do.
So I don't let anyone speak for me.
Not PR.
Not the board.
Only me.
The next morning, I walk into the press hall in all black: tailored coat, silk blouse, heels I shouldn't be wearing with a half-healed fracture. My cast's wrapped beneath a fitted sleeve, hidden but still aching. I look like I belong on the cover of Forbes — not in an ER bed, even if that's where I probably should be.
Lee walks beside me, silent, phone in hand, nervous energy in her steps. Our PR team scrambled to set this up. Still, the room is full. Cameras ready. Reporters whispering.
I take the podium. No notes.
"Good afternoon. My name is Baek Dahye. I'm the CEO of B&C Holdings and the lead architect on the Gyeonghwa Tower project."
Cameras flash.
"The incident that occurred at our construction site yesterday around 11:45am was caused by a structural material defect within one of our subcontracted units. No injuries were reported. Safety inspections have already been expanded, and all structural protocols have been reviewed and reinforced."
I pause. Let them take that in.
"We take worker safety seriously. Our team, our contractors, every person involved — they're not just part of a workforce. They're part of what we're building. And I stand by them."
Questions fly, but I cut them off with one last line:
"This company doesn't hide from mistakes. We fix them. We learn. We excel. And we keep building."
And then I leave.
Simple.
Sharp.
Unshakeable.
