A Fate You Cannot Escape

One week later.

Jo Sudeok turned and took in the canvases crowding every wall of the studio. They were the pictures he had clung to all through the break—more of them, he suspected, than everything he had grudgingly exhibited since his appointment as a professor of fine arts.

And no wonder. This was the same Jo Sudeok who had survived the way a man juggles credit cards, reworking old paintings, revising them, touching them up just to stay afloat. After Master Kim Hwanki's death he had believed there was no reason left to put a work into the world. His eye must have gone backward and backward in the meantime. The will had vanished, and of course his fingers had dulled until they were all but dead. As an artist, he might as well have been pronounced gone.

He had no words for it.

To think he would fill this vast studio with new work. For as long as a brush was in his hand, he had been truly out of his mind. He had lived so sunk in making things that he could hardly imagine where such passion had been hiding. Stretch the truth a little, and it felt like being twenty again. They always said you had to keep the right company. Look at him—serve a teenage president, and you grew young right along with the boy. Heh heh heh.

At this volume, even if he culled only the good pieces to submit, he had more than enough for a solo exhibition. Then, as a way of paying the kindness back, it was time he helped the president with his work.

Right. Once the term starts I won't have a moment to breathe, so I settle as much as I can while it's still the break.

Jo Sudeok hurried to his office and picked up the receiver at once. Now then—the publisher. He dialed the number scribbled on the memo slip, and before the ring had sounded twice a hearty voice came through.

It sounded like praise, but it would not have been entirely pleasant to hear. A team leader was also under an unspoken pressure to earn his pay. Sure enough, steel entered Jeong Jinwook's voice.

Well, well.

President Park Jihoon was not a man who showed his feelings easily. If he had let his pleasure show in front of an employee, the work must have pleased him that much.

Jo Sudeok tapped the desk with his index finger. Tap. Tap. Tap. He had not reached ten before he spoke.

The third generation of Hyeon-gang was lost in art.

So what?

Our president was perfectly good at making money.

When the call was done, Jo Sudeok rummaged through the memo slips on the desk.

The contest is handled. Next is confirming the art authentication...

Yes. Here it was. Harvard, MIT, and Stanford were scrawled every which way across the slip. Those three schools had already promised an answer the moment the crack samples were sent. Yale and Princeton remained. Jo Sudeok lifted the receiver again and called the assistants' office.

What wrong had she done? Jo Sudeok smoothed his expression and asked.

"Okay!"

With that, he had a firm yes from all five universities Martin had required. All that remained was to finish their own authentication.

Jo Sudeok hung up and immediately pulled on his coat.

Martin's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠studio.

When Jo Sudeok flung the door open, the authentication team turned toward him with faces wrung out to the last drop, as if they hadn't even the strength to stand. Martin only swallowed, his mouth dry.

"Finished, then?"

A nod. Another nod.

"The result?"

Instead of answering, Martin pointed at the printer. Impatient, Jo Sudeok rushed over and pulled the sheet free. Naturally every line was in English: a chart comparing A and B, and inside it the estimated dates, the pigments, and the principal information they contained, packed tight. They had filled a sheet at least a meter long with nothing but a compositional analysis.

So what's the conclusion?

Jo Sudeok had the sense to look at the far right edge. He thought the result might be written about there. And ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sure enough—

"Ohhhhh!"

But the blaze of joy lasted only a moment. His legs began to shake. The strength ran out of them all at once. So that was why those people on the authentication team had looked so drained. Ah. So this was the feeling. Perhaps because the sum was simply too large. The joy was brief, and then fear dropped through him with a thud.

So this really is a da Vinci?

Jo Sudeok turned and advanced carefully toward the painting. The presence was as overwhelming as ever—an aura that seized whoever looked, and yet so ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠solid that no one could reach the work's true heart. The moment he had first faced this piece in Boston, he had known at once that it was a master's hand. But that it was genuine...

A fine shiver rose all over his skin. The first country in Asia to hold a da Vinci, and that country was the Republic of Korea! The trip to America with President Park Jihoon would be talked about for a long time to come.

This is no time to stand here. Report first.

Burning with a sense of mission, Jo Sudeok forced his heavy feet into motion.

