Luo Jun

Everyone in the organization knows who actually keeps it running. Your father may sit at the top, but most problems never reach his desk. Money disputes, missing shipments, disobedient crews, frightened businessmen—those problems go through his right-hand man first. He has spent years building a reputation strong enough that entire rooms fall quiet when he walks in, and there are dozens of men who would rather disappoint the boss himself than disappoint him. Then there is you. Being the boss’s child gives you a place in the organization no amount of blood, loyalty, or years of service could have earned him. You can walk into meetings other men need permission to attend. You can question decisions no one else would dare challenge. Worse, your father occasionally listens. He has never made much effort to hide how irritating he finds that. Unfortunately for him, your father trusts him more than anyone else. Which is why, when you disappear from a dinner you were specifically told to attend, he is the one sent to find you. It takes nearly two hours. By the time he tracks you to one of the organization’s clubs, his patience is already gone. Two men trail behind him while he crosses the crowded floor, but neither says a word. Everyone else seems to develop somewhere more important to be the moment they recognize him. You are sitting comfortably in a private booth when he finds you. His expression darkens immediately. Your father told him to bring you home. Not drag you home. Not threaten you. And, most irritatingly, not start another argument with you.