Company Work Gets Easier (2)

Going there wouldn't turn up a damn thing.

You learn this instinctively after rolling around long enough in the NPL — Non-Performing Loan — trenches. A debtor who'd staged a deliberate bankruptcy and a sham divorce would be deep into a thorough "penniless cosplay." There might be some stashed gold or a luxury watch, sure, but anything of real size would already have been transferred under someone else's name.

So putting the husband under hypnosis now would just burn the cooldown timer for nothing. Better to hit the wife first — she was the one who looked like the real deal.

I turned the car around and headed straight for a gallery café on the outskirts of Gangnam.

Fancier than I'd expected.

The place sat in an awkward neighborhood a little off the main strip, where old residential houses mixed with newly built storefronts. The first floor was a café; the second had been fitted out like a small exhibition space. Far too leisurely an operation for the ex-wife of a bankrupt debtor.

I pushed open the door and went inside.

Her husband was buried under a mountain of debt with his company gone, yet the lady of the house — a divorcée on paper — sat in the office behind the counter, draped in a designer scarf, calmly reviewing the books.

I ordered coffee like any ordinary customer.

"One Americano, please."

"For here?"

"Yes. Mind if I look at the art?"

"Of course. Take your time. And if anything catches your eye, just let me know."

They sell the paintings too?

I'd never been somewhere like this, so it felt unfamiliar. I surveyed the interior first. A handful of customers. The café was decent-sized, but not a chain mega-café — if I hypnotized her and asked questions, the conversation would carry. I'd either wait for the customers to leave or lure her upstairs.

I pretended to browse the art while casually mapping the CCTV angles. Cameras covered the counter and the entrance. Probably more upstairs.

When the coffee came, I took it and drifted a little farther away. No point drawing attention yet.

Feels like I'm playing hooky. Not ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bad.

Monday morning, and here I was in a café instead of the office, sipping coffee at my leisure — and still drawing a paycheck. Wasn't this every office worker's dream?

I killed some time like that until the last of the customers filtered out. Maybe it was just an off hour. I ordered another coffee, and once I had the fresh cup in hand, I struck up a conversation — something that would look, on camera, like a customer interested in the art.

"Who's the artist on these pieces?"

"Oh, a newcomer. One of my favorites, actually."

Whether it was because the painting hung a bit away from the counter, or because I'd asked about something she cared about — or maybe she just wanted to make a sale — the woman came closer.

Fweet—.

A short whistle. Then the hypnosis command.

"From now on, answer everything I ask truthfully. Keep your voice low. If anyone comes in, act normal. Right now, you want to help me."

"Yes."

I sat down. My heart rate was no different from usual. At first, moments like this used to send a thrill through me — but it was different now. A person was turning into a hollow shell right in front of me, and I still had the composure to set my coffee cup down.

"Was the divorce from your husband real?"

"No."

"Just on paper?"

"Yes."

As expected.

"Do you still keep in contact?"

"Yes. Every day."

"Where's your husband hiding right now?"

"Hanam. Geo Palace, unit 1207."

So he really was in hiding. If I'd gone to the husband first, I'd have wasted the whole trip.

"Is that under your name? Does he still live there?"

"Yes. I signed the lease under my name. He stays out during the day and comes back at night."

"Vehicle plate number?"

I typed the number ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠she gave me into my phone's notes app. No recording. If it ever leaked by accident, anyone hearing a voice that spilled everything so freely would start asking the wrong questions.

"What about the money you siphoned off? The funds you pulled out before the company went under."

"…Right after we stamped the divorce papers, I bought a commercial unit in Dongtan under my mother's name."

"A commercial unit? How much?"

"Around five to six hundred million won."

Her eyes blinked slowly.

That's it. Perfect.

I nodded to myself. A grin spread across my face. Information that would normally take weeks or months of tailing and stakeouts in this business was pouring out in thirty seconds flat.

If the commercial unit was real, it could be verified through the property registry. You couldn't find it by name alone, but an address and unit number would do it. If the acquisition date lined up, legal would have more than enough grounds to move. Recovery would be locked in.

"Any proof the purchase money came from your husband?"

"We fabricated it as gallery art transactions."

"How."

"A broker my husband knows processed it as if he'd bought the pieces. The actual works are still sitting in storage. The money just came in as gallery revenue and went straight into my mother's account."

"Which pieces?"

She named three. Titles, transaction dates, the broker's name. I couldn't use the data raw, but it gave legal a clear direction for requesting financial records.

This was the kind of information that would normally take a police or prosecutor's raid to dig up. But legally, these two weren't criminals. This wasn't impulsive — it was a husband and wife who'd planned the whole thing from the start. Without hypnosis, they'd play the victims for anyone who asked, all wounded innocence and righteous outrage. And here she was, handing me the secret she'd never tell another living soul.

I was turning over how to use it when something else occurred to me. This debt couldn't be ours alone, right?

"You've got other debts, don't you? You wouldn't have borrowed from just us."

"Yes. Two trading partners, one capital firm, and one savings bank."

Wow. There it is.

