The Weakest Thing in the World
The line went dead.
I was already on my feet.
"Sara! Car keys!"
"What? Now? It's quitting time..."
"Get down to the car this second and punch the Keller Staffing office address back into the GPS."
I snatched up my jacket and bolted for the door. The original settlement sheets Castlerock had funneled down to its subcontractors. Sheets where the actual headcount and the reported headcount didn't match. And the very same payment-resolution roster tied to my father's death six years ago.
'Those documents must never, ever disappear...'
I gritted my teeth and took the stairs two at a time.
Sara hit the gas. Phone pressed to my ear, I glared out the window. I'd called a good ten times by now, and Keller refused to pick up to the very last.
'...What the hell is going on over there?'
I gave up on the call and dialed a different number.
"Team Leader Margo. It's Leo."
"What now? Something happen? I just heard you bolted out of here."
"I'm heading to the Keller Staffing office right now. I was on the line with Randall Keller when he mentioned an uninvited visitor had just walked in—and then the call cut out. Judging by the commotion I heard through the phone... every indication says he was attacked."
"...Leo. If that's true, that's a matter for the police. Not for us."
"Team Leader. Keller Staffing filed for liquidation bankruptcy this morning. From that moment on, the company's books and assets fall under the bankruptcy trustee's control."
"I know, I get that... what's your point?"
"If a third party hauls them out without authorization, that becomes concealment of bankruptcy estate property. Not something we can afford to sit on our hands about."
"...All right, I follow. Then let's nail down one thing. Are you certain there's evidence of removal?"
"Certain."
On the other end of the line, Margo let out a short breath.
"...Fine. Who could talk you out of anything anyway. I'll confirm the bankruptcy trustee's contact information and get them dispatched. Oh—and Leo. In return..."
"Name it."
"Promise me this one thing. If there's any sign of people inside, you do not go in. I'll say it again: there's no need for you to be taking that kind of risk."
"Understood."
The moment I hung up, Sara threw me a sidelong glance.
"Senior. What exactly are we going over there to do? Be honest with me."
"To guard the paper."
"What? Paper? Not people—paper?"
"You know what the weakest thing in the world is? Paper."
I refastened my seatbelt.
"One little lighter, and it's gone."
Back at Keller's place, two large white vans that hadn't been there before sat parked in the front lot. Sara eased the car to a stop and dropped her voice.
"...Now that I look at them properly, those aren't moving-company trucks."
"Yeah. Sharp eyes."
No logos. Just license plates.
'No company tags on the boxes, either.'
My gaze moved on. An old steel drum sat off toward the yard, and smoke was rising from it.
'...Already?'
The one silver lining was that anyone burning things this brazenly, out in the open, probably wasn't "handling" Randall Keller himself. More likely they were torching whatever paperwork could serve as evidence. And yet, at the same time, another thought struck me.
'What's even the point of burning them?'
Wasn't this the age when every record was kept electronically? By that logic, whatever they were feeding to the flames over there was nothing but paper printed from the real thing. The original files would still be sitting somewhere on a system, untouched.
I read it as sheer desperation on their side. Apparently I'd been flushing the rabbits out of the brush rather effectively.
"Sara."
"Yes."
"Get the plate numbers off both vans. Then switch your phone to recording mode. Don't stop for anything. What we're seeing here has to become evidence."
"R-recording. Got it."
I opened the car door.
"Senior, the Team Leader said not to go inside alone—"
"Who said anything about going inside?"
I buttoned up my jacket.
"I'm only going as far as the front yard."
The moment I strode through the front gate, a man coming out of the building with a box in his arms froze in his tracks. Late twenties, a tattoo on his forearm. He looked me up and down.
"And who are you supposed to be?"
"I'm from the IRS Collections Division."
I flipped open my credential case. The man's eyes stuck to the badge. The other two coming out behind him stopped as well, and the three of them traded looks.
"...So what? We're just the moving guys. We carry stuff."
"Who gave the order to move it?"
"That's none of your business."
"Then you'd better know this."
A flicker of anger rose up, but I kept my voice level.
"The company whose records you're hauling out filed for bankruptcy in federal court not long ago. From that point on, every document and asset inside this building became property of the bankruptcy estate. Nobody but the court-appointed trustee is permitted to remove so much as a sheet of it."
"..."
"Load that box into your van right now, and it's concealment of estate assets. A federal offense—and in cases like this, the men doing the hauling are punishable too."
The tattooed man's expression wavered.
"W-we just came for day wages. Some odd jobs, that's all."
"Then all you have to do is give me the name of whoever's paying you. Do that, and this ends for the three of you as a witness interview. Stay silent, and you're accomplices."
The third man quietly lowered his box to the ground.
"Hey, let's just go."
"Dude, what about the money?"
"You saw the guy's badge, didn't you?"
I answered with a dry snort. Now that I looked properly, they were all bulk and no brains.
"If you get it, move. I'm every bit as busy as the people paying you."
Before long the muscle-bound trio dropped their boxes and scurried off toward the vans.
'All that swagger, for this.'
In the gap they left behind, I made straight for the drum. Every second counted.
'Please don't let me be too late.'
The smoke was acrid. Inside, a bundle of paper was burning; on top of the half-collapsed ash, sheets still holding their shape were visible.
'Thank god. It hasn't fully caught.'
I snatched up the fire extinguisher sitting nearby.
"Leo! Senior!"
