Prologue

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              It was a cultural understanding in South Korea, that it was bad form to leave the office before your manager did. For those working at Park Industries, this was an impossibility. It is not that the workers didn’t work extra hours. Nearly everyone in the company was known to work long hours. It was a fact that no one worked longer hours that the company’s CEO, Sung Il Park. Park had worked this way his entire life and attributed his success in starting his own company and its subsequent financial ascendancy to his focused work ethic. This night at eleven o’clock, like so many others, he was still working in his top floor office opposite Tapgol Park in the northern part of Seoul.

Sung Il Park was typical of a Korean man in his late fifties. His hair was thinning and his roots were beginning to show a silvery white, a sure sign that he would need to go and get it redyed in the next few days. His formerly thin frame had begun to show a slight pot belly that no expensive well-tailored suit could hide. He had surrounded himself with items of elegance, starting with his expensive Patek Phillipe watch through to his imported mahogany desk and leather chair. He was a man who liked the finer things in life and as he spent so much time in his office, he had furnished it in a manner that suited his tastes.

He unplugged his laptop from its docking station on his desk and moved over to his lounge, happy that the machine had at least recharged to fifty percent. He did not like being bound to a particular place or thing. Despite its opulence, he would often be seen working from meeting rooms or from other offices in the building as the whim took him. His preference was always his own office but he valued the unpredictability his works habits had on those he employed. If they didn’t know where he would be then they would always be vigilant and hard working in case, he appeared near them. His need to return to his office and power something as simple as his laptop had prompted the IT department of Park Industries to create what they affectionately termed, ‘Park Kits’, on each floor of the office and in each meeting room. They were made up of a power supply for Mr Parks laptop and a charger for his Samsung phone. Park could work from anywhere, if he so chose.

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Before settling into the comfort of his office lounge, Park moved to a cupboard, opening its silent hinged door and revealing a simple bar area. He reached for a glass and opened the mini fridge that was hidden behind a panel underneath the bar. Three cubes of ice, no more and no less, were placed into the glass before he poured the scotch from its crystal decanter. He paused to inhale the comforting scent of the scotch before taking a small sip. Satisfied, he closed the bar door and returned to sit on the lounge. He pulled a wooden coaster from the pile so as not to damage the antique wood of the side table and putting his glass down, he picked up his laptop and continued to work. He did not expect to be disturbed but looked up at a muffled sound just outside his closed office door.

The door opened slowly to reveal the face of his bodyguard, a man who had worked for Park for over a decade. His face now was blank, all life had fled as he fell forward and bled onto the expensive carpet, covering the floor of the office. Behind him was a waeguk-saram, a foreigner, holding a sleek gun with a silencer attached. As the figure moved into the room they took aim left and right, shooting two of the three discrete surveillance cameras mounted in the room.

              ‘Annyeong, My Park.’ Only now with the voice, could Sung Il Park determine that his guest was female. Park was unsure if the foreigner used the informal greeting through either ignorance or as an insult. ‘If you could just stay where you are I will be with you shortly.’

Park said nothing as the woman dragged the body further into the room, smearing blood in a long wide stain across the carpet before returning to quietly shut the door.

              ‘Igeos-ui uimineun mueos-inga?’ Park demanded.

              ‘Yeong-eo Mr Park. English please. I know you are fluent.’

              ‘What is the meaning of this? Do you know who I am?’

              ‘Sung Il Park, CEO of Park Industries. It should be obvious that I know who you are considering we are in your office.’

              ‘Then you know, I am not a man who should be toyed with.’

              ‘Yes I know. So if we can conclude my business quickly I will be on my way.’

              ‘What do you want?’

              ‘I want you to open the safe you have hidden in the cupboard behind your desk.’

              ‘There is no safe. I don’t know what you are talking about.’ Park’s English was becoming harder to understand as his Korean accent grew thicker with nervousness.

              ‘We have already established that I know a lot about you Mr Park. Open the safe.’

              ‘I will not.’

The intruder did not hesitate and shot Park in the upper thigh. Park dropped to the ground with only a grunt, grabbing the wound and applying pressure with his hand.

‘There are many places for me to shoot that won’t kill you Mr Park. Open the safe.’

Park eyed the foreigner carefully, assessing how far she would go. Park prided himself on being able to read people and in this regard, this woman was an easy read. She would do whatever she needed to do. So would Park.

