Chapter 112
Lobbying through debt relationships.
It’s one of the most commonly used lobbying methods —
where a creditor who wants to influence a politician lends money to a member of the National Assembly and then never demands repayment.
Sometimes they pretend repayment has been made, only for the debtor to secretly return the money to the creditor later.
“It’s a method especially favored by wealthy members of the National Assembly who run their own businesses.”
Perhaps out of guilt,
Lee Heum-deok shouted furiously, his voice booming across the room.
“Being on familiar terms? Lobbying? A lawyer doing this to a member of the National Assembly who represents the people? Watch your words!”
Click.
The laptop screen appeared on the large monitor.
“With the newspaper archives and the news library, it’s easy to find old articles.”
He clicked on a news article from February 4, 2005, which he’d already downloaded.
“Assemblyman Lee Heum-deok, who once ran a real estate investment trust and leasing company, promoted his own business by publicly saying he was on brotherly terms with Ho Seung-won, chairman of ON F&B, even providing a photo for it. You remember that, don’t you? You should.”
“……!”
But that wasn’t all.
“There was also a time when ON deposited 1.3 billion won into Mae-hwa Publishing, which your daughter heads, under the pretense of paying a consulting fee, wasn’t there?”
Second method: lobbying through “consulting fees.”
This is a way of paying bribes disguised as consulting fees to companies in the arts or cultural sector.
Since there’s no effective legal way to regulate it, it’s a trick often used not only in the business world but also in politics and culture.
“That money was supposedly going to be used to purchase a property on the second floor of the Gidam Building — the same building where your assembly office is located. Are you denying that? Even after they pressed you about it?”
Creak.
The conference room door opened.
‘Time to wrap this up.’
“I’ll now show you the electronic approval records and procurement notices that Lee Heum-deok’s son modified during his tenure at GH. You can see clearly — the ‘logistics complex’ use wasn’t even an approved category. He kept altering the documents to hide that fact.”
When he pointed at the red-highlighted corrections, one of the residents clenched his fist.
“And finally — Lee Heum-deok’s father, the former Minister of Land, Lee Gyu-jae, illegally developed land in Gidam City—”
“Stop right there! Aide, file a complaint against that bastard for defamation by spreading false information, right now!”
‘Not even a lawsuit — a criminal complaint. How pathetic.’
“You sure you don’t need to make some calls instead of yelling? Only you have parliamentary immunity, not your father, son, or daughter.”
He really should be calling someone to help him flee the country.
Sure, a member of the National Assembly has immunity from arrest — but his family doesn’t.
Under the laws for illegal political funds, bribery, or receiving illicit benefits, the punishment could be even harsher.
“Since Lee Gyu-jae is a former minister, the entire family will fall under the Corruption Investigation Office’s jurisdiction. You’re okay with that? Even your wife, a judge, and your daughter-in-law, a prosecutor, will be investigated.”
“You bastard— there are some lines a human shouldn’t cross!”
If they profited through their positions, they deserved to be investigated.
“Officers in the back — please make sure Chairman Ho Seung-won of ON doesn’t destroy any evidence.”
“What!?”
Rumble.
The police unfolded an arrest warrant.
They read out the charges, issuing authority, the right to legal counsel, and the right to remain silent — then escorted Chairman Ho Seung-won out.
They also asked Assemblyman Lee Heum-deok to accompany them for questioning.
“I’m sure you know — the privilege of immunity from arrest doesn’t mean immunity from investigation. Don’t forget that.”
Lee Heum-deok glared at him, shook off the police, and stormed toward the door.
“Assemblyman Lee Heum-deok! The people are watching!”
Members of the National Assembly are entrusted to make laws and check government power —
but when they become drunk on their own authority, they start thinking they are the law itself.
And when they forget that society is held up by ordinary people —
that’s when everything collapses, just like today.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Like a scene from The Great Gatsby, Kim Soo-sung approached, holding a wine glass.
“To think you’d use my name to file the report — impressive. I suppose it’s a stunt worthy of a two-term Assemblyman.”
Bragging as usual.
“But how did you find all that data?”
He handed Kim Soo-sung a folder.
“It was floating around on the internet.”
“Yeah right, do you have some kind of special vision only you can see with?”
Lee Heum-deok had simply grown complacent.
He thought no one could touch him —
his prosecutor daughter-in-law would block the indictment, and if it went to court, his judge wife would delay the trial.
So he’d let his guard down.
“You think the Assembly will pass the motion to arrest him?”
“Guess we’ll see. Something similar happened before.”
Back when another lawmaker, during his time as mayor,
was caught granting permit favors to a developer in exchange for buying land below market price —
the National Assembly did pass the motion for his arrest.
“It’ll probably be rejected this time, but it’d be nice if it passed.”
He fully understood Kim Soo-sung’s concern, though.
Since the 1987 constitutional amendment, only 11 arrest motions for lawmakers had ever been approved.
“By the way,”
Kim Soo-sung handed him a business card.
“Don’t know why you wanted Lee Heum-deok’s card, but here.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll get going — I stirred up quite a scene, so I need to talk to some senior lawmakers.”
“You worked hard.”
“Oh, and Do-hyuk — you know the class reunion’s been postponed, right? See you then!”
Waving the file prepared for the Assembly submission, Kim Soo-sung left.
“Now, let’s go see Kim Jin.”
He planned to show Kim Jin of the Jinri-gyo sect and the original presenter Park Young-rok an opinion paper predicting what would happen with the Gidam-dong Lot 124 logistics complex.
