14. CEO Kang Myeong-cheol (1)
PJ Law Office. The rich scent of a quality drip brew drifted up from the mugs and spread through the room.
Dong-yeop clicked his tongue at the news spilling from the wall-mounted TV.
"Dark Hero, my ass. What a load of absolute bullshit."
Manager Choi Yu-gyeong, sharing a cup of coffee with him in his office, answered in her flat, dry voice.
"Why? I did a little digging on the case. Can't say for certain the chief's son was actually guilty of anything, but the investigation itself looked sloppy beyond question. The police and the prosecution half-assing their jobs and manufacturing an innocent victim—that's the one thing you can't stand, isn't it, boss?"
"Sure, I'm all for those police bastards getting burned for doing a slapdash job. But even so, that kind of method? Doesn't fly."
Dong-yeop sprang up from his chair and strode toward the sofa where Choi Yu-gyeong sat.
"Manager Choi. Do you know why the justice system exists? Because it's just? Because it's perfect? Wrong. Look closely, and the justice system is neither particularly just nor remotely near perfect. 'Patchwork' fits it a great deal better."
Flawless enunciation. Theatrical delivery. The single biggest reason this man—who had never once set foot in a major law firm—sat as a regular panelist on TV shows was now on full display in front of Choi Yu-gyeong.
Not that her expression, having watched this performance nearly every day, betrayed so much as a flicker of change.
"The justice system, you see, is the bare-minimum leash that keeps the beasts called human beings from sliding back into barbarism. A war of all against all—imagine how hideous that would be. That's precisely why violence must remain the state's monopoly. And if private individuals start swinging blades with a righteous cause in hand, like whoever did this? That's nothing more than a vote to return to savagery."
"Yes, yes. Of course."
Choi Yu-gyeong's soulless reply. Business as usual, so Park Dong-yeop, not remotely abashed, simply returned quietly to his own seat.
The screen had meanwhile cut to a crisp ID photo of the victim, Lim Seong-bin. And at the bottom of the display, a caption caught Dong-yeop's eye: Yeonseo University 2nd-Year Med Student Meets Tragic End During Volunteer Medical Work.
A face flickered unbidden through Dong-yeop's mind.
Jeong Ba-reum.
If not for what happened four years ago, that seventeen-year-old boy who had once sat in a classroom studying in silence would surely have grown into a university student every bit as impressive as the med student on that screen. He'd attended a foreign language high school, not even a science academy—and remembering the brilliance the kid had shown in that courtroom, might he not have ended up as Dong-yeop's own junior one day?
A bitter taste crept into his mouth.
How suddenly misfortune descends on a person. And when he considered that a slightly less brilliant boy might have seen his misfortune end somewhere other than a criminal record, that very brilliance became all the more heartbreaking.
The one consolation was that the beastlike sharpness the kid had carried back when Dong-yeop defended him had dulled considerably across four years of prison life. True, those piercing glares still surfaced now and then—but then, it was Gimcheon Prison. Walking out of that place in one piece, surrounded by men who were all beasts themselves, was proof enough that he had survived his own circle of hell.
"Manager Choi. Do I have anything on the lunch schedule? I want to set up a lunch before the afternoon trial."
"Your schedule is empty. But suddenly, with whom?"
"The benefactor of this office."
"Ah—the boy who opened fire in the courtroom?"
The reason Dong-yeop could run a practice as prosperous as this one and land a regular broadcast seat—become a genuine celebrity lawyer—was the Jeong Ba-reum case, which had seized the attention of the entire nation. Seen that way, calling Ba-reum his benefactor was no exaggeration at all.
"Yeah. Ba-reum. You know that hanwoo place we ate at back then? Book us a table for two. Private room."
"Yes, understood."
Top-grade hanwoo sizzled over the charcoal, fat popping as it rendered.
"So what have you been doing with yourself these days?"
"Oh, this and that."
"Which means absolutely nothing."
"Don't tell you called me out just to lecture me?"
"Well, partly that. Meat's done. Eat first; we'll talk while you do."
Dong-yeop plopped a perfectly cooked slice onto Ba-reum's plate with the tongs.
"Stop throwing your time away. It's about time you got your head back on straight. If you can't figure out what to do next, at least prepare for the GED or something. With that brain of yours, you'd pass in no time."
"Already passed. While I was inside."
"Is that right?"
A twinge of pride welled up in him. Not simply because the kid had passed the equivalency exam—but more because it meant Ba-reum hadn't given up on his life entirely.
"You little punk. If you'd passed, you should've told me ages ago. Here I've been worrying over nothing. Well then—are you studying for the college entrance exam?"
"The entrance exam?"
"What's with the shock? College enrollment in this country tops eighty percent. Even a man planning to shovel shit for a living needs a degree here—that's the kind of country this is. And school pedigree may not seem like a big deal, but it quietly counts for plenty. If you can go, you go to the best school you can."
Ba-reum laughed.
But Dong-yeop could read what rode inside that laugh, and it was anything but positive.
"What? Figuring that with a record, pedigree wouldn't do you any good?"