Just as I'd figured. Who the hell borrows money with real intent and sticks to a single lender? They'll do anything to avoid paying what they owe, and they'll hunt down every last place willing to lend.

I asked for the exact amounts. She gave me approximate figures.

Capital firm: face value seventy million. Trading partner A: forty million. Trading partner B: sixty million. Savings Bank C: two hundred thirty million.

They borrowed a hell of a lot.

Add what our company held, and the total claim sat around five hundred eighty million won.

"Hmm……."

I'm starting to see a picture here.

I had roughly all the leverage I needed now. I'd checked whether she was watching the clock before putting her under, but still — better to release her as soon as possible.

Hmm?

Just as I was about to lift the hypnosis, the hundred ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fifty thousand won I'd cleaned out of that drone importer flashed through my mind.

"Any assets you've hidden from your husband?"

"Yes. I have about two hundred million won in crypto."

"That's not personal money you already had, is it? It's a slush fund you siphoned off behind your husband's and the creditors' backs?"

"Yes. I've been skimming a little at a time for a while, without him knowing."

Nice.

"Where's the wallet and the key?"

"The hardware wallet USB is in the safe. I wrote the key in my notebook, and I took a photo of it on my phone and put it in an encrypted folder."

Two hundred million won.

I swallowed hard, then drained the coffee I'd set down. It had gone lukewarm, but my throat was dry enough that I didn't care.

"Got Telegram? No — never mind. Just show me the photo of the key."

She pulled out her phone and displayed the key — the recovery seed phrase. I photographed it with my own phone. Cleanest trail possible. With that key alone, I could swallow two hundred million in crypto whole.

"That's enough. Close the gallery app and put your phone away."

I released the hypnosis. Then I spent a few more minutes babbling about the art before walking out of the café.

Two hundred million.

I couldn't move it right now. When to time it? This was concealed property — she couldn't report it properly even if she wanted to. But rather than transfer ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it immediately, I needed to wait until the impression of the guy who'd just visited her café had gone fuzzy. Too late wouldn't work either.

Once I tipped the company off about the Dongtan commercial unit the couple had stashed, and the company started applying pressure, the odds were high she'd think of her crypto — her safe asset. She might suddenly dump it or convert it into some other form.

I wasn't planning to report any of this to the company just yet. Solving in a single visit what took everyone else weeks or months would look unnatural.

So.

It wasn't like I had nothing else to do. But I might as well use this case as an excuse to play around a little.

Been a while. Maybe catch a movie?

I watched a film, then drove past a park on the way back. I glanced at it, then pulled over. The weather was still cool, but it was daytime, and someone was stretched out asleep in the shade.

Fweet—.

Hypnosis command.

If someone wakes you, get up. Otherwise, keep sleeping.

I put him under on the spot and headed back to the car. Sorry if he had somewhere to be later. He'd just have to take a four-hour nap for my sake.

What I'd learned from this: hypnosis worked on people who were already asleep. I didn't know the science, but maybe the brain still registered external sound to some degree even in sleep. Made sense — otherwise you'd never wake up to an alarm.

I'd sensed it during the drone job, but today's work confirmed it for good. This job might not matter forever, but for now, I needed it.

There was plenty I could do with hypnosis. Sidling up to people who held profitable information, putting them under for a few seconds, extracting what I needed, and walking away with the money — easy money. But that approach would leave something unlearned: how to use hypnosis inside the bounds of legitimate business activity.

I needed a stage where I could raise my hypnosis level while putting it to real use in multiple directions. And until I climbed higher, this company was a pretty good fit for deploying it. The work itself lived in a gray zone.

Which is to say—

"What the hell are you doing here?!"

—this kind of work wasn't just about chasing incentives. Building company results meant getting assigned bigger jobs. And bigger jobs meant more real financial work.

"Good to see you after a few days. Uh… forgot the name. Mr. Drone Guy."

"Why are you doing this to me, you son of a bitch?!"

A warehouse in Guro. The information I'd extracted under hypnosis from the drone importer on Saturday. Using that intel, I was face-to-face with him again — standing in front of the warehouse where ninety million won worth of stock was hidden.

"By the way — damn. How much is all this? For a guy who claimed he had nothing, you've been sitting on quite the stash."

"You… you… fuck."

The drone importer — what was his name again? Anyway, the man staring at me with eyes full of rage already looked like he'd given up.

"You know the drill from last time. Deliver all of this to our company warehouse."

I held out the paperwork I'd prepared in advance and dialed Department Manager Park Cheol-gon.

"Manager, I'm at a warehouse in Guro right now."

I called him close to midnight on a Monday and cut off the manager's angry rant mid-sentence.

"Last Saturday—"

I explained the situation.

The manager sounded impressed.

"How much inventory is in this warehouse?"

I relayed the manager's question to the drone importer. He sighed heavily, signed the papers, and flung them at me. They scattered across the floor. If they got too dirty to use, I'd just make him sign again.

I asked about the warehouse volume once more, got the answer, and reported it to the manager.

I hung up on the manager's good-mood praise.

"Alright, alright. Let's move it."

I had women to meet at the club.