Sara came sprinting over that instant. I gave my orders on the spot.
"Take this extinguisher. Pull the pin and kill the fire."
"What? Me?"
"Less talking, faster hands. Water's no good—you'd soak the paper and the ink would run."
Sara took the extinguisher and sprayed down the drum. White powder billowed out, and the flames snuffed out in one gulp. The smoke cleared soon after.
Shielding my mouth with my shirtsleeve, I peered into the drum. The bundle of papers was there—charred black at the edges, but the middle had survived.
And then, above it all—a red dot popped up with a flick.
My temple throbbed for an instant. I hadn't used the ability even once today. Whether it was the smoke or simply my heart hammering too hard, I couldn't tell.
The dot swelled and became an arrow. The arrowhead stabbed down on a single point of the scorched paper. A sheet printed with two numbers side by side.
'Well. At least the trip bought me this much...'
I lifted the papers out with care.
"Sara. Envelope."
"On it!"
Randall Keller was sitting on the floor of the office at the back of the warehouse. Three men had apparently been more than he could handle on his own.
"Mr. Keller."
He lifted his head.
"You came."
"Are you hurt anywhere?"
"No, I'm fine..."
That was a relief. I crouched down in front of Keller.
"There's plenty I want to ask, but first—who sent those men here?"
"..."
"Mr. Keller. Answer me. I'm trying to help you."
Keller gave a hollow laugh.
"A car pulled up out of nowhere, and the man who got out threatened me. Get rid of the paperwork, he said, and they'd set me up with a lawyer and handle the penalty mess on my behalf. Men like that might as well be armed—I figured it was safest to stay put. I don't know who sent them any more than you do. But come on. You can guess, can't you?"
"Castlerock..."
Damn it.
"Looks like neither of us gets to have an easy time of it from here on out."
Sitting in the car, Sara and I began going through the salvaged bundles one sheet at a time. Part of the contents had burned away, but plenty could still be made out.
I felt my grip tighten around the sheet. 'Damn it. They really did chew through people.' If one site alone looked like this, how many victims were there in all? My hunger to make those men pay began to swell.
'Just how am I going to break these bastards?'
Around nightfall, the bankruptcy trustee arrived. A female attorney in her fifties.
We climbed out of the car to meet her. She surveyed the scene, then stopped in front of the drum.
"Crazy sons of bitches. All to destroy a few records, and they stoop to this..."
"..."
"By the way, where did you two come from? Oh—the IRS? So this was your doing?"
"Yes."
She looked at me.
"Investigator. This is estate property under my supervision that very nearly ceased to exist. What time did I arrive here today?"
"7:40 p.m."
"And your arrival?"
"5:12 p.m."
The trustee noted it down in her notebook.
"Two and a half hours early, I see... So the only reason those papers didn't burn is thanks to the IRS. No—more precisely, thanks to you, Leo."
She held out her business card.
"I'll write the circumstances exactly as they happened into the preservation report I submit to the court. That formally incorporates these documents into the bankruptcy estate—and at the same time, the IRS, as an interested agency, gains the right of inspection."
Beside me, Sara looked at me and let out a small gasp of awe.
"...But may I ask one personal question?"
"Go ahead."
"How on earth did you think to come here today, of all days? Documents being removed without authorization on the very day a bankruptcy is filed—honestly, that's rare even in this business."
I thought for a moment.
"The bankruptcy filing came through in a single day."
"...I'm sorry?"
"Paperwork that normally takes days to prepare was submitted in half a day. That means someone had it ready well in advance. Anyone who could anticipate the situation to that degree, I figured, would probably have prepared the method for cleaning up the documents too—in case things went wrong."
The trustee studied me for a beat.
"...You came all this way on a hunch?"
"Well, if the hunch had been wrong, it would've been a wasted trip."
"Except it wasn't wrong."
She snapped her notebook shut.
"I had no idea the IRS employed anyone like you."
The office lights were half out. But Team Leader Margo Chen was still at her desk, a thermos and a paper cup sitting in front of her.
"Back from the dead."
"Back from the dead."
"Right—the trustee contacted me."
Margo took off her glasses.
"She says she's putting the IRS—no, your heroics—into her preservation report. And that you personally stopped the destruction of bankruptcy estate assets. Really? Well, whatever. Leo, do you understand what this means?"
"That we've gained the right of inspection."
"No. It's bigger than that."
Margo poured coffee into the paper cup and slid it across to me.
"We now have a legitimate channel into Castlerock's records. Your work just got a great deal easier. Oh, and your name going up in value is a bonus."
An investigator at the neighboring desk poked his head out from behind his monitor.
"Leo, seriously? You secured Castlerock's settlement sheets?"
"Some of it burned, though."
"So what. Either way, the headcount manipulation is proven on paper now."
From another desk, somebody whistled.
"Told you. Once Leo's on your trail, it's over."
Laughter broke out across the office. Margo waved it off and called for quiet.
"All right, all right. Everyone go home. Leo—stay a moment."
Once the others had filtered out, Margo lowered her voice.
"Leo. It's from here that it gets real. Up to today, all you did was land one subcontractor. But starting tomorrow, the big heads are going to start recognizing your face."
"I know."
"Then watch yourself."
Margo picked up her bag and rose.
"Oh, and an envelope came for your desk earlier. Hand-delivered."
"Hand-delivered?"
"Mm. They say whoever it was left it with the front desk. No sender's name."
© Kim Ok-ji#1v8mj