He struggled to his feet, his wounded leg slowing him more than he would like, and made his way around his desk. The intruder followed but always from a safe distance. Park opened the doors to the cabinet behind his desk to reveal a medium sized safe with a keypad and glass panel. Park entered a long code on the keypad and then placed his blood covered finger on the glass panel. A pleasant and short piece of music played, indicating that the credentials were accepted and the safe door opened.

              ‘Move away now Mr Park.’

Once Park had backed away, the intruder moved forward and knelt down to empty the contents of the safe into the satchel bag at her side. The distraction was all the opening Park needed as he grabbed the ornate silver letter opener from his desk and stabbed toward the intruder’s neck. The intruder saw the attack coming and was able to stand and move slightly out of the way, causing Park’s attack to miss the neck but stab the woman in her stomach. Park pulled the letter opener sideways and out, creating a long wound as well as the puncture and splattering blood over his chair.

Park backed away, letter opener held near his shoulder, ready to attack again. He was not given an opportunity as the intruder brought her gun to bare, firing two rounds into Park’s chest and one in the head before he fell. Park was dead before his body hit the ground.

The intruder moved forward and checked Park’s pulse, confirming his death. She rose and surveyed one side of the room only before making her way back to the door, opening it and leaving.     

 

 

 

Chapter 1

TWO WEEKS LATER

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It was surprising how much pain opening her eyes could bring. She blinked repeatedly as tears began to form, the sting of the morning light striking again and again. Once her eyes began to adjust and she was able to keep them open she looked around. She found herself in a small room, barely three meters square with very little in the way of comforts, white wallpaper coated every wall, making the room even brighter as the sun blazed through the small frosted glass of the window. She was lying on a thick cushion that was functioning as a mattress on the wooden floor. A small box functioned as a table next to her with a lamp and a glass of water on it. The room had one piece of artwork hanging on the wall, a hand drawn sketch of an arched bridge. It was only two colours, the bridge itself was a dusky red and the remainder was various shades of grey. There was a small ledge in front of the window on the wall behind. On the ledge was a small plant, its long green leaves hung down over the side of the small pot it was in. Above the window, a small air conditioning unit pumped warm air into the room.

She rolled to her side and winced. Pulling the covers down she noted that she had a dressing covering a wound in her stomach. A light patch of red indicated that the wound was still bleeding and that the dressing would need to be changed soon. She placed her hand on the wooden floor to find it warm to the touch and only now realising that it was actually linoleum that was pictured to look like real wood. She climbed gingerly to her feet and stood as tall as her wound would allow. She was wearing sports bra and pants that were tight at the waist and ankle but billowed widely over her legs. It allowed a lot of leg movement. w she was standing she noticed some clothes that were neatly folded and stacked next to the box functioning as the bedside table. She lent down and picked up a thick woollen long sleeve shirt and slipped it over her head, wincing again as she reached her hands up to slip it on. The only other item was a thick pair of socks which she also put on.

She walked slowly to the door and slid the wooden frame to one side, noting that the majority of the door was made up of thick paper. The door slid roughly as it opened and the woman was able to see into a small hallway. Two soft sandals were just outside the door and she slipped her feet inside them and made her way down the hall, leaving the door open behind her. More simple sketch artwork lined the corridor as she moved towards the stairway at its end. She looked behind her to note that the only other two doors were at the far end of the corridor. Before going downstairs, she backtracked to see what was behind the other doors. The first was another simple bedroom, larger than hers but not by a large degree. It had another piece of furniture though, a low set of three drawers lined one wall and after stepping in, she noted a small cupboard as well. She opened it to find hanging clothes and some storage boxes on a shelf at the top. The other room was a simple bathroom with a toilet and sink. She was about to leave when she noticed the pipe leading from the tap on the sink. It was an articulated pipe that led to a hanging hand shower unit on the wall. This was the shower as well then she realised. Her search of the upper rooms in the house complete, she descended the stairs to investigate the ground floor.

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The stairs opened into a small lounge room and kitchen. The lounge room was a small low table surrounded by four cushions used as seats. There was no television or radio however there was a mobile phone, charging on the table. The kitchen, if it could be called that was a single small bench with a stove top. Next to it on a shelf was a small fridge with a washing machine in the space below it and a pantry next to that. The house was simple, sparse. It only contained that which a person needed to survive. Another door led out of the room and she could hear someone moving about in it. She walked quietly over to the door and softly slid it open.        

Inside was an old Korean man dancing to a tune only he could hear. He gracefully moved stepping forward and backwards in a pattern, forming a triangle with each step. His movements forward always converged to the end of the triangle and then back to either the left or right point. The Korean man did not acknowledge her presence and just continued moving. He was well into his seventies with no hair on his head and his skin looking pale and thin yet moved with grace and power. He wore grey pants, a shirt and a grey vest. All loose fitting clothes that flowed with his movements.

