Mom stops and tries to find the perpetrator. “Who did that?” she shouts. “That’s entirely not okay.”

“No. No. It’s fine. Come inside,” Bomi begs. Another projectile flies through the air, but now an army of black-suited men appears and drags us inside before any of us can get pelted again. The reporters press against the glass front windows like zombie ghouls trying to claw inside to eat the undead. A handful of gawking office workers mill around, trying not to stare but not fully succeeding.

“Are you okay?” I reach up and try to flick some of the gooey mess onto the ground. Better that it’s on the tile floor than dripping onto Bomi’s black suit.

Bomi ducks away from my hand. “Yes. I’m fine. Are you okay? You didn’t get hit by anything, did you?” She tries to inspect me.

“I’m not the one that was egged. Holy crap, Bomi, what is happening? Did someone from the IF Group kill a person?”

She stops moving. “Not exactly.”

Her words make me freeze, too. Something did happen to the IF Group. Bomi says something to the man next to her, who whips out a handkerchief, but instead of using it on herself she grabs my hand and tries to wipe the egg off my fingers. I shake her off. “I’m okay, Bomi. Please tell me what’s going on.”

“Upstairs. Choi Yujun-nim is going to be so mad when he sees this. I am going to go wash my hair out. Take her to Sajangnim’s office,” she orders one of the security officers.

I turn to Mom. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, but this is very confusing. They must be protesting something serious.” She casts a worried glance over her shoulder.

“Yeah. I don’t know what, though.”

We follow one of the security officers to the elevator bank.

“Could you understand any of the questions the reporters were asking?” Ellen whispers loudly.

“No, Mom.”

“Me either. I listened to a beginner’s audio lesson on the plane, but I don’t remember anything beyond ‘hello.’ I regret taking that sleeping pill now.” She squeezes her hands together in distress, as if one more hour on the plane would’ve allowed her to magically understand the language.

My chest is tight. Something is wrong with Yujun’s company—enough so that there is a gaggle of reporters standing outside the building and a smattering of protestors. When the elevator opens on the fourteenth floor, Yujun is waiting. The smile on his face is thin and tired and he looks unusually disheveled.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come down. I was on the phone. Where’s Kim Bomi?” He cranes his neck to peer into the elevator as if she was hiding in there behind the security guard.

“She had to go to the restroom.”

He frowns. “She shouldn’t have left you.”

“We’re good.” I’m not so sure about the other woman. “What’s going on?”

He jerks his head in the direction of Wansu’s office. “I’ll tell you in Eomma’s office.” He bows deeply to Ellen. “I’m sorry we are meeting under these conditions.”