Page 110 of Heart and Seoul (Seoul 1)

It doesn’t take long for Bomi to start talking. “Choi Wansu took charge of this company about five years ago. Choi Yujun came home from Harvard with many radical ideas, but they were the same ones that Sajangnim has always had. IF Group would hire based solely on merit, without regard to anyone’s religion, educational background, gender, or connections. They would open an on-site day care so that mothers, particularly single mothers, could find employment with them. This was a huge change and it’s rumored that Choi Yusuk—that is Choi Yujun’s father—argued for days, weeks, about it.”

Choi Yusuk. I realize this is the first time I’ve heard his name.

“In America, maybe this is not heard of, but here, we are taught to honor our elders, give deference to their knowledge and experience. In return, they foster and guide us, provide for us.”

A Korean person would be the last one to scoff at you for that, Yujun had said. We are always seeking our parents’ approval. It’s literally the gas in our engines. At the age of fifty, my father would still bow to his mother, still take direct orders from her. One Chuseok, she said she didn’t like his tie—it was one that had pumpkins on it. I’d picked it out with Eomma. He took it off and I never saw it again.

To stand up against his father must have taken a lot of effort for Yujun.

“There is another rumor that Choi Yujun’s fights with his father caused his stroke, but even as Choi Yusuk lay in the hospital, his son worked with his stepmother to make sure she took power, and with the shares he owns along with his father’s proxy, he supports her at every board meeting. This unwavering support from the heir brought the board to heel, and Choi Wansu has been able to run IF Group without challenge.”

“But?” There’s a catch.

“But the board is always waiting for her to make a mistake so that they can nod and say that they were right about her all along. A woman doesn’t have the balls to run a business like the IF Group, they say. They don’t like her policies because they are perceived as weak. They don’t want people like me”—Bomi taps her chest—“people who went to small rural schools or who don’t have a college degree. They want to brag that they have the most Seoul National University graduates or even the most Western-educated employees, but Sajangnim says that as long as our balance sheet shows a profit, they cannot touch her.”

This is the Bomi I know, the one who spoke passionately about women’s rights. I didn’t realize at the time that it was because it was an issue that hit so close to her, had so much of a real-life impact on her.

“And if it is widely known that this champion of women who gives money to adoptee programs abandoned her own child, it will be used as a weapon against her,” I conclude.

Bomi nods vigorously. “Yes. Much of Sajangnim’s power here rests in the belief that what she is doing is right. Her—our—reputation is built on it. That she gave up a child and that child was never aware of it will not be welcomed by the board. They will say that Choi Wansu speaks with two tongues when she leaves you behind but advocates for other adoptees and therefore is not fit to run this company.”

“Oh my gosh, we should do something. Hara, what should we do?”

Bomi and I both jump at the sound of my mom’s voice. I’d forgotten about her and so had Bomi. I look around to see if anyone else has overheard, but the lounge is empty but for the two staff members at the front desk, who are too far away from us to have heard anything.

“There’s nothing we can do.” But even as I say that I realize how wrong I am. I can fix this for Wansu, for Yujun, for Bomi, for the hundreds of women that Wansu employs. I just have to give up one thing. There’s sympathy in Bomi’s eyes when she sees I’ve come to the conclusion she’s led me to—sympathy and hope. My heart clenches and cries, but I know the right, the honorable, course of action.

Hot tears prick my eyes and I blink them back furiously.

When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became an adult, I put away childish things.

What right do I have to Yujun if so many others suffer? What happiness could he have with me if his company would be taken from him and Wansu? How could I live with the fallout? A result that I had a direct hand in, accidentally or not, whether it stemmed from being overheard at the restaurant or Kwon Hyeun letting her festering bitterness have free rein.

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