The Weight of the Law (3)
The reason George Bush went so far as to praise Koreans, almost like he was about to pin a medal on them, was simple. He liked Korea, and politically, it made sense to help them out. Of course, mere goodwill alone wouldn't have moved him. George Bush was the type who could separate public duty from private feelings—he hadn't forgiven Japan for nearly killing him in the Pacific War, but he kept diplomatic relations smooth with rational pragmatism.
Click. I turned off the TV and smiled faintly.
"There, you see?"
"...Ha, indeed. I get it now."
Lee Si-hyun could tell this matter was now out of our hands. Once it got tangled up in American politics, the Korean community issues would sort themselves out under the politicians' watch.
"You know that story? About how there are two wolves inside every person—a good one and a bad one—and the one that wins is the one you feed more."
"So you must've donated a hefty sum to the Republicans?"
"I didn't give them a dime financially. But from the president's perspective, wanting to wrap this incident up successfully... praising the Korean community—which can't influence politics anyway—to gloss over the minor stuff? That's a pretty attractive option."
The storytelling was spot-on too. A nation where most men do military service, so they're all handy with guns—retired soldiers who fought in wars, stepping up again to protect family and neighbors amid a security vacuum...! A classic Hollywood tale that popped up right on cue. Gotta milk it for all it's worth. Any minor frictions in the Korean community? I'd smoothed those over somehow. The thugs got swept clean by Si-hyun and her pretty Russian bodyguards under her.
"Ugh... what the hell's going on? Hey, Yoo Ha-yeon. Nothing left for us to do now?"
"Nope. Grab some popcorn. Oh, and you too, Ba-da—come here."
"..."
Pat, pat.
"Good girl, such a good girl."
Hehe.
Back at the law firm, I was greeted by the managing partner beaming from ear to ear.
"Hahaha! You're incredible, miss. To think His Excellency the President would step in personally. You've saved us a ton of hassle."
"It's all thanks to our Ba-da here. Her family had some ties to President Bush, after all. You worked hard too, sir. Convincing the NRA couldn't have been easy."
Honestly, I hadn't known about Mirae Group. I'd figured it out when Ba-da was trembling as she told me.
-"To think that damn bastard can be useful sometimes..."
Recalling Ba-da spitting those words—equal parts rage and self-loathing toward Mirae Group's current chairman—I chuckled softly. An unexpected windfall.
"True enough. And luckily, the newly appointed judge leans Republican."
America had been under Republican control for over a decade, which meant even in California, a GOP-friendly judge got the nod. Lucky break for me. That's why I could pull off that judge recusal ploy I'd mentioned before.
"So, any idea when this'll wrap up?"
He stroked his chin thoughtfully before answering.
"Probably a month at least? But it won't drag on for years. The whole country's watching this trial."
As he predicted, the class-action verdict came down in early June. No time wasted—I'd spent it touring Hollywood, digging deep into the UA acquisition.
Good thing I know the future hits.
I snapped up the winners for peanuts and killed off the flops with my authority. Soon, my UA—unlike MGM—would rise triumphant, just like pre-Heaven's Gate UA.
And so, under the scorching early June sun...
Thud, thud, thud. With the gavel's echo, the LA riots' aftermath finally curtained closed.
After the class action wrapped, we divvied up the massive settlement. John Quinn, pocketing millions in fees, saw us off with a grin. He'd worked hard, but the unexpectedly smooth sailing had him buzzing.
I smiled lightly, shaking his hand. I'd dodged meetings for a month with excuses, so after briefly suspecting my age, he'd pegged me as a young-looking adult. My knowledge was too specialized for anything else.
"Hope we meet again."
"...Yes. Here's to crossing paths on better terms."
"...Better terms. Yeah, got it."
Looks like I can keep that promise. Exposing fraud counts as "better," right? Having met lawyers a few times as a defendant myself, it gave me chills just thinking about it.
Ugh... bad memories. Time to hug my comfort doll and heal.
While the curtain's down, one more difference between civil law and common law...
Common law has no sentencing limits—it stacks penalties per crime. That's why U.S. sentences hit 200 or 300 years instead of life. Fun fact: Madoff got 150 back in the day.
But Yoo Ha-yeon, born in civil-law Korea—beacon of justice—had no intention of letting that slide.
150 years is overkill; 40 sounds right.
Fellow sufferer solidarity? Or just respect for a senior? Feeling a twinge of injustice, I'd prepped to rat him out early. Get in soon, get out sooner. Right?
Even 40 years means life in prison, though. It's '92 now; he dies around 2020. I'll dip into healthcare, maybe extend life a bit... but no way I finish reverse-aging research by 2020, let alone 2050. I'm not that much of a genius. I know modern genetics from my past life? Nah, my major was finance.
"Miss, we're here."
Snapping out of my idle musings—staring blankly at the sky from the car—I came back to reality at the driver's words.
"Oh, yeah. Coming."
Stepping out, I stretched my long white legs, admired my beauty for a sec, then strode off satisfied.
Inside the familiar-yet-fancier law firm.
"We meet again."
"..."
Quinn eyed me oddly. I flashed a bright smile and offered my hand.
"Good business this time too."
Whispering it, I watched realization dawn; he nodded, gripped my hand, and greeted me properly.
"Ah, yes. Welcome. John Quinn, managing partner at Quinn Emanuel."
"Nice to meet you."
Chatting briefly, I noted the swelled ranks of lawyers and shot him a knowing smile.
"My fund manager has a little secret favor to ask."
"...A secret?"
Sensing something off, he cleared the room fast and led me to a VIP lounge.
"Ahem, what is it? Just so you know, attorneys are bound by confidentiality—speak freely."
Lawyers can't spill or report even if a client confesses murder. But with big money on the line, caution's key... hence this roundabout way to earn and owe his trust.
"Whew, first off... don't freak out."
Rustle. I pulled prepared docs from my bag, laying out a few carefully. A fancy letter sealed with wax, SEC-stamped papers screaming seriousness—his face hardened.
SEALED LETTER (Wax Seal)
Confidential Financial Review
SEC Filing Notice
Potential Violation: 17 CFR § 240.10b-5
"Quinn, you handle white-collar crime too, right?"
"Yes, that's my specialty, actually."
For this, Daeha Securities had seeded Madoff's fund with a small stake. Gotta be a victim to speak up loud.
"With my settlement and whatnot pooled... I funneled about $30 million into the Madoff Fund via a brokerage. You remember, the one I mentioned."
"...!"
Casually dropping the huge sum to overwhelm him, I dabbed sweat from my brow (heart racing a bit) with a handkerchief and continued softly.
"But... something's fishy about that fund."
"In what... way?"
He seemed to anticipate my follow-up. I'd been obvious about my finance world ties.
So my words weren't some naive girl's hunch—they were a pro investor's insight.
"Nowhere. It doesn't invest in any solid opportunities. Not even the bare minimum over the past few years."
The moment I said it, Quinn Emanuel's managing partner was struck by lightning insight. Wall Street legend. Nasdaq ex-chair and board member. Pillar of the Jewish community... Bernard Madoff's fund is a Ponzi scheme.