She watched the old man move for a number of minutes before she realised that the Korean man was performing some form of martial arts, not one she had seen before. It was only then, that the woman realised she had no idea, who she was or where she was. The shock hit her like a wave and rocked her backwards. She would have fallen except the old man was quickly by her side, supporting him and keeping her upright.

              ‘Who am I?’ she asked.

              ‘Very good question. I have some answers, only some.’ The old man replied leading her over to a cushion and helping her to sit. The old man moved to the kitchen, switched the kettle on to boil and started loading a tray with items. He brought the tray over and placed it on the table and then went back to wait for the kettle to finish.

              ‘Well, what’s the answer?’ but the old man didn’t respond. He just stood waiting for the kettle to boil. ‘Excuse me. What the hell is going on?’ The only reply from the old man was a raised index finger, indicating that she would have to wait.

When the kettle boiled the old man picked the jug up and walked back to the table, settling himself opposite the wounded woman. He put tea leaves in a simple green painted ceramic pot and placed another bowl next to it. He then placed a thin wooden coaster in front of both of them and placed a small ceramic cup on each coaster and waited. It was obvious the man had answers but they would only be given when he was ready. Once the tea had brewed to his satisfaction he poured it into the larger bowl. It was a light yellow brown colour in the bowl but smelled incredible. He then poured the tea into the two cups, starting with the one in front of the wounded woman. He raised his cup in front of his face and waited. Realising the old man was waiting on her, the wounded woman picked up her cup and they raised it in a salute to each other before having a sip. It was still scalding hot and the wounded woman spluttered as she tried to cool her lips. The old man only smiled.

              ‘I don’t have all answers for you. I have some answers. I know you are named Ella and I know you have been injured.’ His English was heavily accented but was fairly easy to understand.

              ‘How come I don’t remember anything?’

              ‘I don’t have that answer. I found you with blood outside my door. I took you in, cared for wound, made you better.’

              ‘Thanks, but what was I doing, why was I injured.’

              ‘No answer.’

              ‘Right, you don’t know.’

              ‘No answer. Come, drink tea. Make strong.’

They continued to drink until the cup was empty but the old man didn’t refill the cups. He waited.

              ‘Would you like some more?’ Ella asked. The old man placed his two hands together and bent in a half bow. Assuming that meant yes, Ella picked up the bowl and poured more tea for the older man and then more for herself.

              ‘Very good.’ The old man said simply before tasting some more tea. Ella didn’t know if he was talking about the tea or something else.

              ‘I don’t know why I can’t remember anything.’

              ‘No answer.’

              ‘Right right. You don’t know. Have we met before this? Do I know you?’

              ‘No. We just met, two weeks ago.’

              ‘Two weeks. You mean I’ve been here two weeks?’ The old man nodded and sipped more tea. ‘Why didn’t you call the police or take me to a hospital?’

              ‘No police. Not help. I help.’

              ‘Thank you for looking after me. Wow I don’t even know your name.’

              ‘My name, Yong-Nam Lee.’ He repeated it slowly ‘Yong. Nam. Lee.’

              ‘Thankyou Mr Lee. Thankyou’ she replied, bowing because she guessed that is what she should do. Me Lee just smiled again and gestured at the tea. Ella took another sip.

              ‘You stay here. I go and get food and we eat. You need much strength.’

Ella couldn’t disagree. She had been awake only a short time but already felt exhausted. Once the tea was finished, Me Lee gathered all the items back onto his tray and carried them back to the kitchen. He then helped Ella back up the stairs and back into bed. He left the room but came back moments later with another small tray, this one laden with a cloth, bandages, tape and a small bowl of water. Ella raised her shirt, providing access to the bloody dressing. Mr Lee removed the old dressing from Ella’s stomach and wiped away the dried blood with the dampened cloth. The wound was only about two inches long but had been expertly sewn shut. Me Lee placed a clean dressing over the wound and taped it down.

              ‘You sleep now. Food soon.’ With that he picked up the tray and left, sliding the door shut behind him. Ella was left to wonder about her condition. Why couldn’t she remember what had happened, who she was. She knew about things, about amnesia and general information about how to exist and that humans needed food. But she couldn’t remember anything more about herself, his history. She knew about driving cars but couldn’t remember how to do it. The more she tried to remember the more anxious she got. It was a relief when exhaustion got the better of her and she finally fell asleep.

