Chapter 113
The information obtained through psychometry on Lee Heum-deok’s business card:
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The Shinkwang Group (+ the leader of the Truth Church) was targeting land lot No. 124 in Jidam-dong.
And if you combine that with what Kim Jin said — “Jidam-dong is a sacred place” — there’s only one conclusion.
“If the land at Jidam-dong No. 124 is resold, it’s highly likely that the Shinkwang Group will take it.”
If the group says they’re bringing in a supermarket and cultural-education facilities, the locals won’t object, and even the city of Jidam will welcome it.
It would seem like a move to revitalize the area — but in truth, it would just be a way for the Harmony Society (Hwamokhoe) to infiltrate the region.
“We can’t let the Harmony Society take the Jidam-dong 124 plot.”
He immediately called Kim Soosung.
Kim Soosung: “Cha Dohyuk, something’s up in Jidam-dong again?”
Cha Dohyuk: “Just wanted to check what’s going on. Is ON selling the 124 plot?”
Kim: “Probably? They can’t really do anything with it now anyway. Why?”
It was the perfect moment to drop the information.
Cha: “Got a tip — a big conglomerate’s trying to buy that land.”
Kim: “Oh? Who?”
Cha: “Shinkwang Group.”
Kim: “What, Shinkwang? Seriously?”
Even if their corporate ranking has dropped now, if you asked people to name a group that once represented Korea’s economy, nine out of ten would still say Shinkwang.
Kim: “Are they branching into retail? They’ve been focusing on premium lines lately.”
Cha: “Apparently they see culture and arts as the main focus — the supermarket’s just an accessory.”
Kim: “Really? Damn, why aren’t they coming to my district instead!”
Kim started grumbling about how only neighboring districts benefit, saying maybe he should meet the district representative of Jidam-dong to make this his achievement.
Cha: “If you brag about that and people find out the land was acquired through lobbying, your next seat in parliament could vanish.”
After all, once a company like Shinkwang gets involved, it’s rarely clean.
If the development starts and the truth comes out, the real estate crowd will think the land’s been cursed.
“Then even a resale won’t save it.”
Kim: “You really only give me annoying half-baked intel.”
Cha: “Think about it — if Shinkwang’s chairman personally lobbied and got rejected, why would ON be chosen instead? Money alone doesn’t explain it.”
He hung up after telling Kim to keep an eye on things, ignoring the flood of panicked texts asking if this was connected to why Shinkwang had gone into hiding.
“Leaving people with a bit of suspense really makes an impression.”
But he couldn’t rely solely on Kim Soosung.
‘How can I get Lee Heum-deok to say Shinkwang’s name himself?’
As he scrolled through a news app, a fresh article about Lee Heum-deok appeared.
“What’s this title supposed to mean?”
He clicked on the exclusive report, which had an attached video.
It said that Lee Heum-deok had a past creditor-debtor relationship with ON’s chairman, Ho Seung-won, and that their business ties were also real.
However, Lee claimed he was innocent, saying:
“Before becoming a member of parliament, I was just a cooperating partner in a real estate investment company.”
When the reporter asked why they used to address each other like brothers, he brushed it off with a single word:
“Advertising.”
Maybe he thought that was a good answer, but the comment section exploded.
People raged about parliamentary immunity, about how politicians only make laws that favor themselves, even throwing in regional slurs.
‘Right, Kim Soosung also mentioned parliamentary immunity…’
He knew well that parliamentary immunity meant a sitting lawmaker couldn’t be arrested or detained without the National Assembly’s consent — except in cases of being caught in the act.
But most people didn’t realize how complex that process really was.
To arrest or detain an assembly member, the court must first issue a warrant — but before that, the government must submit an arrest consent request to the National Assembly.
Then, the Speaker must report it to the plenary session, and within 24 to 72 hours, it goes to a vote.
A majority of members must be present, and more than half of those present must agree for it to pass — and even then, it’s just consent, not an actual arrest.
Because the court can still reject the arrest warrant afterward.
“It’d be safer for Lee Heum-deok if he turns in Shinkwang.”
At that moment, he noticed the scales of justice sitting in the corner.
The same scales that could weigh good and evil.
He dusted it off.
It was the one once given by the youngest son of the Ohseong Group, who had been murdered shortly after. The whole thing felt unsettling — but if there was no sin, nothing would happen.
“…Should I use it?”
Clink.
December 6, Friday.
As usual, he took Line 7 from Soongsil University Station to the Express Bus Terminal.
He stopped by to greet the florist, Mrs. Yeji.
Cha: “Mrs. Yeji!”
Florist: “Did you visit your mother well?”
He said he had, thanks to the bouquet she’d given him. She offered him some warm steamed potatoes.
Cha: “They’re the same kind, but somehow yours taste better.”
Florist: “That’s the magic of handmade food.”
His breath came out white — winter had truly arrived.
Cha: “No drama re-runs today?”
Florist: “Politics are way more entertaining these days! You know, the Lee Heum-deok political funding scandal.”
Cha: “Of course.” (He’d started that himself, after all.)
Florist: “Ugh, every new report just gets crazier!”
Cha: “…What?”
Florist: “Who in their right mind, in 2024, accepts truckloads of cash worth billions of won?”
Cha: “Right? What is this, the 2000s? I guess even lobbyists are working in bulk now.”
