Chapter 199: The Prosecution's Investigation Begins
The prosecution's investigation kicked off with Ji Hanchul, Kim Jinhyeong, and Lee Boyeon, the trio who held shares in Myungwha Pharmaceuticals. The rest were tangled in webs of school ties, regional connections, or blood relations, making warrant-backed searches impossible without hard evidence.
The Financial Supervisory Service had handed over confirmation to the prosecutors, just as we'd exposed in our internet broadcast: those three had been holding Myungwha stock even before Antrozol Alpha's approval. And the very next trading day after we aired it, they'd dumped the shares at market open.
The court duly issued home search warrants for the three, and I tagged along as a special investigation officer.
I rode in the van heading to Ji Hanchul's place. His crimes were the gravest, and the biggest hauls were likeliest there.
On the way to Ji Hanchul's house, Jeong Changyun—who'd been silently staring out the window—finally spoke up.
"You didn't have to come along."
His tone implied why are you tagging behind? But he was in the same boat. Searches were usually handled by investigators; prosecutors rarely showed in person. With three sites this time, though, even they were mobilizing.
"I might be useful."
Ji Hanchul's home sat in a posh neighborhood inside the four gates, where politicians, chaebol heirs, and celebrities clustered amid sky-high real estate prices. Kang Minjae lived here too. That morning, he'd thrown such a fit about joining me.
Feels like raising a kid.
"Western District Prosecutors' Office here. Executing a search warrant issued July 21, 2010. Ma'am, set down whatever you're holding right there. Mr. Ji Hanchul, stay put—don't move."
At Jeong Changyun's lead investigator's words, the team swarmed the house, combing every inch.
The target: ledgers. For someone like Ji Hanchul holding 0.1% of Myungwha stock, there had to be some back-and-forth with CEO Kim Hyeongjung documented somewhere. Shares as payoff? They'd have papered it for sure. Even crooks in cahoots craved tangible proof.
"Ugh, these fish are creepy as hell."
Investigators at the massive living room aquarium peeled back the lid, sleeves rolled to elbows, gloved hands sifting the gravel bottom.
Who hides docs like that anymore? you might ask. But hard drives yield everything when seized and forensicked. Old-timers distrust machines, scribbling by hand. And when raids loom, they unleash lifetime creativity on insane spots: toilet tanks, ceiling panels, even a daughter's teddy bear gut once.
I watched the frenzy, then ascended to the second floor leisurely.
Indirect lighting lent a luxurious vibe; the place screamed high-end interior from day one. Quintessential Korean traditional home design—not hyperbole—with fixtures straight out of a Samcheong-dong tiled house. Cost more than Western-style, probably. All from 0.1% Myungwha shares?
"……"
Mid-stairs, I halted. A massive wall-filling painting caught my eye.
Familiar. Turning, a small label beside it:
Yang Jinhwa, Chaos, oil on canvas.
Like a museum exhibit, complete with artist info.
After scouring the second floor meticulously, I descended, cracked open an investigator's laptop. Ji Hanchul, his wife, and maid sat mute on the sofa, eyes on the bustle. Dodging their gazes, I hunkered in the kitchen and searched the painting.
[Umi Gallery] topped the results—an all-too-familiar name.
Looks like a refined chaebol hobby spot on the surface. Don't be fooled. Nicknamed a money-laundering den.
Why was a Umi Gallery piece smack in Ji Hanchul's living room?
'Painter Yang Jinhwa.'
Portaling his name revealed market prices: 200–300 million won typically. Perfect quid pro quo for Antrozol Alpha favors. Could've grabbed more, but why? Stock surge was another bribe waiting, with his fat holdings.
"Prosecutor Jeong."
I pulled Jeong Changyun from the bathroom, climbed halfway up the stairs, voice hushed.
"This painting's from Umi Gallery."
"……Umi Gallery—the money laundry in Gahoe-dong?"
"Yeah. Worth 200–300 million, roughly. Any way to check when it arrived?"
"You saying it might be payoff for the Antrozol Alpha approval?"
"Likely. Ji Hanchul doesn't strike as an art lover. Only painting in the house. No way he knew Umi exists. Plus, it's Western oil—opposite his taste."
Oriental antiques filled the place. This clashed totally. Not self-bought; gifted. From Umi? Even more so.
"Confirmed online: at Umi till January this year."
"Gotta request records from Umi."
They won't hand 'em over nicely. Too beloved by chaebols; exposure risks clients.
"Better this way."
"What the hell—how'd you make the commissioner resign overnight?"
Choi Jonghyeon gawked at the news, marveling repeatedly. Perfect outcome, as I'd hoped.
Myungwha would sue over the revocation, dragging into tedious battle. They'd dig for ministry dirt; regulators would expose Myungwha's flaws. With elections looming, Minwoo Party minimized hits—Commissioner Oh Jinsik's sacrificial quit proved it. They wanted zero ties to Myungwha's sleaze now.
Too late. They were thick as thieves already.
Financial Supervisory Service's full probe? Delisting loomed. Choi and Jo would hustle till then.
"All done, boss."
Jo Bongjun, who'd fussed over hoisting the Taegeukgi for Liberation Day on the balcony, dusted his hands entering the living room.
"Spill it. Special officer for a bit, then 'top secret'? We got skin in this game! After all our hell?"
True, I'd zipped it at their request. But they'd wrapped their part, off gallivanting, claiming R&R.
Let me focus fully—results came quicker than expected.
"No biggie. Commissioner took Myungwha bribes—busted."
"How?"
"Painting at Ji Hanchul's. From Umi Gallery, eight-figure art."
First quizzed, Ji lied: self-bought. No receipt, no payment proof to Umi. Prosecutors threatened life sentence atop insider trading—painting sealed it. He cracked: gift from CEO Kim Hyeongjung. Handed garage CCTV of delivery day.
House cams were seized, but no such footage. Paranoid Ji had squirreled it away, fearing Kim's backstab.
Lesson: never fully trust even ride-or-dies.
Prosecutors traced the Umi-to-Ji truck via road CCTVs. Caught it hitting Commissioner Oh's next. Search warrant followed. His painting: 1 billion won overseas masterpiece. Same denial, same collapse sans proof.
"Hey, Cha's on the briefing screen."
Park Younggi, handling press, spotlighted me onstage. I lurked behind with other prosecutors, but as non-staffer, drew eyes. Questions flew on my role—name recognition achieved.
"Cha tried burying it to the end, but spilled anyway."
"Smart. Deserved the credit after all that."
Not aggrieved; no regrets. Some backlash painting me as Wooshin vendetta via Myungwha? Meaningless post-revocation.
"What's next for Cha?"
"Truth's for state agencies. You two? Keep broadcasting. Lawsuit war means endless leaks."
"Duh—we ride to delisting."
Choi grinned.
"Dinner soju later? Case wrapping—team dinner time."
"Love to, but can't tonight."
I flopped onto the sofa.
"Aish, always 'no time'! Acting like the world's busiest snob."
"……Got a real prior commitment."
Phone in hand. Repeated nos nagged; wanted group drinks. But declinable? No. Summons from ex-President Kang Gwanung.