 

 

Ella was woken later in the evening by Mr Lee who brought into the room a tray of food. It seemed most things Mr Lee did involved trays of sort form. It was a simple meal for the two of them. Two things were easy for Ella to recognise and a third she thought she knew. A bowl of rice and some slices of fried tofu. The third item she believed was bean sprouts of some kind. The last item she could not identify. It looked like a cabbage leaf cooked in a red spice. Mr Lee passed her some chopsticks and encouraged her to eat. Mr Lee didn’t hesitate and started straight into his rice, using his chopsticks to grab small pieces of the tofu, sprouts or the mystery cabbage from their communal bowls.

Ella started on the rice, tofu and sprouts. They were the safer options. Me Lee pushed the cabbage bowl towards her.

              ‘Kimchi. Good for you. Make your gut strong. Eat.’

The last thing Ella wanted to do was offend her host so she picked up a piece of the kimchi with the metal chopsticks and brought it to her mouth. She nearly spat it straight back out and had to stop herself before she did. It wasn’t that it was bad, Ella thought. The problem was that it was like fire and ice when compared to the other items she had been eating. Rice, tofu and sprouts were bland, relatively tasteless items but the kimchi was the polar opposite. It was spicy and sour all at the same time. Ella tried to work out the taste as it rested on her tongue. The cabbage seemed like it was pickled before being spread with the spicy paste, or maybe it was pickled in the paste, she couldn’t quite work it out. Compared to the other items it was a shock to her system but Mr Lee just chuckled at her reaction as though it was perfectly normal. Ella smiled back and continued to chew, discovering that the taste was actually quite appealing when you expected it. They continued eating in silence until all the food was gone.

              ‘Mr Lee, I still have some questions.’

              ‘Many questions yes?’

              ‘Yes lots and lots. Like where am I? How do you know my name? Do I have family here? I don’t even know where to start.’

              ‘Three.’

              ‘Three? What do you mean three?’

              ‘Three questions only. No more, tonight. You need rest.’

              ‘Ok three questions. Let me think for a second.’

Mr Lee nodded in approval. The fact that Ella was willing to think about the questions before asking impressed him.

              ‘The first question is where am I?’

              ‘You in South Korean capital, Seoul. In North. Not North Korea. Different place. This my house. I live here fifty years.’

              ‘That’s a long time. Ok. Second question.’ Ella paused weighing up which questions needed answering first. ‘How do you know my name?’

              ‘Name in news. Saw face and name and knew it was you.’

              ‘I was in the news and you still looked after me?’

              ‘Yes. Now sleep.’

              ‘But my third question?’

              ‘You asked three questions. I answered. Sleep now.’

Ella quickly replayed the conversation in her head, realising that Mr Lee was right and her last question came out without her realising. It wasn’t the question she wanted to ask but it was her own fault. Not wanting to push Mr Lee’s generosity and patience, Ella just performed a half bow.

              ‘Thankyou Mr Lee.’

              ‘Say gamsahamnida. Thankyou in Korean.’

Ella nodded. ‘Gamsahamnida.’

Mr Lee stood and picked up the tray and headed for the door. He placed it outside in the hall and turned back. ‘Tomorrow morning. I wake you at six. You join me for training.’ Mr Lee didn’t wait for an answer but stepped out, sliding the door shut behind him leaving Ella with time to ponder why she was in Seoul and why she was on the news. She lightly touched her dressed wound.

              ‘What the hell have I gotten into?’ she thought to herself.

 

 

At six am the next morning a light knock on the door woke Ella. The door slid open and Mr Lee placed a white bundle of clothes just inside the doorway.

              ‘Put these on and come downstairs now.’

Left with little choice, Ella rolled out of bed and picked up the clothes. She held them up, confused about how to put them on. It was pants and a shirt but not like the sort she had worn before. The pants were very large at the waist with ties at each end. The ankles also had pieces of cord to tie but Ella wasn’t sure how it all worked. The shirt was a little more straight forward but she was not sure how to tie it closed either. Feeling uncomfortable and embarrassed, she made her way downstairs to meet Mr Lee. He looked Ella over and smiled.

              ‘No,’ was all he said before coming over to fix the clothes. He helped Ella fold the excess cloth at her waist and tie it firmly. He also showed how the shirt tied together. The right side went inside against her stomach. It tied to a cord on the inside just under her left armpit. The left side of the shirt tied to a cord on the outside just under her right armpit. It seemed logical now she looked at it but Ella thought a simple set of buttons would be easier. Mr Lee made her sit down and fixed the uniform at the ankles. Once again, the excess material was folded over and tied firmly against the ankle.

