“……For a second there I thought I was actually dead. What is going on?”
“What, maybe something tragic happened somewhere by coincidence that day?”
“By coincidence?”
“……The economy’s been rough lately.”
Hanmin set down his beer can and made the sign of the cross. Gangwoo followed suit for the time being. He didn’t know who it was or where they’d lived, but he offered a prayer that the soul of whoever had met their end in misfortune might rest in peace.
At the same time, Jinhwan’s intentions nagged at him. Pride aside, Jinhwan had refused to admit it, but he was the most capable investigator Gangwoo had ever gone up against.
There was no way he’d mistake a deliberate leap for an accidental fall. It was possible that the news about a body being found was a lie as well.
Either way, it was good news for Gangwoo, who had already made up his mind to retire.
The police had officially announced Jerry’s death. Who chases a dead man? The potential threat had resolved itself naturally. But the next thing Jinhwan said made Gangwoo realize that every assumption he’d made was wrong.
―Additionally, the Qing dynasty white jade goldfish carving Danjeong and the full jewelry collection of 36 items across 78 pieces, which had disappeared from the vault, have all been recovered.
“What is this supposed to mean?”
It wasn’t something he could laugh off as a joke. Gangwoo stood up, his expression more startled than it had been even when he’d heard he was dead.
On screen, the bank president was standing beside Jinhwan, holding the white jade goldfish. That piece should have been sitting inside the safe at Seo’s Manpower Agency.
“That’s a fake!”
The bank president twisted his dark, thick lips into a smile. The collar of his dress shirt was damp with sweat. Wearing a smile that was transparently forced, he lifted the goldfish carving he’d claimed to have safely recovered. The white jade caught by the camera lens had the same sheen as a milk glass plate holding a salad.
“So what? People will believe it’s real.”
Hanmin said.
“Son of a — this is bad.”
And that was exactly the problem. Banking and thievery shared two things in common: first, you build your wealth using other people’s money, and second, trust is everything.
There had to be a relationship of trust between a thief and a buyer — a guarantee that the stolen goods were genuine — before anything could be sold at its proper value. Let even the tiniest sliver of doubt creep in and prices would plummet, worse than cutting into your own flesh.
And that would be getting off easy. Plenty of times, no buyer materializes at all. There is no more burdensome dead weight than stolen goods that can’t be moved. At that point it’s no longer a pile of money — it’s nothing but evidence of a crime. The high-value stolen pieces that occasionally turn up in train station lockers or at flea markets are exactly this kind of case.
Somehow or other, Jinhwan had won the bank president over. The plan to negotiate secretly with the bank president and hand back the white jade goldfish in exchange for a hundred billion won had also gone up in smoke.
Jinhwan really wasn’t someone to take lightly. He had thought further ahead, placing the next piece on the board — stealing it wasn’t the end of the game. By officially announcing Jerry’s death, he had set up the board so that even if Gangwoo committed another crime under Jerry’s name, no one would believe it. He had slashed the credibility and sealed off every avenue for selling.
He’d been completely blindsided. He had a hundred billion won in his hands and there was nothing he could do with it. Even if he pulled off a heist worth just as much next time, he’d have to spend years rebuilding his network from scratch before he could sell it at full value.
The house by the sea with a garden, the red pickup truck, the fluffy white dog — retirement had dissolved into nothing.
“See, cash is always king. Should’ve just grabbed a gun and robbed the place like everyone else — why go through all that trouble……”
The house, the car — those he could do without. The hope of buying forty years’ worth of treatment in one go and living without looking over his shoulder had been stamped out without mercy. Gangwoo stomped back to his seat and dropped into it.
He didn’t want to live like he was being chased anymore. He’d thought he’d barely crossed the finish line — only to find himself dragged back to the starting point. That was just too——
“……I’m exhausted.”
The doctor, oblivious to how anyone else was feeling, was still sniggering. Gangwoo didn’t bother restraining himself. He snatched the beer from Hanmin’s hand and hurled it out the window. The doctor let out a stream of furious curses, but since it was entirely his own fault, Gangwoo ignored it. The television rattled on cheerfully with new developments of its own.
Jinhwan’s interview had only been the beginning. An even greater misfortune was waiting for Gangwoo.
―Production and supply of treatments for five rare diseases, including Allen-Park Syndrome, will be discontinued.
“Pfffft——!”
“……!”
Hanmin spat out the beer from his third can all over the place, and Gangwoo went rigid as stone. Allen-Park Syndrome was the name of the illness Gangwoo suffered from.
―According to the Ministry of Food and Drug Safety’s announcement on the 23rd, Eaton Biotech has decided to halt the supply of the treatment, with final production completed on the 14th of this month. Supply is set to be fully discontinued on the 25th, when existing stock is expected to be exhausted. According to an official, the reason for the discontinuation is reported to be insufficient profitability. Up next — the weather. Caster Lee Sangmi?
