My daughter lay in a hospital bed in Queens after a six-hour emergency spinal operation, and not a single member of our community association came to see her.
Later that afternoon, the bell above the door of Park Custom Tailors jingled, announcing a visitor. It wasn’t a client.
Boss Kang himself walked in, flanked by two men whose suits seemed to strain at the shoulders, their eyes scanning every corner of my small shop. Kang was shorter than his escorts, but his presence filled the room, radiating an undeniable, chilling authority.
He moved with an almost leisurely pace, his gaze drifting over the racks of hand-stitched suits. He even paused to examine a lapel on a bespoke tuxedo, his fingers lightly brushing the fabric.
“Fine work, Mr. Park,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft. “A true craftsman.”
Then he turned to me, his expression hardening. “Min-jun Choi has been very careless with his promises.”
I stood my ground behind the counter, the secret ledger clutched under my arm, hidden from view. “Min-jun forged my signature. The loan is not legal.”
Kang chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. “Legalities are for lawyers, Mr. Park. We deal in different kinds of agreements.”
He leaned against the cutting table, his enforcers standing like statues behind him. “The $85,000 primary loan, secured by your deed. You know about that.”
I nodded, my mouth dry.
“But Min-jun also took out a secondary personal cash advance,” he continued, his eyes never leaving mine. “Three days ago, to cover some particularly bad luck at the tables. Another $40,000.”
My mind reeled. $40,000?
“That brings his total obligation to $125,000,” Kang stated, as if discussing the weather. “And under the rules of the Flushing street market, which are much faster than your courts, the physical shop itself will be locked and seized by midnight tonight if the debt remains unpaid.”
He glanced at his watch. “You have until then.”
He turned and walked towards the door, his men following in lockstep. The chime above the door sounded again, leaving me in the sudden, terrible silence of my own shop, with a midnight deadline hanging over my head.
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