Deep Roots by Sung J. Woo

Author:Sung J. Woo [Woo, Sung J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781957957371
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Thirty-Two

There was a chair in the lab, so I sat in it, exhausted. Talking to this guy was never a simple thing.

He didn’t say a thing about me revealing his living status to his family. I guess because it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, and Ahn was definitely a grand schemer type of a guy. According to Mary, the will executed at the 24th hour of his heartbeat’s cessation. That wasn’t even an hour away, so who cares if he actually wasn’t dead? As far as the family was concerned, it was time to move on. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. At least one member of the clan would be glad to hear the news, and that would be Mary.

Before leaving the cozy confines of the sub levels and returning to what I figured now was a full-blown concert by the fine chap Billy Joel, I clicked on the Map tile on the Ahn App to see if there was anything else worth visiting. On Sub Level 1 was the kitchen and the dining area for the support staff, the traditional “downstairs” portion. The French actress who played the woman in blue had told me her colleagues were there.

I asked my drone to guide me back to the elevator, and, of course, it obliged. I had to admit, I was kind of falling in love with my SiobhanDrone. It was like a little flying guide dog, though I suppose if that were true, then I was the one who was blind.

There was no need to identify Sub Level 1 by signage—all that was required was a working nose. Two particular scents wafted in as soon as the elevator door opened: that of food cooking and a fake flowery perfume. I stepped to the left and found the laundry detergent smell to grow in strength, and when I turned and proceeded to the right, my stomach growled a little at the homey scent of baking bread. The filet mignon I’d downed hadn’t been a huge portion, so maybe I could pick up a muffin or something. I was a growing gal, after all. Growing old, that is, but hungry, too.

The dining room of the service people was nothing like what I’d expected. Instead of a long wooden table where Cameron and Hyland sat at the heads and presided over the staff as they ate their meals over polite chatter, brushed stainless steel tables and chairs wouldn’t look out of place in a modern corporate cafeteria. Three TV sets were mounted on the far off-white wall, one of which was broadcasting the stage featuring the piano man himself, singing, coincidentally, “Piano Man.” The other two TVs offered side views of the Ahns and their guests. There was one headset-wearing worker who was closely monitoring the TVs, I suppose to make sure there were no service gaffs. Outside of him, everyone else looked fairly relaxed.

Even though there were enough chairs for two dozen diners, only six service staff were here at the present moment.

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