              ‘You student. I’m, Master. Come.’ Mr Lee said and moved off toward the larger room behind the kitchen. Ella stood up and followed, surprised at how comfortable the uniform was now that it was tied properly.

Once inside the room, Mr Lee directed Ella to stand and face the front wall while he went to slide the door closed. On the wall was a picture of an old man. Ella didn’t know who he was and Mr Lee didn’t provide an answer. Mr Lee moved to stand in front of Ella and gestured for her to put her hands together in front of her body.

              ‘You copy,’ he said.

Mr Lee raised his hands to his forehead and then moved them to his chest as he performed a deep bow. Ella followed along, wincing slightly as the bow put pressure on her wound. Mr Lee straightened and his hands ended in front of his stomach. He then turned and faced Ella and they bowed again, this time to each other. The formality of the act appealed to Ella. She liked the air of history that seemed to linger in the room as she realised that this simple act, would have been done for centuries between master and student. The ancient feel was broken though when Mr Lee brought his mobile phone out of a pocket on his vest and went and plugged it into a small speaker in the corner. Old meets new, Ella thought.

              ‘You copy,’ Mr Lee said again. A drumbeat sounded from the tiny speaker and a traditional Korean tune began to play. Just like yesterday, Mr Lee began stepping forward and back.

              ‘Triangle, you step forward on triangle and then put foot back. Then other side.’

Moving the feet to the right spot was the easy part. Ella was able to follow the pattern easily, making it look as natural and graceful as Mr Lee was a lot harder. For the next thirty minutes the music played and Ella simply stepped forward and back. Mr Lee walked around her, telling her what to change and constantly telling her to relax. When the music finally stopped, Mr Lee made Ella formally bow again and told her to sit.

              ‘You too stiff. You like this.’ Mr Lee tensed his fists and held them up in a strong fighters pose in front of his face and made a yelling noise. ‘No good, this Taekyun. More natural, relaxed but with power.’ He demonstrated the steps and kicked a few times. His movements were relaxed and looked smooth yet the kicks came out so fast and with such power. It conflicted with what Ella expected from a man as old as Mr Lee. ‘You watch.’

Mr Lee went back to his phone and started the music again. He performed a number of moves, each flowing gracefully and naturally but with an underlying strength that demonstrated how effective this art could be. Ella stared in awe as another thirty minutes passed, watching Mr Lee demonstrate his art. When the music stopped again he bowed to the picture on the wall. He gestured for Ella to stand and they both bowed to the photo and then to each other.

              ‘Breakfast.’ Mr Lee said and they moved out into the lounge area.

 

Breakfast was rice, tofu and kimchi again. They ate in silence but when finished, Mr Lee announced.

              ‘Three more questions. Three.’

Ella took her time to think again. ‘Why help me?’

              ‘Easy question. You good person I believe. I help good people.’

It wasn’t the answer Ella expected. How did he know the woman bleeding on his doorstep was a good person? She was grateful but she wasn’t sure if she would have done the same. Or would she? She couldn’t remember what sort of woman she was so how would Mr Lee know. Ella knew what question she wanted to ask last so she carefully decided what her second question would be.

              ‘Did I have anything on me when you found me?’

              ‘No, just clothes. Ruined clothes. I had to put in rubbish.’

Damn, Ella thought. She was hoping for some clue like a wallet or something to provide her some answers. She would have to do this the hard way.

              ‘Ok final question. What is Taekyun?’

Mr Lee broke into a big smile. ‘Good question. I like this question.’ Mr Lee then began to explain the history of Taekyun and how it had been practised for generations until nearly being wiped out when Japan occupied Korea in the early twentieth century. Some masters had practised in secret and he had learned from one of those masters. At first he learned in secret, then with others. ‘Now I practise for me. For health and fun. I teach you and help you get better, get strong. More training. Come.’

 

The training continued for days and then weeks. At each meal, Mr Lee answered only three of Ella’s questions. It became evident that Mr Lee did not know that much about her past but she worked out that Mr Lee knew something he wasn’t sharing. When she asked Mr Lee about seeing her name in the news, he would only say no answer. At first Ella thought that meant he didn’t know but she began to suspect it meant simply that Mr Lee wouldn’t answer that question. In that time, Ella did learn a lot about herself. She had practised martial arts before. She had skills and abilities that came from her subconscious. She didn’t know how she knew but when Mr Lee asked for a type of kick, she could do it effortlessly. One day she found herself performing a series of moves without knowing where they came from. Mr Lee knew though.

