Jason parked the Porsche in front of the bar. The paint on the walls was faded, the signage cracked, and the awning above the door hung like it had given up long ago.
"This it?" Hendricks asked, stepping out.
Jason just nodded, watching as Hendricks pulled a notebook from his jacket. Before they even stepped inside, Hendricks was scribbling furiously—half a page of notes just on the building's exterior.
"Angle of sunlight is perfect for a glass façade," Hendricks muttered. "Drainage slope's a mess. Frontage has zero character. No curb appeal. We're starting from scratch here."
Jason didn't interrupt. He wasn't here to micromanage. Hendricks was the expert. All Jason had to do was get out of the way.
He unlocked the front door and pushed it open.
The bar interior smelled like stale wood and wasted time. It wasn't filthy, just… forgotten. Chairs stacked up in the corner. A long, unused counter with a thin layer of dust. The windows were small, the lighting dim.
Hendricks walked in like a man entering a crime scene. He scanned everything—flooring, beams, acoustics. Then he started writing again. This time, full pages. By the time they reached the back hallway, he was on his third.
"Where's your electrical routed?" he asked. "Is the water line running under or overhead? Do you know if the ceiling supports can handle rigging for hanging lights or planters?"
Jason blinked. "I'll have Daisy pull the records. You'll have everything by tonight."
Hendricks nodded. "This place has bones. But it's like… broken potential. Someone started this with the wrong vision."
He wasn't wrong. Jason thought back to the original bar plan from the novel. In the original story, it was doomed from the start—a vanity project designed to fail so someone else could buy it out cheap. The place was cursed with poor decisions and worse intentions.
"Let's check the neighborhood," Hendricks said, tucking his notebook under his arm.
They drove for ten minutes, stopping at key intersections and alleyways around the bar. Hendricks took notes at every stop.
"There's too many hair salons in the next four blocks," he said. "But they're either old-fashioned or overpriced. If we offer a beauty salon with a clean, contemporary feel… you'll dominate."
Jason nodded. "And the café part?"
"Same thing. There's a coffee shop on every corner but nothing that blends relaxation and self-care. People want to feel like they're doing something for themselves—even when they're just sipping tea."
They returned to the car. Hendricks tapped his pen against the notebook.
"You thought about who's running what?" he asked. "Salon? Café? You're going to need people who know what the hell they're doing. Pretty faces won't cut it."
"I've already chosen someone for the café-slash-beauty side," Jason said.
Jason leaned back against a brick wall near the bar entrance and pulled out his phone. "I figured you'd ask that."
He tapped a few times and then turned the screen to Hendricks.
It was a profile—clean layout, aesthetic photos, and a follower count just north of 200,000.
Natalie Lang
She works front desk at EverSage—one of those mid-tier skincare chains. They aren't luxury, but they are legit enough to make noise in their market. From what I dug up, she didn't just book facials. She helped with campaigns, tracked feedback, even handled PR when needed."
He swiped to the next post. " she also started posting skincare content on the side shes got over two hundred thousand followers. Organic growth. No sponsors, no ads."
Hendricks let out a low whistle. "That's a real following. And the comment engagement's insane. Mostly women, too."
"Exactly," Jason said. "She built trust. That's something money can't buy. She knows how to talk to our target demo. Her fans will follow her into a volcano if she asked."
Hendricks flipped through another few posts. "So she's your choice?"
Jason nodded. "She doesn't know it yet, but yeah. I plan to offer her full creative direction of the front-end. Reception, branding, customer flow. She's young, but she gets people
"And if she says no?"
Jason cracked a small smile. "She won't."
Hendricks leaned back against the car door, still scrolling through Natalie's profile.
"She's got the look," he muttered. "Professional but relatable. Bit of that girl-next-door vibe—like someone you'd trust with both your skin and your secrets."
Jason smirked. "That's the point. The café and salon are luxury, yeah, but not exclusive. I want people to feel like they belong there. Whether they're college students or corporate execs. Natalie's the kind of woman who makes people feel welcome just by existing."
"Smart," Hendricks said. "So she's the hook."
"She's more than that," Jason replied. "She's the soft power.
Hendricks gave a skeptical glance, then shrugged. "As long as she knows what she's doing."
As if on cue, Jason's phone buzzed with a news notification. He opened it and tapped the volume button.
BREAKING NEWS: "It seems CEO Lang and Manager Park just can't keep their names out of headlines today…"
Jason turned the phone slightly so Hendricks could see the video.
"…the two corporate executives have now been officially charged with the rape and murder of their former employee, Vanessa Clark. The trial begins tomorrow at 8 AM."
Jason lowered the phone and scrolled to the comment section. As expected, public reaction was immediate—and scathing:
@QueenTiff: "They thought they were untouchable. Hope they rot."
@JustJ: "Who pushed the case through this fast? Somebody powerful must've wanted them gone."
@UnderTheScope: "The way they smiled in that fake apology yesterday… Disgusting."
@PaintedRed: "This ain't even justice, it's mercy. They should fry."
@CoffeeAndChaos: "So who's the whistleblower? Someone needs to buy them dinner for life."
Jason shut off the screen and smiled.
"They thought they got away with it," Hendricks muttered.
Jason reached into his backseat and pulled out a small black box. Inside was a brand-new phone.
"Take it," he said.
Hendricks raised his hands. "Nah, man. I don't need—"
"It's not a gift. You'll need it to keep in contact with Daisy. She already has her number programmed in. Anything you need—materials, transport, labor, permits—it goes through her. I'm not running this project. You are."
Hendricks paused, then slowly accepted the box. "Alright… but I'm paying for lunch next time."
Jason tossed him the bar key. "You're in charge now."
Before pulling away, Jason gave the building one last glance.
"Make it something that stands out," he said quietly.
Hendricks, holding the key, didn't respond. But his fingers gripped it tighter.
He'd been given scraps before. Now, he had a blank canvas—and backing.
He got back in the Porsche and pulled out onto the road, heading toward the office.
The Yun Motors headquarters was unusually quiet. No greetings. No smiles. The staff avoided eye contact as Jason passed. Something was up.
He adjusted his cufflinks, mentally preparing for whatever new chaos the day might decide to throw at him.
When he reached the executive floor, Daisy's desk was empty.
He opened his office door.
Inside, sitting at his desk with a cup of tea and legs crossed like she owned the place, was a woman he didn't recognize.
Jason narrowed his eyes.
What are you doing here sis ?