That night, in Hannam-dong, Grandfather summoned me, and I went to the study.

Knock, knock.

"Come in."

Bookshelves that might have belonged to a library. A desk so broad it felt like open ground. The room was the same as ever, and yet today something in it sat strangely wrong—a flushed excitement, perhaps, a keen expectation dissolved into the air. Grandfather's face, however, had not changed.

"Got the report, have you?"

"Yes, Grandfather."

"Solo show's ready too, I'll wager. Sudeok called you himself."

I answered with a small smile.

"Heard it myself. Ninety-nine point nine nine percent, they tell me. So I rang the master restorer in Japan right away. Two years at least for a perfect restoration, he says. We let the world know around then. That'll do."

Grandfather was a cautious man, cautious to the bone. For someone like him to seek out a restorer before the American universities had even finished their verification?

It means something.

As if he had read the question, Grandfather went on, unhurried.

"Machine-made data. Unless somebody cooked it on purpose, it isn't going to be wrong."

True enough. The verification would be back within a week; Martin would hardly have falsified anything.

"Still, you never know. I called our engineers in and told them to judge whether anyone had touched the data. Hundreds of billions of won are riding on this. You don't leave a thing like that to one man's conscience."

I had thought it strange that he was moving so early. Of course he had already set his hand to it.

"And how did it come out?"

"Data's clean. Go by the numbers alone, and the two paintings are older brother and younger, born of the same womb."

At that point the authentication was as good as finished. It was a paternity test coming back at 99.99 percent. The photographs from childhood, the clothes you had dressed a child in, the memories you had shared—all of that mattered. But nothing in the world could beat the single document in front of you, the data saying the structures matched at 99.99 percent.

"Congratulations, Grandfather."

"Congratulations are yours. The balance alone is a hundred and fifty billion won."

"Ah. So it comes to that."

"Settled within the week. All right?"

I couldn't answer him easily. It didn't feel real. More than that, the air was different from usual—a cold edge to it. The thrill that the da Vinci he had wanted for so long had proved genuine?

No.

That didn't seem explanation enough. Call it instinct. It would be hard to prove.

The real business is still waiting, isn't it.

It was around then that a chill, as if a window had cracked open, settled over the study.

"Which shares should I pay you in?"

"Shares?"

"You weren't thinking of taking a hundred and fifty billion won in cash."

In that instant I clearly saw Grandfather's eyes change. Like a lion that had found its prey. A beast with no need to hurry at all, closing in at a sure, long stride.

"Jihoon."

He had only said my name, and I felt like a gazelle calf left alone on the grassland.

"To raise that money, I'll have to unwind my own stake. Turn that much loose all at once, and how far do you think the price drops?"

So he meant I should take the transfer in stock, and take it without a loss.

"You've already put money into semiconductors. Electronics shares will do, won't they?"

"..."

"But here's the thing. Inherit that much of my stake, and the semiconductor business is as good as yours. Isn't it?"

I swallowed.

"Can't leave your own company in somebody else's hands."

"Somebody else? Dad is—"

"Is there a law your father has to clutch semiconductors for the rest of his days? The son's the major shareholder, so he holds it until you're of age and then hands it over. Natural as anything, isn't it?"

"Wh-what are you saying?"

At my question, the corner of Grandfather's mouth lifted.

"Sharp child like mine wouldn't ask if he didn't already know. What is it? Grandfather's offer not to your liking?"

"..."

"What you've earned this year alone comes to two hundred and thirty billion won. You've proved you can make that much, and now you'll tell me you can't run a company? You won't be saying that."

So that was the unease I couldn't shake. Settle the balance in shares, make me the major shareholder first, and then, with no room left to wriggle, hand me the management as well. That had been the play.

Damn it.

Isn't there some way out of this?

I turned it over and over in a hurry. But under a gaze that seemed to see straight through my skull, my body was locking up by degrees.

"What kind of age is this, that only the eldest son inherits a company?"

"..."

"You know your father was the youngest of three brothers."

Every word of it sounded to me like a lion's low growl. A gazelle calf already caught. The eyes of a predator looking down at prey with nowhere left to run.

With that, he was done. The grin spread wide, and Grandfather smiled as brightly as the world itself.