Breaking Jeongwan-yeou (1)
Our country’s divorce lawsuits follow the principle of mandatory mediation. This means the parties must attempt to reach an agreement before a judge issues a ruling. Because judgments carry the force of law and often lead to appeals when one side remains dissatisfied, the courts encourage parties to negotiate terms in advance to reduce their own burden. Divorce cases tend to be easier to mediate than other civil or criminal matters. I’ve never been married, so I can’t claim to understand the deeper psychology of divorcing couples, but since the litigants were once spouses living under the same roof, they generally prefer to settle rather than drag things to the bitter end.
Still, mediation looked impossible in Yoon Seung-hyun’s case. The amount in dispute ran into tens of billions of won—far too large for any realistic compromise. Another reason I saw no chance of settlement was the verdict document floating before my eyes. If mediation succeeded, no judgment would be rendered and no verdict document would appear. Had the case ended in agreement, I should have seen either a blank verdict page or a mediation record carrying the same legal weight as a judgment. That meant, barring my direct intervention, mediation would fail and the case would proceed to trial.
Not that I had any reason to force mediation anyway. The verdict document already showed a decisive victory for our side. What I needed to focus on was not mediation but removing Kye Chan-sik from the case entirely.
The mediation date for Yoon Seung-hyun’s divorce was set for the day after tomorrow. At the session, the two parties—or their representatives—and the mediator would gather at the courthouse to discuss settlement terms. Two days from now, the person I intended to pressure at court was not Jang Mi-ye but Kye Chan-sik. I picked up my phone to check whether the groundwork had been laid.
“This is the Public Relations Team of QS Group Central Management Headquarters.”
“Hello. This is Kwon Ho-gyun. May I speak with the team leader?”
“One moment, please.”
The call transferred quickly.
“Young master, this is the PR team leader. I was just about to call you—the matter you mentioned has been taken care of.”
“I’d hoped it would be finished today or tomorrow. Looks like the timing worked out.”
“Yes. The desk at the media outlet has agreed to run the article this evening. If you prefer, we can push it to tomorrow. What would you like?”
Since mediation was the day after tomorrow, the article needed to appear today so Kye Chan-sik would have time to see it and feel the pressure.
“No need. Please have it published today.”
“Understood. We’ll proceed as scheduled.”
“Thank you.”
A few hours later, portal news pages were flooded with articles about M Mart, the company run by Jang Mi-ye. A few of the headlines I particularly liked read:
Not only the headlines but the article contents had been crafted exactly as I wanted, squarely targeting M Mart’s management—especially CEO Jang Mi-ye.
(……) An employee at M Mart, which posted record operating profits last year, committed suicide after being unable to endure the intense workload, sending shockwaves through the public. (……) During the same period, the value of shares held by Representative Director Jang reportedly nearly tripled. (……)
Scrolling through the comments, I saw public opinion moving in precisely the direction I had hoped.
While a corporate PR team’s official job is to spread favorable information about its own company, its far more important work is gathering information that can damage competitors’ images. The larger the company, the greater the weight of the latter task. Naturally, the PR teams of both QS Group and JB Group kept their arrows trained on each other.
After hearing from Oh Il-mu that Kye Chan-sik valued his reputation, I had called the QS Group PR team a few days earlier. They confirmed they had been quietly collecting information on M Mart, even though it was not a core JB Group affiliate. That information concerned two M Mart employees who had committed suicide one month apart earlier this year, unable to endure the grueling workload. Whether JB Group’s PR team had worked overtime, paid off the families, or both, the incidents had never reached the public—yet they had not escaped QS Group’s information network.
Now that the long-buried dry wood had been pulled out and set alight, it would burn brightly. All that remained was to watch how Kye Chan-sik would react.
Two days later, on the scheduled mediation date for Yoon Seung-hyun’s divorce, I appeared at the courthouse. When I asked Yoon Seung-hyun if he wanted to come along, he said the mediation time overlapped with his daughter’s school dismissal and it would be difficult. If I thought mediation would conclude quickly, I could have asked Cha Ye-na to pick up his daughter, but today’s session would essentially be a battle of nerves between me and opposing counsel Kye Chan-sik. Having the client present while lawyers sized each other up would only create two places to watch for reactions, which would be awkward. In that sense, his absence was convenient.
