Chapter 132
Oh Sanghyeon's brother, who got the call from Oh Yanghun the office manager, set up an appointment for the next day, saying the victim wanted to meet as soon as possible. He insisted they not thank me yet since I hadn't officially taken the case—apparently because his brother was so thrilled about it—but the guy still sounded over the moon. I had no idea if they'd already hired a lawyer or were working with a public defender, but it must've been driving them crazy either way.
"Hearing the guy's Go Yunseong makes me kinda nervous," Kang Minjae said, clenching and unclenching his fist. We'd just arrived at the hospital where the victim was staying, about to meet him.
"Of all people, getting mixed up with a thug like Go Yunseong—the poor guy's been through hell," he added, shaking his head as he picked out a juice set from the vending area.
Word was already spreading that Go Yunseong was a loose cannon, but nothing big enough had hit the news yet. Or more accurately, everything had been hushed up so far. Go Yunseong had gone to college in the US. People said it was because he flunked out here, but I doubted it was that simple. Probably his family shipped him off at twenty so he wouldn't cause a scene back home once he hit university age and went full wild child. Of course, even Go Yunseong eventually answered the call from the Ministry of National Defense and came back to Korea. But military service didn't change a guy like him. Rumors flew that you could spot him at clubs before his buzzcut even grew out.
That's why, back when I was handling the Jeong Yeongjun case, I figured Go Yunseong's name would pop up on Prosecutor Jo Hyeonseok's list. In my previous life, the prosecution never even filed that list, so I'd been secretly hoping this time around. Too bad his name never made the headlines. I was dead certain Wooshin Group had pulled strings at the prosecutors' office. But not this time. If I took this case, I planned to plaster Go Yunseong's name across every news outlet and morning paper front page.
"Kang Byun."
"Yeah?"
"Big case on the horizon, and you're awfully quiet for once."
Kang Minjae, who had been checking his reflection in the elevator mirror on the way to the ward, turned to me.
"You told me not to go full gwansimjongja."
He pouted. I'd recently taught him the term gwansimjongja—it hadn't been coined yet, but nothing described him better, and I couldn't hold it in.
"Not my first rodeo against chaebols. But yeah, this one's got some difficulty. If the prosecutors are blatantly covering for him, trial might be rough. Still, we gotta show that truth wins out!"
He didn't seem burdened. I nodded.
"...What? Telling me to back off?"
"Why would I?"
"Nah, just feels weird when you don't chew me out for once."
If we took this case, I planned to give Kang Minjae plenty of chances to shine. He pulled his weight in investigations, but I'd handled most of the trials so far.
"Room 916, here we are."
The door to 916 was wide open. A TV in the middle blared a drama rerun, and a few family members milled about like they were paying a sick visit. Little kids ran wild through the room while their parents scrambled to corral them.
"Whoa, kiddo, easy there."
Kang even bumped into one of the toddlers.
"Sorry! Yeonji, say sorry."
"Sorry. Should Yeonji blow on it?"
"Ow ow ow, it hurts so bad, Uncle. Blow on it, please."
Kang hammed it up, pretending to be in agony, and the kid puffed away dutifully. Then a man on crutches hobbled toward us.
"You must be Lawyer Cha Juhan?"
"Yes. Oh Sanghyeon, right?"
"Yeah. Sorry about my wild kid—first impressions and all. Come on in."
The mom scooped up the child, and Oh Sanghyeon crutched his way back to the bed.
"How's the body holding up?"
"Way better than at first. Face was so swollen I didn't even look human."
He showed me a photo on his phone—taken a few days after the incident. Bruises everywhere, eyes puffy slits, forehead stitched and disinfected.
"That's some serious damage. Fractures like these tell me the assault was brutal."
"Ha, you have no idea. Wasn't just one guy—his goons piled on too."
"I heard you were hurt too bad that day to lay a hand on Go Yunseong. And yet here you are, the one facing charges. Must've been a shock."
"Tell me about it. Insane, right? If I'd landed even one punch, I'd feel less wronged. I flailed my arms just trying to survive, so maybe I grazed someone..."
Hmm, didn't see that coming. When I didn't bite, his wife jumped in.
"Is the arm flailing the problem?"
I shook my head.
"No, not that. But... Oh Sanghyeon. You really didn't land a single hit?"
"Yes."
Obvious lie, but I couldn't just play along.
"You sure?"
"...Yes, that's right."
"Alright for now. How many goons were involved?"
"Around six, I think."
That made seven with Go Yunseong. A gang beating like that—we could argue self-defense depending on how much he fought back.
"Then walk us through it from the start, up to when you were taken to the hospital."
He was lying, so I'd have to probe from beginning to end, find the cracks, and draw out a confession. Might not work, but still. Truth be told, I really wanted this case. For that, the client had to come clean. Lies blowing up later would screw me—and him—even worse.