And that wasn’t all — reports of luxury handbags filled with gift cards, cryptocurrency bribes, even speculation in national lands — came out daily.
Florist: “And the funniest thing? He shows the evidence himself.”
Cha (thinking): ‘Yeah, that was ridiculous.’
Florist: “He’s even starting a YouTube channel!”
Sure enough, at 9 a.m., Lee Heum-deok appeared from his home study on his new channel, talking about his illegal political funds.
His hand trembled as he showed the evidence.
Florist: “Oh, oh! He’s slapping his mouth again!”
She laughed, saying he must’ve lost his mind after all the corruption — what kind of country elects people like that?
“Finally, I resign from the National Assembly… I will… faithfully cooperate with the investigation! Slap! I— slap! No, slap!”
Florist: “Seriously, what’s wrong with him?”
Cha: “Looks like his body and mind are out of sync.”
Because of the scales’ power, Lee Heum-deok had ended up confessing things he didn’t even intend to say — even renouncing his immunity.
‘Then the Shinkwang case will also come to light soon.’
Even if the police wanted to protect Shinkwang by saying they didn’t gain any benefit, the fact that they tried to lobby over the 124 plot remained undeniable.
And if Shinkwang had carried out similar cultural projects elsewhere, it likely had connections to the Harmony Society.
‘I should go back to the office and check which sites Shinkwang Construction is working on.’
Cha: “Mrs. Yeji, I’ll head out first.”
Florist: “See you at lunch!”
If Shinkwang had an active construction site, it would be impossible to stop immediately — so he’d have to wait until completion to see what unfolded.
‘If only I had an informant inside the Truth Church… shame.’
He spent the morning researching Shinkwang Construction, but articles about their domestic cultural-art sites were vague — nothing specific until completion.
‘Their overseas plant and housing projects are well-documented on their site, but everything else is hidden. Suspiciously sloppy.’
Cha: “Guess I’ll have to ask a private investigator to find any ongoing culture-related construction projects by Shinkwang Construction.”
Soon, he got a reply — it would take some time.
Cha: “Can’t be helped.”
He paid extra, replied to comments on his blog and emails, and muttered:
“When’s the next mission going to appear?”
It had never taken this long for one to show up. He was about to consider filing for retrial with the current evidence when suddenly, a mission window popped up.
<Mission>
Find the victim and resolve the case before December 31, 2024.
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Success: Evidence obtained.
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Failure: System termination.
※ Investigation and trial will proceed faster than in real life.
Cha: “If it were about Shinkwang, it would’ve appeared earlier. So it’s not that.”
Once again, he’d have to run around until he found someone with an exclamation mark over their head.
He wandered through the underground mall and around the Express Bus Terminal Station — but nothing.
Cha: “Maybe it’s someone I know.”
He called his grandmother, Choi Jaewoo, and Min Hojun — but all he got was teasing about finally acting like a human being.
Cha (thinking): “No leads anywhere… maybe someone’s coming to the office?”
Just then, he got a call — from Momo Publishing, the company he’d bought earlier.
Cha: “Hello?”
Caller: “Attorney Cha.”
“‘Attorney Cha’ — that still sounds weird,” he thought.
Cha: “Yes, speaking.”
Caller: “Your law office is in the underground mall near the Express Bus Terminal, right?”
Cha: “That’s correct.”
Caller: “Uh, could you tell me exactly where? I’m with someone, and we’ll come to you.”
Cha: “There’s no signboard, so it’s hard to find. I’ll leave the door open. Are you near Exit 3?”
Caller: “No, we’re inside the mall — just tell me what’s nearby.”
Cha: “Across from me is Yeji’s Flowers, and to the left is Blooming Florist. I’ll keep the door open.”
Caller: “Ah! Found it!”
Click.
Soon, the publisher’s CEO arrived — along with the person the mission was pointing to: the victim.
‘Exclamation mark!’
Cha: “Please, both of you, have a seat.”
CEO: “Hope we’re not interrupting you.”
Cha: “Not at all, I’ve just finished something. But, sir — who is this?”
CEO: “This is Im Seung-chan, an author who just signed a short story contract with Momo Publishing.”
The man’s left eye twitched; he couldn’t fully open it. He nodded stiffly.
Im: “I’m Im Seung-chan. I’d like to greet you properly, but I have a rare illness — please understand.”
Cha: “Of course. I’m Cha Dohyuk, nominal head of Momo Publishing — and an attorney. Is there some issue with the publishing contract?”
Im: “No, it’s just…”
The CEO encouraged him:
CEO: “It’s all right. You can speak freely to Attorney Cha.”
‘So it’s not a publishing issue.’
Im: “I know it’s shameless to ask, but the CEO told me you’re a lawyer… I’d like to ask for help regarding copyright.”
Cha: “Copyright?”
Im: “Yes. The CEO and director of Ruin Films stole my screenplay — he’s claiming it as his own.”
Ruin Films — he’d worked with them once before, under Continental.
Cha: “Is the director-screenwriter Choi Geon-ha?”
Im: “Yes, that’s him.”
Then it was exactly the same pattern.
They’d stolen a rookie writer’s script, made slight edits, and sold it to investors and studios as their own.
Cha: “The contract was for 30 million won total, with 500,000 upfront and the rest paid per draft up to the fourth version — right?”
Im: “How… how did you know that?”