As expected, the other side also appeared with only their attorney, no client. Jang Mi-ye was probably too busy trying to extinguish the fire I had started at M Mart. In the mediation room sat only me, Kye Chan-sik, a junior associate from his firm, and the middle-aged female mediator. The mediator was not the trial judge; her role was simply to moderate the discussion. Given the obvious lack of any chance for agreement, she made little effort to mediate.
Kye Chan-sik’s side offered, as a gesture of goodwill, to pay Yoon Seung-hyun 500 million won. I lightly refused, effectively ending today’s mediation. Kye Chan-sik asked how much we were demanding, but I saw no reason to tell him. In truth, his readiness to name a figure so quickly showed his inexperience in negotiation. The party that names a number first usually loses in settlement talks. During his time as a judge, he had rarely, if ever, represented one side in negotiations. Even when participating in mediation as a judge, his role had been to mediate between both parties, so he had grown accustomed to others naming figures first.
The junior associate accompanying Kye Chan-sik looked visibly uncomfortable. Just before mediation ended, I made a request to the mediator.
“Would it be all right if I spoke privately with Attorney Kye Chan-sik for a moment?”
The mediator, realizing that any private discussion between us might lead to an agreement without her lifting a finger, readily agreed.
“Of course. Go ahead.”
“If you don’t mind, could the associate who came with Attorney Kye Chan-sik also step out briefly? I have something I need to discuss with Attorney Kye alone.”
The junior associate, perhaps embarrassed to sit there doing nothing while the negotiation went nowhere, nodded quickly. Once only Kye Chan-sik and I remained in the mediation room, I asked,
“Attorney, this isn’t about the case itself. Would that be all right?”
Kye Chan-sik cleared his throat several times before deflecting.
“If it’s unrelated to the case, this is neither the time nor the place for such a conversation. Please wait until after this matter is concluded and I am no longer opposing counsel.”
He was a true stickler for principle. It was indeed improper for opposing attorneys to discuss matters outside the case. But after laying all the groundwork to pry him away from this lawsuit, I could not back down now.
“I’ve been wanting to say this because I was concerned you might find yourself in a difficult position. If you disagree after hearing me out, you’re welcome to forget it.”
Kye Chan-sik reluctantly replied,
“What is it?”
“Public opinion regarding Jang Mi-ye has turned extremely negative lately. I assume you’ve seen it as well. Since this appears to be your first case as an attorney, I worry it might tarnish the reputation you built as a judge.”
Kye Chan-sik let out another loud cough that echoed through the room.
“Well. I suppose you’re referring to the M Mart employee suicide incidents. But that matter and this lawsuit are separate issues, aren’t they? If legal action is required for those incidents, their own counsel will handle it.”
“Yes, legally they are completely separate. However, public opinion doesn’t always operate strictly according to legal standards. If news of Jang Mi-ye’s divorce lawsuit breaks amid the current situation, the arrows of public criticism could easily turn toward you as well.”
Finally, the composed expression Kye Chan-sik had maintained twisted. He knew I was the son of the QS Group chairman. He would have easily guessed that the M Mart suicide articles originated from QS Group’s PR department. Therefore, he could not have missed the implication that QS’s PR team might release another article branding him as “former judge Kye Chan-sik defending the unscrupulous CEO Jang Mi-ye.”
“Attorney Kwon Ho-gyun?”
“Yes.”
“My client and I will handle our own affairs. I’ll gratefully accept your concern. Since today’s mediation appears to have failed, let’s end it here.”
I chuckled inwardly. His words were firm, but his eyes were already shaking violently.
“Very well. It looks like we’ll proceed straight to judgment without further mediation. I hope to see someone other than you in the courtroom.”
Having shaken him enough, only one final blow remained.
A few days later, following Kwon Ho-gyun’s instructions, Oh Il-mu waited at a high-end Japanese restaurant for Kye Chan-sik. Since it was no secret that Oh Il-mu worked in the same office as Kwon Ho-gyun, Kye Chan-sik had almost certainly come knowing this. He must have had things he wanted to hear—and things he wanted to say—about Kwon Ho-gyun.
Creak—
The wait was not long. Shortly after Oh Il-mu arrived, Kye Chan-sik, guided by a staff member, opened the door and entered the private room.