Jang Ilhyun stared down at the phone, deep in thought.
As the silence stretched, next to him Lee Bunhong, head of the Special Security Unit, spoke up as if joking.
“If it’s the next item on your schedule, do you mean lunch with me?”
“…Has the old raccoon grown ambitious in his twilight years? He’s starting to get on my nerves.”
“I’ll adjust the surveillance posture. Don’t worry too much. What could a wrung-out old man possibly do at this point?”
Jio’s position was unshakeable.
Even if some association president held a grudge, it wouldn’t lay a scratch on the throne—it would only wear him out. All the more so in Lee Sang-woo’s case.
A first-generation Hunter now barely clinging to the 200s, a retired Hunter long pushed off the board.
They’d selected and seated someone with no ties precisely so he wouldn’t be able to exert influence—how pitiable. From its inception, the association presidency was a seat made for a scarecrow.
It was the firm wish of the late Eun Seok-won that it’s bad to have multiple power brokers representing different factions. This was the result.
He was a wise man.
Remembering the departed,…