“……Is that it?”
Gangwoo got up from his seat. He walked slowly toward the television and tapped the screen with his palm.
The weather forecast ended, and a preview for a currently popular family drama came on. A mother-in-law slapped her son-in-law across the face. At news he’d heard but couldn’t bring himself to believe, Gangwoo struck himself hard across the cheek.
“Jeh Gangwoo!”
Hanmin got to his feet. Even he couldn’t bring himself to laugh. The medication was barely sourced. Next week is going to be a problem. He had seen the ominous signs right in front of him and still hadn’t grasped what was happening behind the scenes.
The cheek he’d slapped himself was red and swelling. Entirely separate from the shock he’d received mentally, his cheek burned.
Sadly, everything that had happened up to this point was real. It had all unfolded beyond Gangwoo’s control. But at the same time, Gangwoo realized something — he was still alive enough to feel pain.
And likewise — as long as he was alive, any number of chances still remained.
* * *
D-2.
―With Jerry’s death now considered confirmed, the police investigation to determine the whereabouts of historically stolen items is entering its final stages.
Sijin stood by the window, irritably winding the crown of his wristwatch. The past several days had been nothing short of chaotic, inside and outside the CEO’s office. The television channel he’d left unchanged on purpose, and the protestors who had gathered in front of the building. Naturally, he liked neither.
Since the announcement of the treatment discontinuation, people protesting the decision had been gathering in front of Eaton Biotech one by one. Most were patients and their families. They carried desperation in their hearts, but to Sijin’s eyes they looked nothing but absurd.
The discontinuation had been set in motion four months ago — far ahead of when it was announced to the press. The company had given patients advance notice through their doctors, tipping them off to stock up on the medication beforehand. Patients who attended their hospital appointments regularly had no reason to be protesting.
From his perspective, then, the people who had come to protest were latecomers — patients who hadn’t even been keeping up with their treatment properly, now rushing over in a panic. Why should I concern myself with the lazy? Sijin frowned at the company garden, trampled and ruined by the protestors’ feet. His eyes felt dry and stiff.
―Chief Researcher, you have a visitor.
The phone rang and a secretary announced Cheolhwa’s arrival. Please show her in. He walked quickly to the desk and reached for the remote. The reason she had come to the CEO’s office was already obvious. He could tell without even seeing her face.
The blinds had just reached the floor when the door to the CEO’s office was flung open with force. Behind the woman who bore a slight resemblance to Sijin stood the newly assigned secretary, wearing a look of helpless dismay. He waved a hand at the secretary without interest, signaling him to close the door and leave.
“Coming from the hospital, are you? If you’d let me know, I would have come to pick you up myself.”
Sijin glanced at the lab coat Cheolhwa had on and said.
“That’s right. The last time we spoke, you said you never wanted to set foot in this building again, didn’t you? And didn’t you spit at me as well?”
He didn’t let the sarcasm go either. Cheolhwa was the business partner who had co-founded Eaton Biotech with Sijin. She stared at Sijin with eyes colder than February snow. Clenching both trembling fists, she stepped toward him and slapped him across the face. Crack.
“You insane bastard.”
She hurled the insult at Sijin.
“Did we build this company to kill people, you murdering piece of shit?”
He had been slapped and called a murderer. And yet Sijin didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow. If anything, he sank deeper into his chair, fingers laced together atop his knees, like a professor facing a failing student.
“What are you talking about?”
He played dumb — despite the fact that he had been watching the protestors outside the window right up until Cheolhwa walked in.
“Murder, you say? I have never gotten blood on my hands anywhere outside of an examination room. Of course, I’ve never killed anyone inside an examination room either.”
He raised both hands as if to declare his innocence. You know better than anyone, don’t you? The former business partner who had been ousted from the CEO’s seat — his first cousin once removed on his father’s side — raised her right hand. Sijin watched her with mocking eyes and offered his already-slapped left cheek.
Cheolhwa could not bring herself to strike her younger cousin’s cheek again. Her whole body trembling, she lowered her hand. Instead, she pressed the button on the remote lying on the desk.
The blinds that had come all the way down began to rise back toward the ceiling. While she was at it, she switched off the blaring television news and also disabled the function that blocked outside noise from reaching the CEO’s office.
What had only registered visually now made itself known through sound as well. The cries of the protestors came flooding in. Reverse the treatment discontinuation. You murderer, cutting off patients’ lifelines — Park Siji……
Before his name, as shouted by the protestors, could finish making its way into his ears, Sijin snatched the remote from Cheolhwa and pressed the button. The sound vanished all at once. A heavy silence settled over the CEO’s office.
“People don’t only die from being stabbed.”
“And?”
“You can hear it and still not understand? You know what happens to those people without the treatment. They die — they die! Every last patient, including the ones gathered down there!”