"Go Yunseong said he wanted a word and dragged me to a corner of the site. Narrow alley-like spot."
"CCTV there?"
"Just at the entrance. That's why the prosecutors pushed for indictment—the footage there."
"What footage?"
"Go Yunseong staggering out, covered in blood, carried by his goons."
He'd consistently told the prosecutors he never touched Go Yunseong. But when they showed the CCTV and growled, "You still saying it wasn't you?" he buckled, apparently.
"If the camera's at the entrance, shouldn't it show you coming out beat to hell too? You were worse off."
Oh Sanghyeon let out a hollow laugh.
"You'd think. But they said that's all it caught. And get this—their side's story is ridiculous."
"What'd they claim?"
"He admitted being in a bad mood and snapping at a worker, but said I embarrassed him in front of everyone. So he pulled me aside to talk, and I mouthed off about him being a spoiled chaebol brat with daddy's pull. That's their line."
"What'd you tell the lead investigator?"
"Total opposite. With six goons around, what balls would I have to touch Go Yunseong? I told him a hundred times I was the one surrounded and beaten."
"Investigator's reaction?"
"Laid out Go Yunseong's statement. Said when he got hit, his goons lunged, but he held them back to keep it from blowing up. Claimed he tried to calm me down. But I beat him to a pulp, so they had to step in."
"But the goons just held back, no injuries from them, right."
"Yeah. Even called my seven-week injury prognosis a fake. Same when it went to the prosecutors. They all buy Go Yunseong's side. We both claim we got beat, but it's not mutual assault—only I'm charged? Makes no sense."
[I got pummeled so bad I could barely stand, fighting just to escape. But he plays possum claiming injury—it's absurd.]
Both sides pushing the same line. One had to be lying, and the prosecutors picked him—thanks to that entrance CCTV.
"What'd your lawyer say?"
"Keeps pushing settlement. Assault charges don't vanish with a deal, but it'd lighten the sentence. I said no way. If anyone's settling, it's him, not me."
"Trial's a month and a half out, right?"
"Yeah. Driving me nuts. Was thinking of firing the guy and shopping around when your office called."
Go Yunseong's statement would be in the records anyway, so no need for my ability there. Hearing how the cops and prosecutors handled it gave me the picture. Wooshin influence was a given.
Anyway, next: why he hit Go Yunseong, and how hard.
"Got it. Back to the assault—keep going."
Oh Sanghyeon sighed and continued.
"Surrounded by him and his six goons in that tight alley—gut said I was screwed. Phone was back in my clothes at the site office. Pure panic."
I felt that pang too. A recording would've been gold.
"He started with, 'Who the hell does a peon like you think you are?' shoving me."
"What'd you do?"
"Said I wasn't wrong. He'd cussed out a site worker old enough to be his dad—just for bumping him carrying bricks."
"Then?"
"He said no remorse, started beating on me."
Solid so far. I nodded, and he pressed on, relieved.
"One-sided at first. Then he yelled into the air, still pissed, and ordered his goons to beat me."
"Did they?"
"Yeah. Some held me, some hit. Classic gang beating. Man, hadn't had one in ages—hurt like hell."
Ages? That snagged. I cut in.
"'Ages' meaning what? You saying Go Yunseong's crew beat you before?"
"Oh, no. Back in high school, I dreamed of pro baseball. Got ganged up on plenty by seniors then. Ha, that's all."
Baseball team, huh. I eyed his build. Tall on crutches—180cm easy. Patient gown showed decent shoulders, solid arms. Even grabbed, in a gang-up like that, you'd fight back somehow. If he hit Go Yunseong, it'd fit.
"Baseball guy, eh? Me too."
"No kidding?"
His voice perked up. Lie, of course.
"Similar story. Benchwarmer, got ignored and beat plenty. Once thought, Just one good hit on a senior, and I'd die happy."
"After enough beatings, you snap. Grabbed a senior's collar once myself."
"Bold move. Ours was strict hierarchy—even in a gang-up, collar a senior, coach bats you silly."
"Same here. But when you think you're dying, courage hits."
"Makes sense. My school's seniors were sharp—they pinned me solid. Couldn't block punches, let alone grab."
"Ha, legs then. They usually just grab arms. Mine were free, so I kicked and fought. If legs pinned too, I'd been like you—helpless."
"I see."
"Ha, yeah, that's how it went."
Then he launched into war stories: seniors scared of him, eyes down; coach warning hands off the psycho. I egged him on, and he lit up.
"Impressive. So legs free this time too—kicking Go Yunseong was easy, then."
"Ha, you bet. Kicked him flying backward..."
He slapped his knee—then froze as I shrugged.
"Haa..."
He rubbed his forehead.