              ‘Taekwondo poomsae, pattern. You learned Taekwondo.’

              ‘Is that what that was? I don’t know. I can’t remember.’

              ‘Yes. I practise Taekwondo, many years ago. I know, I see. That, um shows, splain. .’

              ‘Explains?’ Ella suggested.

              ‘Ne,’ he said in Korean, ‘yes explains. It explains much. You learn Taekyun quickly. Practise Taekwondo and something else before.’

              ‘I still don’t remember any of it though. Maybe I should see a Dr? I might have a head injury.’

              ‘No. Not head injury. Something else.’

              ‘Why do you say that sir?’

              ‘That is a question. You ask again at dinner.’

It was frustrating but Master Lee had his rules. Over the weeks she had stopped considering Mr Lee as just a Mr and began to refer to him as Master or Sir. It came naturally during their martial arts training and Master Lee had smiled the first time Ella had said it, so she continued. Showing respect to this man who had rescued her, taken her into his home, cared for her and taught her just made a perfect sense to Ella. Without her memories, she couldn’t explain it though, and this, as well as all the other things she couldn’t remember, frustrated her endlessly.

 

Six weeks had passed since she woke in Master Lee’s spare room. Eight weeks since Master Lee found her. It was mid-January now and Ella was going a little stir crazy being stuck in the house. Master Lee hadn’t provided any warmer clothes than her training uniform. He had provided a second t shirt, underwear and pants to go with the clothes she woke up in on that first day. He had also provided some toiletries, deodorant, tampons and even a razor so she could shave her legs. It didn’t seem to bother him that she was female. To Master Lee, it didn’t matter and he just purchased the things he knew she would need. Thankfully, this also included hair elastics so she could tie her long blonder hair back in a ponytail.

She stared at herself in the mirror for thirty minutes one morning after showering, staring at her reflection in the mirror. A reflection she didn’t recognise. A small rounded nose and a pointed chin. Features she must have got from her parents but features she could not remember. She found other signs of old injuries on her body as well. Old scars on her back, arms and legs. A round scar on her left side. All injuries she couldn’t identify the causes for. More memories lost to her.

The clothes she had though we not enough to go outside in the middle of a Seoul winter. The weather outside was cold. Ella had watched the snow fall a number of times through the windows of the house but had only ventured outside into the courtyard outside Master Lee’s front door twice. She had waited till Master Lee had left both times yet she hadn’t made it further than the door that led to the street. This she had opened and looked out but all she saw was a windswept laneway, puddles frozen to ice on the ground. No clues as to where she was and without shoes or warm clothes, she decided it was too risky to try and go further. She had retreated back to the house and spent the next thirty minutes training to warm her body back up. Ella wasn’t sure if Master Lee knew she had ventured outside but he always approved when he found Ella training on her own.

One afternoon, Master Lee called Ella out of the training room and into the lounge room.

              ‘Come sit.’

Ella sat with her legs crossed on the cushion Master Lee had placed out for her.

              ‘It is time for you to find answers. Your answers. I tell one last thing. I saw you in news, I say this yes?’

              ‘Yes sir. It’s how you knew my name.’

              ‘Ne. I knew your name Ella. New said you had done bad thing, killed someone.’

This news rocked Ella to the core. She was a murderer? But who, when and why would Master Lee protect her?

              ‘I know you have questions. Wait. News say you murder Sung Il Park. Park was a bad man. Criminal. Ran big company. I helped you. Sung Il Park’s business killed my grandson, so I helped his killer. I helped you.’

              ‘But I killed someone. How did you know I wouldn’t hurt you?’

Master Lee just laughed. ‘You not hurt me. I helped you because Park killed my grandson. But I don’t think you killed Park. I believe not you.’

              ‘The police think I killed someone, I end up on your doorstep with a stab wound, bleeding. You helped me but don’t believe I killed this guy?’

Mr Lee nodded. ‘You must find answers yes? But for me, I don’t believe you killed. I spoke to man I know. He going to help my grandson, Byung-Hun, send him to Australia to learn. Byung-Hun met bad people. Did bad things and was killed. But this man tried to help. Give him, second chance but too late. He help you now. I take you tomorrow.’

Ellas mind was reeling. This was new information but still not enough. She needed to know what happened.

              ‘Thankyou Master Lee. For everything.’

              ‘You good person Ella. You find truth then come back.’     

 

THE END

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