The Prosecutor's Failed Gambit (3)
Jin Yong-hwa the prosecutor wasn't particularly well-known as an individual. Even as someone in the legal field, I'd only heard a couple of anecdotes about him. One was that he'd taken the bar exam twelve times. Of course, that didn't mean he'd passed and then sat it again—it meant he'd failed a staggering eleven times. If he'd realized after ten attempts that the tree wasn't going to fall, he might have given up, but the fact that he kept swinging twice more until it finally toppled showed he had persistence, at least.
The second anecdote happened around the same period. Even though it took him forever to pass the bar, his grades at the Judicial Research and Training Institute must have been decent. (There were also rumors that his father, who wanted to make his son a prosecutor, had pulled some strings to influence those grades.) After completing his training, Jin Yong-hwa was immediately appointed as a prosecutor. He apparently wanted to make a name for himself as an economic crimes specialist by taking down major corruption. About ten years ago—around the time I was studying for or had just finished the college entrance exam—he fearlessly set his sights on QS Group.
Even though it was our company's affair, it was so long ago that I'd only heard the story secondhand. When a rookie prosecutor fresh out of training suddenly announced he was going after QS Group, the senior prosecutors were reportedly stunned. Whether some higher-up had taken a liking to Prosecutor Jin Yong-hwa's audacity or whether it was because of his connections, the investigation was approved. The result, of course, was a spectacular failure. It's embarrassing to say this myself, but then and now, QS is a place even the Prosecutor General couldn't touch if he tried. Especially ten years ago, when QS was solidifying its position as the top chaebol by overtaking JB, and all internal power was concentrated on Chairman Kwon Byung-do. It was like headbutting the peak-era QS, which was harder than asphalt, without even wearing a helmet.
In the end, rookie prosecutor Jin Yong-hwa's ambition ended at the investigation stage without even reaching an indictment. When I checked at the Central District Prosecutors' Office, the Jincheon factory of QS Display—which Jin Yong-hwa had targeted for illegal wastewater discharge back then—was still running perfectly. The Yeongsan River right next to the factory was clean enough to serve as a source of tap water for the surrounding area. It seemed there had never been any illegal discharge in the first place. In other words, Jin Yong-hwa had tried to pin a nonexistent crime on QS to build his own reputation. The fact that he was still working as a prosecutor after attempting such an outrageous act against QS was surely thanks to his father.
When Seok Dong-hoon mentioned Jin Yong-hwa's name earlier, I recognized him immediately not just because of those stories. It was because Jin Yong-hwa's father, Jin Myeong-deok, was a well-known figure not only in legal circles but also among the general public. Thanks to the prosecutorial organization's tendency to promote people based on seniority, he was now a chief prosecutor at the Seoul Southern District Prosecutors' Office. Jin Myeong-deok was a former chief prosecutor turned politician who, including his current term, had been elected three times as a veteran National Assembly member. He was famous both during his prosecutorial days and his time as a lawmaker, though for very different reasons.
As a prosecutor, he was a renowned gangster killer. It was said that wherever Jin Myeong-deok was posted, organized crime in that jurisdiction was wiped out. His work aligned perfectly with the government's "War on Crime" policy at the time, earning him rare national stardom for a prosecutor. There was also an amusing rumor from when he was assigned to the Busan District Prosecutors' Office. One violent organization operating in the area supposedly heard his name and collectively wet themselves, disbanding voluntarily before he even arrived in Busan. It didn't seem entirely coincidental—during that era, the weapon Jin Myeong-deok wielded like Guan Yu's Green Dragon Crescent Blade was the charge of criminal organization formation. It was a law originally designed to target organized crime groups of that time, so in the hands of a skilled wielder, it was an unmatched blade. Jin Yong-hwa, who grew up watching that, tried to wield the same weapon, but unfortunately, as the night world's people adapted their ecology, that blade had now become heavily rusted.
Thus, Jin Myeong-deok rose to the rank of chief prosecutor, often called the star of the prosecution, and after retirement, he became a National Assembly member and walked the path of a politician. However, Assemblyman Jin Myeong-deok became famous for receiving far more criticism than during his prosecutorial days. Whether he'd picked up bad habits from interrogating gangsters, he spewed remarks in the National Assembly that were utterly unbecoming of a politician. Some people claimed that the number of politicians and high-ranking officials who had been subjected to genuine profanity from Jin Myeong-deok exceeded a hundred. Still, that seemed to have helped him survive in politics—he received nominations in his party's stronghold for all three past elections. Perhaps the party thought it was beneficial to have Jin Myeong-deok in the Assembly, someone willing to dirty his mouth on behalf of others? However, for the upcoming fourth election, the story was said to be slightly different. This time, his party was planning to nominate all veteran incumbent lawmakers in competitive districts. Would he survive this time as well?
