"To moments just like this with you."
Mi-rae smiled so widely that his heart pinched.
She looks so happy.
His wife had smiled more today than in the last several weeks. Even on Christmas he had sensed the stress of the impending closing wearing on her despite her cheerful attempts to pretend otherwise. Ever since he had launched Birdhouse, Mi-rae's complaints about the firm had subsided. But she still sighed at her laptop. And grew quieter on Sunday nights. And she did not want to share stories about her clients or transactions over dinner whenever they could still eat together; any other topic was preferable. Ji-pyeong lifted the glass to his lips and decided to make her laugh instead of calling attention to the contrast.
"You have to respect a business model that requires you to buy an entire bottle of liquor just for the privilege of sitting down."
Mi-rae laughed softly at his droll assessment. Her amusement now secure, Ji-pyeong took a sip of the mojito. Mint and sugar tickled his tongue as the bubbles carried the rum down his throat. Then they both looked around the opulent surroundings. An early twentieth century mansion built by an orange heiress as a monument to her good fortune had been meticulously restored and turned into a glittering nightclub with multiple floors of music and increasingly private rooms for members only. Ji-pyeong had basically bribed his way to a VIP table overlooking the ocean. The beach was now ensconced in darkness save for the reflection of the half moon on the water.
Mi-rae slid an elbow onto the table and cradled her head in her hand.
"I love that someone took this old house and made it into something new."
Ji-pyeong nodded thoughtfully at the pale pink stucco and artfully lit green palm fronds. As he looked around at the men and women preening in blatant displays of designer clothing, Ji-pyeong's mind wandered back to the crowd of entitled Wall Street bankers at the New Years Eve party. This was a place that he understood— arriving in beautiful clothes and an expensive car; a price of admission in exchange for access. It was how he too assumed the place that he had earned in the world.
But the party three nights ago was suffocating.
Ji-pyeong had learned long ago how to play with those who had inherited their fortunes. But that was all it was — playing at something. Those silver haired men asked coded questions: Where did he go to school? What bank had he trained with? Where did he "summer"? As if that word could be a verb. No matter where he was, Ji-pyeong did not possess the correct answers. People like that did not understand the relief of a warm meal in your belly. Or the rush of buying a new car for the first time. Or the thrill of walking into a store and being fawned over rather than peering through the glass. Or the pride in seeing a title underneath your name gleaming on a desk.
At SK and Sandbox, Ji-pyeong was surrounded by a hunger that he recognized. It was the vital artery that pumped life into everything that they did. He had taken for granted being among people clamoring to make something of themselves just as he had. Wall Street was different. It was rife with the sons and daughters of bank presidents and private equity partners who attended Ivy League schools. It was a far cry from the mythical meritocracy that it espoused that it still was. Even Silicon Valley — a place that he had long admired for its innovation — had settled into a stagnant, smug self satisfaction. And yet he was beholden to their support. It rubbed him raw. At Birdhouse, the talented executives he had hired under the watchful eye of his investors to steer the company through its nascent era were experienced and competent. But their pedigrees had sanded off their edges. Ji-pyeong's urgency was often met with blank stares.
At the party, Ji-pyeong had looked around the room and wondered how he had arrived at this place in his life. Logically, he knew it was a culmination of his decisions. But he felt numb — like he was listening to someone else describe the projections for Birdhouse. Only the flash of red across the room jolted him awake. And then it had taken all of his self control not to punch the sneering face of the son of Burke Zucker's managing partner. The condescension to his brilliant wife had filled him with a cold rage. When Mi-rae whispered that she wanted to run away, it was like hearing his own thoughts out loud. And then they did — first to a bathroom, and then that hotel room, and then to Miami. They could still escape with one another.
January 3, 2024
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