"Kid, stop anyone on the street in this country and ask them: an ex-convict out of Seoul National, or an ex-convict with a middle-school diploma—do those two look like the same kind of ex-convict? Besides, you're only twenty-two. Enroll next year and you're twenty-three. Tell yourself you took the exam three years running and be done with it. No—remember what everyone else spends those years on, the army, and you might as well call yourself an ordinary retaker."
Ba-reum gave no answer; he simply lifted the tongs and turned the meat over the charcoal.
"Your starting line is just a little tangled, that's all. You're still young, with miles of road ahead. Go to university, make friends like a normal person, job-hunt like everybody else. Yes, fine, the job hunt might not go smoothly. But if I'm ever the boss, I'm hiring you, no question. You know how I feel about private retribution. And still—you paid your penalty, didn't you? Long and harsh enough to be cruel by any juvenile's standard. The way I see it, you've more than earned the right to live out the rest of your life plainly—as an ordinary man living an ordinary life."
An ordinary life.
Old-man sermonizing, admittedly—but sincerity ran unmistakably beneath Dong-yeop's words. He genuinely wanted Ba-reum to shed the shackles of his past and live that 'ordinary life.'
But at the far edge of Ba-reum's gaze, something Dong-yeop could never have imagined was quietly aglow.
Dong-yeop, who had been holding forth at full steam, suddenly glanced down at his wristwatch and smacked his lips.
"Look at the hour already. Aigoo, and I still had so much left to tell you. I know full well you're letting all this wash past you like so much nagging. Still, you're a sharp kid—I trust you'll understand every word of it. Think it over. Seriously. The bill's already settled, so take your time and finish eating. I'll let the counter know—order whatever else you want, on me."
"Some busy business, I gather?"
"What else would keep a lawyer busy besides defending people?"
Dong-yeop fished his jacket off the garment steamer in the corner of the room and exhaled a small sigh as he put it on.
"Honestly, if every client on every case were more like you, how much easier life would be."
"I take it there's something about them that bothers you?"
"Haah... it's just that, deep down... ah, no, never mind. What am I even saying to you right now. You'll understand once you're an adult. People can't always live doing only what sits well with them. So the same goes for you, kid—don't go reaching only for what pleases you. Listen to your hyung and go study. An ex-convict who passed his GED, graduating from Seoul National University—that's the assignment. Got it?"
Fastening the buttons of his jacket, Dong-yeop stepped out of the room.
The moment Attorney Park Dong-yeop closed the door behind him, I quietly set down my chopsticks.
The grill was still heaped with beautifully cooked hanwoo, but I felt little pull toward it. What drew me far more was the expression I'd caught on his face just before he left.
"It's just that, deep down..."
The flicker of revulsion I'd glimpsed crossing his face as the words trailed off.
This was a criminal defense attorney, after all. Graciously taking on even a murderer's defense so long as the money was right—that was the essence of the profession, and seven years into it, he should have long since adapted to its peculiar biology. Yet here was a client who could make even him betray unconscious disgust...
Just what kind of magnificent villain could this be?
My appetite was stirred.
I rose from my seat and quietly began to tail him.
A courthouse building that could only be called imposing.
I passed through the security checkpoint, with its peculiar brand of tension. For an instant, a memory surfaced—of the effort it had taken, years ago, to get myself through this very checkpoint.
Far ahead, I could see Attorney Park Dong-yeop's retreating back.
I made my way to the courtroom he had entered.
Case Name: Occupational Negligence Resulting in Death and Violation of the Occupational Safety and Health Act
I quietly pushed open the tightly shut gallery door and slipped inside.
Despite the air conditioning blowing cold through the courtroom, a heavy heat—the mingled body warmth of the crowd—pressed in. Unlike the usual criminal trial, where the gallery tends to sit near empty, the seats were packed so tight that finding a vacant one would have been a challenge.
The bereaved family sat in black mourning dress, faces brimming with fury. Behind them were rows of people in vests bearing the name of some organization, and scattered among them, reporters with laptops balanced on their knees.
Proof enough that this was a trial the whole world had its eyes on.
The very last row of the gallery, beyond anyone's line of sight. I folded myself quietly into a corner seat.
Beyond the low wooden barrier dividing the gallery from the court floor, a middle-aged man sat ramrod-straight in the defendant's seat, immaculately turned out in a bespoke suit that looked expensive to any eye. Beside him, the familiar figure of Attorney Park Dong-yeop coolly squared away his documents.
"All rise, please."
With the bailiff's dry voice, the door on the right side of the courtroom swung open, and the panel of judges entered.
—Creak.
My jaw tightened before I knew it.
Of course, these were different people from those who had passed judgment on Hong Chang-sik—and on me.
And yet this position they occupied, those robes they wore, stripped away each man's individuality and let them approach me as nothing more than objects called judges.
One slow, steadying breath.
"You may be seated. Case No. 2026 Go-Hap 1024. The sentencing hearing for the defendant, Kang Myeong-cheol, will now begin."
The trial had begun.
— End of CEO Kang Myeong-cheol (1) —
Author's Note
Thank you!!