Soon, the person who was to become Jin Myeong-deok's daughter-in-law and Jin Yong-hwa's wife was far more notorious than her prospective father-in-law. She might insist that I had created that image for her, but the entire nation had once freely called her a serial killer and a villainess unfit even for hell. None other than Jang Mi-ye, who had gained that image from the M Mart employee suicide incident I had publicized through the PR team. In summary, the prospective father-in-law whom Jang Mi-ye wanted to keep her affair a secret from was Assemblyman Jin Myeong-deok. I was planning to take down Jin Yong-hwa this time, which would indirectly damage Jang Mi-ye as well. She'd already shed tears after getting beaten at the Jangbaek Corporation shareholders' meeting last time—maybe this time she'd shed blood instead.
* * *
While I was organizing Jin Yong-hwa's personal information in my head, the conversation with Seok Dong-hoon had progressed quite a bit.
"To summarize, your friend was recently arrested on assault charges, and after the prosecution seized his phone, they saw messages between you and him discussing other crimes, so they charged you with criminal organization formation?"
As we talked, Seok Dong-hoon's attitude while answering my questions had softened considerably.
"You catch on quick for a lawyer. That's right. Even in the Joseon Dynasty, when they executed three generations of a family, I never heard of them arresting friends. Is that how criminal organization formation works? Since the prosecutor says so, I can't really argue against it."
"Criminal organization formation is meant to punish even those who haven't actually committed the crime yet."
"No, what kind of law is that? Ah, so it exists here in Korea? This damn country, seriously! But earlier you said you could get me acquitted?"
In this case, the prosecutor had indicted based on a misinterpretation of the law, so a normal defense would result in acquittal. Still, I needed to bluff in a way that wasn't exactly a lie but could be misunderstood.
"If I take the case, I can get you acquitted."
"Haa, this is something. I know lawyers can be hired like buying more of them, so fine. Please take my case. However, the retainer fee will be paid after the fact. I have a conscience too—I'm not saying I'll pay after the Supreme Court ruling. I'll pay when the first trial results in acquittal."
Well, well? This guy definitely couldn't hire any lawyer other than me. His words contained two elements that lawyers absolutely hated. First, the expression "hiring lawyers like buying them." While it might be acceptable in casual conversation, saying that in front of an actual lawyer was a sure way to earn resentment over a single careless remark. Second, paying the retainer after the fact. In ordinary transactions, flexibility with advance or deferred payment might be acceptable, but lawyers never wanted to show such flexibility in retainer agreements. Advance payment was an absolute principle, and even in cases with very large amounts, a retainer was always required. If someone proposed paying only upon receiving the desired verdict, ninety-nine out of a hundred lawyers would walk out on the spot. Well, since I wasn't planning to receive the retainer in money anyway, discussions about advance or deferred payment were unnecessary.
"The retainer fee? I'm quite wealthy. How much are you offering?"
Seok Dong-hoon flinched. Only then realizing he'd taken the wrong conversational path, he tried to resist by clinging to his last bit of bravado.
"I heard a lawyer who smacked down a Supreme Court justice charges about a billion won. Looking at you, you probably can't even get preferential treatment from retired judges, but I'll trust your word about getting an acquittal and generously offer a billion. How about it?"
Ha. Why was he talking about a billion won like it was some enormous sum? That amount wouldn't even be enough to acquire QS FnB, the smallest subsidiary of QS Group.
"Seok Dong-hoon-ssi?"
"Yes?"
"I'll give you two options. One is to pay a retainer fee of one hundred billion won in advance."
"Now you're just being ridiculous! A hundred billion for one case? Are there even lawyers in Korea who can charge that much? At this rate, all lawyers will become chaebols."
"I don't need that money because I'm already a chaebol."
At my straightforward statement, Seok Dong-hoon seemed to have been punched hard in the solar plexus. He couldn't exhale the breath he'd drawn in for a moment before firing back rapidly.
"Then what are you suggesting? Since you're a chaebol, you won't take the case without a retainer? Then why did you bother calling me here? Huh? You're wasting my time."
I deliberately paused for a beat, staring quietly at the venom-filled Seok Dong-hoon before continuing.
"And I said I would give you two options, didn't I? If you don't even want to hear the second one, you can turn around and leave right now. No one will stop you. However, at the end of your path home, a prison gate might be waiting for you."
The bluff I'd made earlier—that only I could handle this—seemed to have taken effect.
"Haa. Fine. My temper is just too quick. Listening doesn't cost money, so what's the second option?"
"As I mentioned earlier, I'm not taking this case because I need money. I could easily make a hundred billion won through other means. The reason I took the trouble to meet you despite my busy schedule wasn't for money—it was because I wanted something else."
"Then what is it?!"
"I heard that recently, someone from our QS Group made an interesting request regarding the profession you're engaged in."
When I finished speaking, Seok Dong-hoon glared at Chief Secretary Han Seung-woo, who had been sitting quietly beside us. His gaze was filled with genuine killing intent, but Chief Secretary Han Seung-woo casually brushed it off as if it were nothing.
"Dong-hoon, sorry. Before you got here, I already told the lawyer about what you said to me yesterday."
Seok Dong-hoon's murderous gaze now turned toward me.