The fax machine's screech tore through the predawn quiet of the bakery's back office. I jerked awake from where I'd been dozing against sacks of bread flour, my cheek imprinted with the texture of a grain sack. The machine spat out its report like it was coughing up a hairball, the warm paper curling as it emerged.
Taehyun didn't even glance up from his laptop, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "Page three shows the latest acquisitions," he murmured, dark circles under his eyes catching the blue glow of the screen.
I caught the still-warm pages, the numbers swimming before my sleep-crusted eyes:
Golden Wheat Investments Holdings:
18.7% Moon & Son common stock
43% outstanding convertible bonds
Controlling interest in Wei Fang Trading (primary flour supplier)
The numbers kept coming. I rubbed my face, trying to force my brain to catch up. "When did we get convertible bonds?"
"That was Grandfather's move last night." Taehyun finally looked up, his usual crisp appearance fraying at the edges - tie loosened, collar unbuttoned, a smear of what looked like red bean paste near his left ear. "They mature in thirty days. Once converted, we'll have effective control of 34% of voting shares."
A quiet knock at the back door startled me. Taehyun checked his phone. "Right on time."
Ms. Kang, Taehyun's unflappable personal secretary, entered with two aluminum briefcases that looked heavy enough to contain small artillery. The morning chill followed her inside, carrying the scent of dew and diesel from the delivery trucks rumbling through the alley.
"Good morning, Miss Han," she said with a slight bow, her sleek black bob not a hair out of place despite the early hour. She set the briefcases on the flour-dusted worktable with a thunk. "I brought breakfast and ammunition."
The first case contained an assortment of still-warm pastries from Sunyang's test kitchen. The second held neatly bound financial documents, each section tabbed with color-coded post-its. Ms. Kang opened it with a practiced flick of her manicured fingers.
"As of 4:15 this morning," she said, pointing to a highlighted figure, "Golden Wheat Investments controls 28.3% of Moon & Son's outstanding shares through a combination of direct purchases and derivative positions."
Dae-ho stumbled in then, his pajama pants covered in flour handprints, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Why do I smell money and croissants?" He blinked at the documents. "Are those... are those stock certificates?"
"Not exactly." Taehyun selected a pain au chocolat and took a precise bite. "We're using layered holding companies based in Singapore, Luxembourg, and the Cayman Islands to avoid triggering mandatory disclosure thresholds."
Ms. Kang produced an iPad showing a complex corporate structure that made my head hurt. "This shell company owns these subsidiaries, which hold these convertible notes, which give us effective control over these voting shares without technically owning them outright yet."
Grandfather chose that moment to enter, accompanied by his silver-haired lawyer, Mr. Park. The old man moved with quiet purpose, his cane tapping a familiar rhythm against the tile floor. He placed a thicker folder on the table.
"Wei Fang Trading," he announced, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Moon & Son's primary flour supplier for twenty years. As of midnight, they have new majority shareholders."
Mr. Park adjusted his glasses. "The purchase agreement includes an interesting clause - all existing contracts with Moon & Son become voidable at our discretion."
A slow grin spread across Dae-ho's face. "So if we want to cut off their flour supply..."
"Precisely." Grandfather accepted the cup of tea I automatically poured for him. "Though I suspect Chairman Kang has more elegant plans."
Taehyun wiped chocolate from his fingers with a linen napkin. "Board meeting at nine. I'll be attending as Golden Wheat's representative."
I nearly dropped the teapot. "You're walking into their headquarters?"
"With you," he said, as if it were obvious. "As my bakery consultant. They can't bar shareholders from bringing advisors."
Ms. Kang produced two visitor badges and a slim folder. "Your background as a junior analyst at Golden Wheat, Miss Han. Memorize it by eight-thirty."
The next two hours passed in a blur of hurried preparations. Ms. Kang schooled me on corporate etiquette while Taehyun drilled me on likely questions. Dae-ho and Grandfather pored over the Wei Fang contracts, identifying which clauses would hurt Moon & Son most if invoked.
At eight-forty-five, we stood outside Moon & Son's gleaming headquarters, the morning sun glinting off its glass facade. Taehyun had changed into a tailored navy suit, but deliberately left the Han Baking apron tied over it - our flag planted in enemy territory.
The boardroom was all cold modernity - polished black table, uncomfortable-looking chairs, and a dozen hostile faces turning as one when we entered. CEO Kim Ji-hoon stood so quickly his chair screeched.
"This is highly irregular," he snapped, his usually perfect hair disheveled, tie slightly askew. "Shareholder meetings require proper notice!"
Taehyun smiled his most infuriatingly polite smile. "Emergency meeting, Article 12, subsection C of your bylaws." He dropped a thick folder on the table. "When a shareholder group acquires more than 25% of outstanding shares, they may call immediate meetings to discuss... how did you phrase it last quarter? 'Existential threats to corporate viability'?"
Kim's face went through an impressive series of color changes before settling on an unhealthy puce. "You."
"Me," Taehyun agreed cheerfully. "And my associates at Golden Wheat." He gestured to me. "Our head of bakery operations has some concerns about your ingredient sourcing."
I laid out the lab reports detailing Moon & Son's wood pulp additive scheme, the documents fanning across the table like a particularly damning poker hand. The board members shifted uncomfortably.
One brave soul - an elderly director with kind eyes - spoke up. "These allegations are serious. If true—"
"If?" Taehyun tapped his tablet, and the massive screen at the end of the room lit up with Dae-ho's latest livestream. Over 200,000 viewers were watching his exposé on Moon & Son's "maple" flavoring process, complete with undercover footage from the Chinese chemical plant.
The room erupted. Taehyun waited for the chaos to peak before adding, almost as an afterthought: "Oh, and Wei Fang Trading has suspended all flour shipments pending renegotiation of your supply contract."
Kim actually swayed on his feet. "You wouldn't."
From the back of the room, Grandfather's lawyer cleared his throat. "Actually, as majority shareholders of Wei Fang, they absolutely would. And will." He placed another document on the table. "Unless, of course, the board considers... alternative leadership."
The meeting lasted three more excruciating hours. When we emerged, blinking in the afternoon sunlight, Taehyun's phone was already buzzing with notifications.
"Stock's down 22%," he reported. "Three board members resigned. Kim's 'voluntarily stepping aside' pending an internal review."
Dae-ho, who'd been monitoring things from the bakery, called screaming: "We're trending nationwide! The health ministry just announced an investigation!"
That evening, we gathered on the bakery's rooftop - Grandfather, Taehyun, Dae-ho, Ms. Kang, and me. The city lights spread out below us like spilled constellations as we passed around:
Maple-glazed donuts (made with real syrup, naturally)
A ceremonial shredding of a Moon & Son banner (Dae-ho's performance art)
Two mysterious envelopes (delivered by courier during the chaos)
Taehyun opened his first. "Sunyang's increasing our bakery's credit line," he read. "No strings, no repayment schedule." He looked up, surprised. "Grandfather never gives unlimited credit."
I broke the wax seal on mine. Inside lay a single brass key and a slip of paper with an address in Paris's Montmartre district. Below it, in handwriting I recognized from Claire's postcard: "The answers you seek are in the oven where we left them."
Dae-ho threw a donut at us. "Save the romantic stare for after we finish bankrupting these clowns."
As the autumn wind carried the scent of caramelized sugar across the rooftop, Jeong's mist swirled around my glass of cider, forming two words in the condensation: