Six hours later, around eleven in the evening, Han-Gyeol stared at the mansion where he grew up, in San Francisco, California. It had three stories and had guards. There were lights in the front yard and inside the big house that was painted with white and red.
He approached the iron gates where a couple of men stood inside to guard the premises. He noticed at least a couple of CCTV cameras mounted on each post of the red gate.
“Is Mr. Lee around?” he asked the guards through the iron gate.
The two men exchanged glances, and one of them asked, “Who’s asking?”
“His son, Han-Gyeol,” he answered.
“Let him in,” a grumpy voice in the intercom chimed in before any of the two guards could turn him away.
“I didn’t know he has a son,” the second man commented to the first one, who opened the