And once he performed psychometry on Lee Heum-deok’s business card — the case would be over.
When he got to the office in Goter, he locked the door.
“It’s easier to focus like this for psychometry.”
He’d noticed back at Kim Jin’s house that even though he could perform it multiple times,
losing concentration mid-process was unpleasant.
He placed the business card on his palm, focused, and—
Inhale!
Buzz…
A dimly lit private room.
A bottle of 55-year-old Yamazaki whiskey sat in the center of the table.
Seated around it —
Assemblyman Lee Heum-deok, Jeon Jeong-man (leader of the Hwamok cult),
and…
‘That’s Chairman Jang — the one I saw before, when he brought his sick daughter to meet Jeon Jeong-man.’
Since Jeon Jeong-man and a major conglomerate chairman were acquainted, it must have been the conglomerate who arranged this meeting.
‘But what business could a politician and a cult leader have together? Policy? Land redevelopment?’
Lee Heum-deok raised his crystal glass.
“Chairman Jang, you’re the one who asked to meet — why so quiet? Tough times for the company?”
Well, it made sense — his company’s ranking had plummeted alongside Shingwang Construction’s sales.
He’d told him not to stay hidden, yet here they were.
‘I expected it to be one of Hwarim, Myeongjin, or Shingwang — and it’s Shingwang Group after all.’
Clicking his tongue, Lee Heum-deok watched as Chairman Jang smiled politely.
“That’s why I came — to give you a special gift, Assemblyman.”
“Oh, come now. No need for gifts. Seeing your face is a gift in itself. I’ve been saying we should meet for ages.”
“That’s what I like about you, Assemblyman. You roar like a lion in the National Assembly, but you’re such a warm man in person.”
Hahaha!
“If you ever need help, just say the word. A lawmaker’s job is to listen to the people, isn’t it?”
“Then I’ll get to the point. I want to develop the area within your constituency.”
“Oh? The whole area? Shingwang Construction will handle it?”
“Yes. Gidam City seems short on cultural infrastructure, so we’d like to help.”
At that moment, seeing Jeon Jeong-man sitting opposite, he had a flash of realization.
‘So they’re disguising a religious facility as a cultural project.’
“A cultural complex, hmm. There are a few good spots.”
“Do you have one in mind?”
“There’s a broad tract of about 8,000 pyeong (≈26,000 m²) on the way to Gidam Forest. My daughter-in-law owns it — perfect for a cultural foundation building.”
For a city that size, that was quite a large plot for a cultural foundation.
Lee Heum-deok’s suggestion was partly self-serving — lobbying for his own benefit —
but being near the national tourist attraction Gidam Forest, it was prime land for Chairman Jang too.
“You really are generous, Assemblyman. Of course we’ll buy it. But isn’t there somewhere even larger?”
“…Larger? That’s not like you, Chairman Jang. Planning something grand, are you?”
Lee Heum-deok glanced slyly at Jeon Jeong-man —
as if to say, ‘So this is really what you want, huh?’
“Do you already have a site in mind?”
“I saw one while passing through Gidam Forest — a big empty lot next to an apartment complex.
It seemed perfect for a mixed-use community and revitalizing the district.”
“…You mean Lot 124 in Gidam-dong?”
“Exactly. Shingwang Group plans to build an art museum there and a Gidam Resort collaboration facility — we need space.”
“That lot is about 90,000 square meters. For comparison, Oseong Group’s museum is 50,000.
Does Shingwang really own that much art? Even including annex facilities, this seems far-fetched.”
Since Oseong Group, one of Korea’s top conglomerates, had only that much — Lee Heum-deok’s skepticism showed.
Jeon Jeong-man stepped in to smooth things over.
“We’re thinking of creating an artists’ village, like Heyri.
With museums, galleries, theaters, bookstores, studios — even homes designed by famous architects.”
Visitors could enjoy Gidam Forest, then come experience art here — boosting the area’s value.
“Above all, locals would love it if Shingwang led the project. We’d even open a premium supermarket line.”
“…You seat your underlings beside you and already act like a tycoon.”
Lee Heum-deok took out a special business card — not the standard parliamentary one,
but a luxurious, shimmering version that reflected the light between his fingers.
“Chairman Jang, you know each of these cards is worth fifty billion won, right?”
“I do.”
“I’ve never needed business cards with you — we’ve always helped each other out. After all, we share the same roots.”
“……”
“But coming at me like this? That’s a problem.
Servants should know their place.”
No matter who Jeon Jeong-man’s supposed spiritual ancestors were — to Lee Heum-deok, he was beneath notice.
Even his polite words were meaningless without permission to speak.
Jeon Jeong-man, understanding perfectly, smiled faintly —
he’d been through situations like this before, recalling them with eerie calm.
“You’re right. Forcing a bond where there isn’t one only invites disaster.”
When the days turn dark and hopeless, reach out your hand.
With that cryptic remark, he left the room with a bewildered Chairman Jang.
Lee Heum-deok poured himself some expensive whiskey.
“Dark days? That servant dares curse me at my own table?”
He laughed mockingly —
no matter how much people said Korea was a republic of conglomerates and corporate cartels,
judges and lawmakers were still untouchable — or so he thought.
Thunk.
So that’s why this scene came through during psychometry…
“There’s a hidden backstory involving Jeon Jeong-man and that land.”
Now he finally understood what Kim Jin had meant after the public hearing:
“When Attorney Cha stepped down from the podium, it felt like we’d drunk from His blood.
Gidam-dong is a holy place — as He said, flesh will grow on dry bones.”
“This was never going to end with just a hearing.”
