Page 159 of Under Construction

"Okay, up you go." Dennis gets his shoulder under Chris's arm, taking his weight. "We're getting out of here."

They make it three steps before a voice from the doorway freezes them both:

"Well, well, well. Isn't this touching?"

A young guard's gun steadies on Dennis's chest. His eyes dart between them, uncertain despite his bravado. He’s young enough to still be performing toughness instead of owning it.

Dennis almost rolls his eyes—someone's watched too many action movies.

The guard's stance screams military training, his watch is a distinctly Korean luxury brand, and his accent is barely detectable except in certain consonants.

Dennis shifts, angling his body between the gun and Chris. When he speaks, it's in formal Korean, pulling rank with age and status:

"Your mother raised you better than this. To point guns at your elders? To help hurt someone's son? Did you know Lancaster killed his mother?"

The guard's eyes widen.

"Look at him." Dennis jerks his chin toward Chris's drugged form. "You want to be part of this? When Lancaster goes down for kidnapping his own son, you want your name in those reports?"

The guard's grip wavers. "I... I have orders..."

"Phone." Dennis's voice stays steady despite his racing heart. After the week he's had—press conferences, rescue missions, kidnappedboyfriendswith creepy fathers and long-lost mothers returning from the dead—what's one more insane gamble? "Take it out. Slowly."

The guard fumbles his phone from his pocket, young face shining with sweat.

"Unlock it." Dennis keeps his formal Korean steady, authoritative. "You're what—twenty-two? Twenty-three? Still sending money home to your mother? Working 'security' for men like Lancaster isn't the answer."

The guard swallows hard, hands trembling as he opens the phone’s keypad.

Dennis nods curtly. “Good. Input this…” He watches the guard’s fingers type his number as he recites it. "When they find Lancaster’s son missing, you tell them he overpowered the others while you were investigating a noise. You understand? Then you text me—immediately—what Lancaster plans to do."

"Why would I—"

"Because I can get you legitimate, well-paying work—with opportunities for real promotions and a career you can be proud of. The kind yourparentscan actually be proud of. The kind that doesn't end with federal charges when Lancaster goes down."

Dennis feels Chris's weight growing heavier against him. They need to move.

"I have connections at every major firm in Sacramento. But you have to choose right now—help us, or go down with him."

The guard's thumb moves across his phone screen. A moment later, Dennis's phone buzzes in his pocket.

"Smart choice." Dennis switches to English. "Now delete that call log. When they check your phone—and they will—this conversation never happened."

Long seconds tick past. Then slowly, the gun lowers.

"Go." The guard steps aside. "Hurry."

Dennis half-carries Chris to the service elevator, mind racing. They need to move fast—before someone notices the guards in the breaker room, before Lancaster's other people arrive.

Chris's arms flop around Dennis's waist as he struggles to keep them both upright. His hand bumps against the gun in Dennis's waistband. "Is that you being happy to see me," he slurs, "or are you just happy to see me?"

"Please shut up and keep moving," Dennis begs under his breath. His heart's already pounding so hard he can barely think straight—he doesn't need Chris making the worst jokes in the world while they're running for their lives. Dennis tries to drag them to the elevator faster. It’s right there now, just a few feet away.

"You came for me," Chris mumbles against his neck. “Can’t believe you came for me, but you did, so I believe it, but I can’t believe it, but you did…”

They finally reach the elevator and Dennis slams the button, letting himself sag against the wall for just a moment as the doors slide shut.

"Of course I did, you dork, why wouldn't I?" A lump lodges in Dennis's throat, threatening to unleash days of panic and worry. His stomach lurches—he could quite happily spend the next hour with his head in a toilet, but that'll have to wait.

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