Chapter 188
That day in 2010—a day from a future that hasn't yet arrived in this life—the rain poured down relentlessly.
Caught off guard by the unexpected downpour, traffic jammed up everywhere. Gripping the steering wheel irritably, I worried I might be late. It was the day of the detention warrant review for the criminal my entire criminal division team had worked nights and days to finally arrest.
By the time I pulled up to the court, only ten minutes remained until the session started. I grabbed my files in a rush and jumped out. My haste made my steps rough, and without looking around, I stepped into a deep puddle. My pant cuffs soaked through, water seeped into my shoes, leaving me thoroughly annoyed. Muttering a quiet curse under my breath, I hurried toward the courtroom.
Squeezing into the packed elevator, my clothes grew even damper from those who hadn't bothered with disposable umbrella covers. Still fuming, I stepped out just as my phone rang. It was Father.
Normally, I would've answered and said I was heading into trial and would call back later. But that day, my irritation had boiled over, and I just didn't want to pick up. Especially not when telling him I was busy always seemed to disappoint him, stirring up pointless guilt.
I was already a profoundly unfilial son who rarely visited my parents or even answered their calls. My heart always worried about them, fretted over them, yet somehow my words and actions never matched. So I silenced the phone and shoved it in my pocket.
Then I entered the courtroom.
The defendant insisted vehemently on remaining free during the investigation, dragging the hearing out. As I stewed over why my damp pant cuffs wouldn't dry, the review dragged on.
How many minutes had passed when suddenly the courtroom door swung open? Oh, the squad chief, bowed low, rushed toward me. With a grim expression, he handed me a neatly folded note and slipped back out.
While the defense attorney passionately argued, I quietly unfolded the note under the desk.
Prosecutor, we just received a call from your mother in Pyeongtaek that your father has passed away.
I can't recall precisely what I felt in that moment. At first, I didn't even grasp who the "mother" and "father" in the note referred to. But Pyeongtaek was where my parents lived, and reality crashed over me in an instant.
"Prosecutor."
The judge's voice faded faintly in my ears. Nothing registered. Everything blurred into the distance.
"Prosecutor."
The judge tapped the mic and called again, snapping me back. I heard the murmurs from the gallery, felt every eye in the courtroom on me.
This suspect had ample reason to be detained for further investigation. I couldn't blow it here. Pouring every ounce of focus, I pushed through to the end. Fortunately, the detention warrant held.
Before they could call the next case, I bolted from my seat and out of the courtroom.
Outside, Oh Squad Chief paced anxiously.
"Prosecutor, hurry and go. It's Hye Min Funeral Home in Pyeongtaek."
"......"
"Prosecutor!"
I stared blankly at him, dazed. He shouted to shake me.
"I'll drive. Give me the car keys."
He prodded my still-frozen form, then stripped off my robe and fished the keys from my pocket. Dragging me to the parking lot, he asked,
"Where'd you park?"
"I'll... I'll drive. You handle the rest, Chief."
"How do you expect to drive to Pyeongtaek in this state, in the rain? I'll take you. Come on, where's the car?"
Oh input the funeral home into the navigation and took off. Trembling, I pulled out my phone. Over twenty missed calls. Two from Father, the rest from Mother and relatives.
I dialed Mother.
"......Why are you answering now, you bastard? Sob... you bastard......."
The moment I picked up, her sobs poured through. Struck dumb, I clamped my mouth shut and just listened to her laments.
From her wailing, I pieced it together: Father had died of a heart attack. And the call right before he passed? It had been to me.
He'd collapsed in his office at the factory, discovered late. Mother had only just learned too. I muttered that I was on my way to the funeral home and hung up like a coward.
My mind filled with images of Father clutching his chest in sudden agony. And in that torment, his thoughts had turned to his only son—me. That plea for help, or just to hear his son's voice one last time, I'd ignored. Because I was pissed off that day. Because I might be late for trial.
The realization drove me to the brink of madness.
Oh handled notifying relatives in my stead. They bustled to console Mother, who was on the verge of fainting from grief. Drowning in guilt, I played the part of chief mourner.
Colleagues who'd heard trickled in after work, all the way to Pyeongtaek, to see Father off. They offered comfort, but I felt like a criminal unworthy of it.
Sunken in self-recrimination, my uncle approached.
"......Juhan. Shouldn't we get an autopsy on your father? From what your mom said, Yeongho never had heart issues. Sudden heart attack like that......"
Fool that I was, only then did doubts creep in about Father's death. We requested an autopsy, and I rushed around through the dawn.
First, the ER doctor where Father had been taken. He asked if Father had prior heart conditions. No, I said. Then he asked about medications.
After racking my brain, I recalled Father asking if it was okay to get expensive injections for his arthritis. Millions per shot, but effective.
I'd said of course, handed him my card.
No sooner had that talk ended than I bolted to a PC bang. Mourning be damned; I had to look up that drug.
A quick search, and the top result was a cafe.
The cafe brimmed with stories like Father's. Bereaved families who'd lost loved ones to Antrozol, digging into Antrozol Alpha, gearing up for lawsuits.
They'd started on regular Antrozol, then doctors pushed the "upgraded" Alpha version. Months later, sudden heart attacks or cardiovascular collapses struck.
I read every post until sunrise.
"Juhan, where've you been?"
Back at the funeral home, I could do nothing. Slumped in the mourner's seat, replaying those posts over and over.
I knew Father had gotten Antrozol. But was it Alpha?
I asked Mother, resting exhausted from sobbing in the back room.
"Was it Antrozol Alpha?"
"......Huh?"
"The shots Father got. Not just Antrozol, but Alpha?"
"What're you on about all of a sudden?"
"Antrozol Alpha has side effects. Victims' families are suing over it...... Right? Father just got regular Antrozol?"
"......"
"It was Antrozol, right? You told me about it, I even asked Dongjin if it was safe. I said it was okay, so he got it. But you never mentioned Alpha. Right? Just regular Antrozol?"
Her face drained of color. I knew from that look. It had been Antrozol Alpha. Like those victims, lured by "upgrade" talk without a second thought.
Shots costing millions each. Father apologizing as he took my card—it haunted me.
I'd thought nothing of the cost if it eased his arthritis pain. Now, I just wanted to die.
If I'd lived with my parents, would I have known when he switched to Alpha? Would I have researched like with the first shots? Told him not to?
Guilt consumed me; I couldn't even look at Father's portrait amid the chrysanthemums.
"Cha Prosecutor, what the hell happened."
On the second day, Hwang Youngchan and the criminal division crew visited. I spilled the Antrozol Alpha story—something I couldn't tell anyone else.
He raged harder than I had. How was it my fault? Blame the developers and distributors at Myung Hwa Pharma. He stomped around furious.
"Those Wooshin bastards have no conscience. Killing how many with that shit drug."
"......"
"Cha Prosecutor, hang in there. I know you've heard it a ton, but chin up."
He wasn't wrong. Without Myung Hwa Pharma making that drug, Father might still be alive.
Most users were elderly, trusting doctors blindly. Targeting them with such a deadly drug was an outrage against heaven and earth.
The creators, the company that chose to sell it—they were all criminals.